Lori always had the right answer.
Mavis counted on it: No decision, no responsibility.
Mavis lifted a brow. “Do we let ‘em in the boat?” Continue reading
Lori always had the right answer.
Mavis counted on it: No decision, no responsibility.
Mavis lifted a brow. “Do we let ‘em in the boat?” Continue reading
Godzilla and King Kong sat at the edge of the airfield, munching happily in the sunshine. Fighting was hard work, and they were grateful the film crew had broken for the day. Continue reading
Dirk’s long, strong hands grasped the green, held over the deep-brown bamboo bowl, and tore in lingering, sensuous movements. Lettuce had never looked so inviting. Continue reading
“Pull off it. Like a sweater!”
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Like a sweater. Pull! Off! It!”
“Are you having a stroke or something?”
She glared at him, vibrating with rage, and pushed the sleeves of her washed-out taupe cardigan up over her elbows and planted her feet.
He sighed, slid his glasses up his nose. “I have no frikkin’ clue,” he grunted.
It was then that he noticed the linoleum and cinder-black dayroom was empty. Continue reading
She bends over unkempt juniper shrubs and a beetle-laced Japanese plum, scissoring with vigor. with long-bladed hand shears. Down the boulevard, a few trees show tawdry highlights of orange and gold. Continue reading
Boxes lay along the curved perimeter of the silvery dock. A slender figure darted around them, stacking smaller boxes on medium, turning some toward the shoreline. The healer and her intern had placed three large boxes on the further, forested side, long before the observers had arrived. The dock rocked, slapping the water; the beasts were restless.
Twelve boxes total, counting the one in her belly pocket.
The crowd quieted as dawn softened, red to apricot.
She raised her arms. “Z!” The intern unlatched the largest box and stepped back as a silky black panther padded toward the trees.
He turned his head once, flashed his canines in farewell and disappeared into the shadows. Continue reading
Lilimor slipped out the back gate, trotting to the meadow as fast as her little legs could carry her. She’d wanted to arrive at sunrise, before anyone noticed she was gone. Continue reading
Writing and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger
A.I. Art and Poetry
Independent Publisher of Poetry and Prose
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Live music in St Paul Minnesota
pagan songs & tales
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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.