Short Story
What is Kept
Spring First Visit She arrived in the early afternoon with her youngest daughter. They parked on the street, one house down from where they used to. The walk to the door was short and familiar, bordered by plants that had begun to recover unevenly from winter—some already green, others still brittle at the edges.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales2 days ago in Fiction
Bridges. Content Warning.
In preparation, my shadow crossed that bridge. A mission, a reconnaissance in a way. It was just a moment in time I could never forget; I mean who could and soon it will be in the distance. I mean it is life changing, life is always changing. Of all the things we have weaved and engineered in life as humans you would think we would have found a way to control the weather, disease, and each other by now. The snow piling up and the wind was strong blowing off the frozen fields. Across the street I watched from my bed the tombstones bracing the wind for days as the snow drifted in front of them, as if the bodies were under all that snow still waiting on the grounds first thaw. That gap between breath and silence briefly on hold, waiting peacefully for the storm to pass. I am sure the dead have somewhere to be, but what is the hurry now?
By Gerry Thibeault2 days ago in Fiction
9:52
by Leslie L. Stevens 9:52 PM. Jessica bounced into the kitchen like she owned it. Ponytail swinging, sneakers squeaking, still high off sixty bucks in tips and a full week of crushing it. Her tables were clean. Her section was empty. Her stomach was growling.
By Leslie L. Stevens Writer | Marfa, Texas3 days ago in Fiction
The Saloon Murders
It’s late in the evening. The cowboys and cowgirls are all in bed. A woman is sitting in the dark again. She is at her desk typing details in a letter. She doesn’t need the light to see what is being typed. She’s got it down to a science. She types it urgently as if it’s a matter between life and death. The typewriter dings with each return. She is frantic and determined to fix what this woman has done to the man she loves. In mid-sentence, the phone rings causing her to jump. She answers it.
By Meredith McLarty3 days ago in Fiction
Relocated
There was nothing but this brown dust as far as the eye could see. Its dry, clay-like texture choked my senses. I would have sighed, but that would have meant sucking in a mouthful of whatever this crud was. And the air—don’t get me started on the air… all I could smell was excrement… everywhere.
By Alicia Anspaugh3 days ago in Fiction
The Lantern in the Fog
The fog settled over the village like a blanket soaked in silence. At first it was gentle, wrapping the streets in a quiet hush. But as night deepened, it thickened into something heavier, almost alive, crawling along the cobblestones and slipping into the cracks of every home. It was not the kind of fog that simply blurred the edges of things. This fog carried a chill that touched the marrow, a weight that pressed on the heart, and whispered doubts in voices that sounded eerily familiar.
By Sound and Spirit3 days ago in Fiction
Unclaimed
In Laceloom, even kindness has teeth. My office sat above a perfumer’s shop that sold bottled nostalgia to people who couldn’t trust their own memories. The stairwell smelled like bruised lilac and old smoke, which suited me fine. Down on the street, the city glowed the way a lie glows when it’s almost convincing. Lanterns hung from living branches. Cobblestones shone. Every passerby looked like they’d been sculpted by an artist.
By Aspen Noble3 days ago in Fiction
Lavender Orphan Love Spell
Bertie The children at Chandler Home Orphanage were not allowed to talk to the gypsies. It had been over a year since the last time they set up their caravan at Anson's Rock in the woods south of the Chandler Home campus. That was the spring of 1922.
By John R. Godwin3 days ago in Fiction
