“How long ago did you order that pizza?” Sheralynn tipped her wine glass to catch the last drop.
“Hmmm?” Rodney examined the hole in his tube sock, intent on covering up his big toe without using his hands. Continue reading
“How long ago did you order that pizza?” Sheralynn tipped her wine glass to catch the last drop.
“Hmmm?” Rodney examined the hole in his tube sock, intent on covering up his big toe without using his hands. Continue reading
“A new recipe for Stay at Home.”
“What you got in there?”
“Beans, tomato sauce, dark brown sugar, Tabasco, the last of that lunch meat…” Continue reading
“You sure this is gonna work, Jonas?”
“Have I ever steered you wrong before, Boy?”
Peter muttered, “Only for a higher purpose. Or so you say.”
Jonas grinned, his double row of needle-sharp teeth glinting in the cavern’s incandescence. His hearing was quite acute, even for a centuries-old creature as himself. Continue reading
The Chevy accelerates and tops the hill’s summit, before twisting and plunging into the ravine. A duffle bag and body detach, and arc onto the dirt shoulder. They disappear into the dust cloud created by the truck’s struggle with the gravel road. Continue reading
Ms. Lillian’s shoes padded down the archived stacks, overhead lights cooling to darkness in her wake. “Here Rainbow kitty! Time to go. There’s a bowl of kibble at home with your name on it!” Continue reading
Down they come, twirling, sun-sparkling, lilting in sudden gusts. Daisies dancing in summer–except it’s winter. The falling flowers are snowflakes. Continue reading
(Click here to view : What the park bench sees everyday)
She supposed she really ought to be scattering bird seed, perhaps corn for the larger ones. So her grandson had often told her, in kind but stern words. “The mold on the bread could kill them!”
But her widow’s pension was meant for sustenance, not luxury, so she shared what she had. The birds didn’t seem to mind, judging by how they gathered about her feet on this park bench, every day at 5 pm. And they never left a crumb behind, so where was the harm? Continue reading
Writing and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger
A.I. Art and Poetry
Independent Publisher of Poetry and Prose
Chel Owens
Live music in St Paul Minnesota
pagan songs & tales
Poets Pub
Writing/Tales + Tails + Culture + Compassion
my views.. my way
Challenging the barriers of the way we define reality
Stories and thoughts about being a queer girl geek in the 21st Century.