Krista Palmer
Bio
Mover. Writer. Dreamer.
Stories (3)
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The Kick
I’m blaming the kick. You know, the sensation you get when you’re drifting into sleep. Where it feels like you’re falling, falling, falling. I looked it up. They’re called hypnic jerks—strong, involuntary contractions that can occur in that period between waking and sleeping. Like I said, I’m blaming the kick. Three of them tonight. And I don’t have another reason for why I am here, in another blasted vivid dream.
By Krista Palmer3 years ago in Fiction
The Wonders of Summer
For me, summer is a time of watermelons. Plump, juicy, tantalizing watermelons, whose flesh bursts in the mouth. Their arrival is a summer breeze—inviting, needed, cool. Red, luscious watermelon. Refreshing and sweet (and preferably seedless), they reign supreme.
By Krista Palmer4 years ago in Humans
Makara
2000 a.m. “There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Then again, there wasn’t always a valley, either. When Gaia was young, and Bahari’s waters had just begun to flow, the dragon brood favored the archipelagos and sea caves of the middle. Born under Nikini’s full splendor, from magma as it streamed into the sea, the dragons adored their rocky, volcanic homes and cherished the warm, salty water. There, the dragons swam, dined on fish, and slept beside glowing rivers of red, content for millennia. But as Bahari grew to maturity, as his water cut and shaped the land, the dragons grew curious. And as their molten home grew old, as each red river turned black, the dragons became restless. For they had heard the whispers of the fish. Had felt the tremors of the earth. Had tasted the truth in the water. And they wanted to see it for themselves. They wanted to see Gaia’s high peaked children and ached to feel the lush grass of her belly. They wanted to bathe in Bahari’s freshwater, taste the flesh of new fish.”
By Krista Palmer4 years ago in Fiction
