A place for short fiction and poetry while your coffee brews or your tea steeps
Countdown from the Carrot Ranch Contest: Modern Tall Tale in 99 words (for more detail, see the link below).
Yes, I’d promised to be there by 7:00, but my shower took longer than anticipated because the hot water heater was on the blink and I had to crawl underneath to light the pilot and then dropped the one match I’d brought and the explosion Continue reading “Rodeo Event #1: Why I Had to Cancel Our Date”
The four children huddled in the corner of the rabbit hutch. Cock-sure that the trolls would be sleeping off their hangover, they’d broken into the cellar for a bit of potato…maybe some ham! They’d not counted on LilleMjol catching them.
“The best-laid plans.”
“The egg unhatched.”
“The circle, its ends unmet.”
“A triad missing its third…”
“Thus only a dyad.”
The nave is cold, cheerless,
No sun to set stained glass windows afire with stories. Continue reading “Essential Element”
Countdown from the Carrot Ranch Contest: Pro Bull Mashup in 99 words (for more detail, see the link below).
Captain Hand sneered, boot heels pounding across the bridge of Starship Ridgemont. “You abandoned your post, Ensign Spicoli. My orders will be followed without question!” Continue reading “Rodeo Event #2: Who Will Walk the Plank?”
Countdown from the Carrot Ranch Contest: Three Act Story in 99 words (for more, see the link below)
Rhonda made sure to never be first in line, nor last to leave, always included but never singled out. But just between her shoulder blades, an itch whispered, “Step forward…take a risk!” Continue reading “Rodeo Event #3: How Rhonda Got Her Wings”
She rinsed the last dish and set it in the drainer. Days had again grown short, this season and over the years. The leaves, crisp from a day’s rain and evening’s temps, were barely visible out the window. Her silhouette softened in its reflection; the living room light glowed orange behind her. Continue reading “An Old Romance”
Jared leaned against the bar, one boot heel hooked on the rail. His spurs lay next to his whiskey, silent as the glass was empty. Time to decide.
He could ride south to his father’s oil refinery. That way lay fine suits, easy money, easier women. His father’d left his family, but he might want to know his son. The resemblance? Startling , if his mother Lula’s cameo locket was any indication. Continue reading “Storm Windows”
The days were endless, the nights not long enough. She was tired, but too well-rested. She had all she needed to restore her health, but was weary of doing the work to rejoin the world.
Words of a clarklike female
A writing blog by H.R.R. Gorman
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Fiction Writing
Lance Greenfield - Night Writer
"Many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are." -J.K. Rowling-
Original Writing Inspired by King, Poe, and The Twilight Zone
Walk On The Wild Side
Writing is Communication
