Her 1997 Honda rocked and groaned through the narrow city streets.
She knew the moment her car crossed from affluent to impoverished neighborhood. Continue reading
Her 1997 Honda rocked and groaned through the narrow city streets.
She knew the moment her car crossed from affluent to impoverished neighborhood. Continue reading
She flattened the canvas bag for a clearer view out the back windows, smoothing the thick blue rug that had graced the tiny apartments of uncounted siblings and cousins. Continue reading
She wrapped her hands around the hand-thrown mug, coffee scent misting the still-cold morning in an exhausted cloud. The metro newspaper lay splayed before her on the kitchen table, moaning headlines and sub-stories of international terror threats, environmental ruin, domestic violence, a floundering economy, and the collapse of another small local non-profit. Continue reading
He looked away from the waterfall and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m not ready. I don’t understand.”
The water tumbled and flashed, as if laughing at him. Continue reading
A bowl of nuts dominated the coffee table, a nutcracker standing sentry, ready for service. Three wooden bowls with three types of crackers surround the cheese log, like wise men around The Child. Continue reading
She’d traversed the mountain, her skis crackling and sparking as she streaked down the final slope. Just a few kilometers more across the icy flatlands; she would reach the Hold before full sunrise. Continue reading
Writing and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger
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Independent Publisher of Poetry and Prose
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Stories and thoughts about being a queer girl geek in the 21st Century.