A place for short fiction and poetry while your coffee brews or your tea steeps
Outside my window, all is brightness
Brilliant sun in each dew drop, diamonds poised on overgrown grass
Robin’s egg blue, crumbled and powdered, smoothed across the sky
Fresh-whipped creamy clouds, heavy dollops spooned out overhead
It seems an abomination
Hannah couldn’t stand it any longer: so many sad faces, mouths turned down with refusal after refusal, so bad that no one dared a joyful and barbaric “Yawp!” a la Whitman, or even a comic, life-saving “Yopp!” as Horton had heard it. Continue reading “Zuzu’s Petals”
I hold this in my cupped hands,
Stare into its depths.
Red and orange flicker, leap and stab.
Smoky, shifting colors blacken and curl
Its abundant petals. Continue reading “Bouquet of Shadows”
We’d started loading at the dawning of the third moon. Triage overflowed after the fifth wave from the Kipstanian Crisis. We tried to get the word out to all survivors; transport off our doomed planet ended today. Continue reading “Before The Gold Rush”
At the base of a mountain, a glacial stream sweeps past the edge of a small forest clearing. Two teen brothers squat in the twilight, near a tangle of copper tubes and tin barrels, their close-cropped hair burnt to summer straw. Continue reading “The Still”
Air quality alerts had been on “Severe” for the past two months. The pub was filled with exhausted workers.
There’d be no dancing in the pub that night. Air quality alerts had been on “Severe” for the past three months, and the popular Sorrowing Gnome, with its airtight construction, was filled with exhausted workers. Pub owner Tommy Finn leaned an elbow against the bar and stared at the TV above.
He lay the quill down beside his Manifesto, reaching to close the cap on the near-empty inkwell. Continue reading “But the People Can’t Wait”
Words of a clarklike female
A writing blog by H.R.R. Gorman
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Fiction Writing
Lance Greenfield - Night Writer
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Original Writing Inspired by King, Poe, and The Twilight Zone
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