Christy Munson

Joined March 2021

187 stories

Bio

My words expose what I find real and worth exploring.

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Homecoming | Ask Me in December | Story of Humanity | Strangely Art

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Stories (187)

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Even Assassins Get the Blues
He pulls up short, halting forward motion. He is nearly there, nearly to the open entrance when he sees her, the patron holding ajar that needlessly heavy glass and steel shop door.
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Fiction
24 Hours. Content Warning.
Have you ever wanted to walk out of your life? Just sink into your follies like pajamas, never leaving your bed again? Throw the pillow over your face. Let it do its worst? Hide under the feathery folds of fabric. Stick yourself in between the sheets and the comforter, comforted, if only for a moment?
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Confessions
Good Boy. Content Warning.
Howl. Go on! Howl all you want. The moon knows your scent and thinks your barking is lunacy. Did you say something?
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Poets
My Life as a Roadie
we road trip Virginia to North Carolina to Massachusetts to Pennsylvania to Oklahoma to Nebraska to Georgia to Alabama to Tennessee
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Beat
Foreclosure
red barn door stands open flapping against unforeseen forces graying beneath cold Virginia skies * a tattered corner of Dawn's blue-bird apron
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Poets
The Butcher's Daughter. Content Warning.
In the Payne's Grey night I fumble, fingering hot, Wet, squishy, sticky * How did these get here? None of these belongs to me--
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Poets
Final Act of Innocence
her cigarette smokes itself dry lingering like Sinatra in the ashtray evaporating sweet as memories of summer Saturdays
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Poets
Sailors' Dream
Saltwater batters the crag with great force Knowing of danger men set out to sea They started their journey bearing due north
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Poets
Waiting
I waited for my baby brother Aaron to get out of the Army —intelligence and engineering experience under his belt— so he could take care of those sweet-faced kids he’d fathered
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Poets
A Remembrance of Willow's
When last I held your trembling hand When last I knew your name We sat beside a windowsill Listening to the rain *
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Poets
Effervescence. Top Story - March 2024.
Gma shows me how to fold paper napkins, fives, and socks into the brown paper bags we bring to the park to leave for the forest of sleeping bags.
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Families
Jamaica
your inner tube floats slowly deflating gently warmed by the outstretched arms of a sun-soaked holiday your generous smile glistens
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Poets