A place for short fiction and poetry while your coffee brews or your tea steeps
“Okay, you can uncover your eyes now.”
“Wow! That’s beautiful…and heartbreaking. Who made this mural?”
“Trevor made this one. And take a few steps around this corner. This is one by Teresa. Yeah…it makes me tremble, too.”
“Wait! Those quiet kids who never join in on anything?” Continue reading “Still Waters”
In deep woods, somewhere near the middle and the end, launching from the first and hovering near the last, always returning to the origin, is a clearing. Sometimes there, other times elsewhere, most often not present at all. Continue reading “In the Impossible Woods”
The Chevy accelerates and tops the hill’s summit, before twisting and plunging into the ravine. A duffle bag and body detach, and arc onto the dirt shoulder. They disappear into the dust cloud created by the truck’s struggle with the gravel road. Continue reading “The Open Road”
Bonnie Bunny was done. She was through trying to compromise, fit in, smooth over, calm waters, appeal to reason, go with the plan. She’d had enough of rolling with the punches, putting on a happy face, counting her blessings, and waiting for tomorrow. Continue reading “Progress”
Holly sighed, dropping her sweaty forehead into her palm. It was the same words, the same argument that wasn’t an argument. She tugged her bangs and tried one more time. Continue reading “Boundaries”
A moment, all I remember:
Her face, cupped by the flickering glow of a night fire shared against a greater darkness.
Her hands, rolling thin-shaved bark around crumbles of tobacco, mushroom, moss, bone-white shards… Continue reading “Testimony and Sacrifice”
Marion stared at herself, staring at herself, daring the other to step over the line.
“What d’you want me to do about it?”
“Can’t you absorb one more?” Continue reading “Portrait of Marion Gray”
Crystal bottles stood before her, hip shot in relaxed groups. Scented soldiers, they had no expectation they’d be called to order; Treena preferred sweatpants to skinny jeans, books to bodies grinding on a dance floor. Continue reading “Cure for Cabin Fever”
It's All True, None of It's True. Don't Ask.
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
