Her boots crackled across dusty gravel, her lungs sore from moving so fast for so long, and though parched under the white-hot sun, Amy relished the taste of blood in her mouth for its iron resolve and its thin liquidity. Continue reading
Six Sentence Stories
Keepsake Exchange
Henry peered between the slats of the alleyway fence, leaf green eyes nearly popping out of their sockets in horror at what appeared to be carnage of the most brutal kind. Continue reading
Video
We were deep into the first cavern when a rockslide shook the sandy ground beneath our feet, sealing off the entrance, any external light source, and all hopes of exiting the way we’d entered. Continue reading
Dear John
“What instrument shall I use, and what medium to convey my deepest and most honest wishes?” Annalisa, one hand holding her elbow, the other holding her chin, scanned the open drawer filled with seven different kinds of pens (one with eight different nibs for calligraphy), a half dozen different colored inks, brushes of many sizes and an uncounted number of acrylic paints (some rolled tight into tiny secret snails of color, others fat and shiny like a slug that didn’t give a shit), a box of 50-count soft pastels (none broken, but all tested and of different lengths…a lovely diversity), and no markers of any kind as she detested them. Continue reading
Who Wrote the Book of Love, Again?
The book lay before him, splayed open and heavy, the archaic lettering spidery and so faded in places, the necessary ingredients for the desperately desired results were difficult to read and translate in the tallow candle’s light. Up above him the shadowed shelf contained what he hoped was the correct final ingredient; if he’d read the spell book correctly, the results would be abiding love, but if he had not, the potion would deliver never-ending death. Continue reading
Make Love, Not War
There’s a spot on the jaw, and under the chin,
That my fingers can touch, when he truly leans in.
Then his eyes squeeze shut and his head tips way back,
And I’m turning the tables with The Method Attack.
Well, Why Not? (Part 3)
The twins pushed the net over their heads, flinging it to the side. “Well Mam-Duchess, why DON’T you marry one? We’re still just kids, after all!”
Sister Indelicata tipped her head, as she gathered up her seal-hunting net. That was the most grown-up thing they’d ever said. Perhaps those girls had promise, after all. Continue reading
Valley of the Trolls 