The dirt road that stretched into the darkness was flooded. Their car, tire flattened, windshield cracked and leaking, had slid into the ditch.
“You’re sure this is it?” Continue reading
Stories
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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
Comfort Cooking
Credit: Dreamstime.com
Bok choy and thin-sliced carrots, a bit past their freshness date, sizzled in the pan. She sniffed the aromas of sesame oil, lime, and Moroccan baked tofu. The sharp scent of sliced onion softened, long layers relaxing, rolling and shining over her cooking spoon. 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
Styx and Stones
Tettegouche, N. MN (Source: Derek Montgomery for MPR)
His nails were dark and sharp, spreading before him as he stretched first one paw, then the other. He backed further under the Juniper hedge.
She should’ve stayed home, not taken the canoe across the water. 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.
Valley 