Meagan Dion
Bio
Hi, my name is Meagan. I am a mom to four kiddos whom I homeschool. I am also a glassblower, creator, and writer. I aspire to finish and publish my memoir, but it's going to take a lot of time and coffee. Coffee is a verb, do you coffee?
Achievements (7)
Stories (59)
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The Case of the Lost Letter
On a gloomy eve, Mack Jones sat at an oak desk, feet up, gum on the bottom of black dress shoes. For a short moment he was alone and at peace. That was before Sally abruptly swung open the door to announce the presence of a new case.
By Meagan Dionabout a year ago in Fiction
New Beginnings
Adler sits on the general store's weathered bench and peers out at the barren terrain. Not long ago the land was lush and vibrant, the soil was soft and rich. Now the sun has the town in a choke hold. Its brazenly baked it to dust, which Adler watches blow across the street with a clump of dried up brush. He raises his sweating Coke bottle to his lips in an attempt to push the troubles away. That crisp sip is cool, and fresh. It is, even for just a moment, a reminder of things that once were. Adler breathes in that moment and breathes out into reality. Knowing once again, the truth of things.
By Meagan Dion2 years ago in Fiction
Little Things
A friend just went through a terrible tragedy. Their daughter experienced a freak accident and at the tender age of six she passed away. My heart has been heavy for them for several days and my mind consumed with praying for them. Thankfully, even despite this pain, they have a faith to hold on to, something their daughter had as well. This poem is inspired by a conversation I had with my youngest child on the morning I heard the news.
By Meagan Dion2 years ago in Poets
The Clock . Top Story - June 2024.
I'm standing in an ornate room, unable to account for how I got here. My gaze is fixed on the chiming grandfather clock in the corner. “Bong, bong, bong.” All at once I become aware of three things; I know this house, I’ve got to find the box, and time is slipping.
By Meagan Dion2 years ago in Fiction
Crumbling Sands
That night, Johnny and Quinn celebrated a year together by dinning at the fanciest restaurant on the coast of Maine, followed by a chilly walk on the beach at sunset. The sky was alive with glowing swaths of amber, rouge, and tangerine, warming the otherwise brisk landscape. The ocean waves swelled and tossed themselves to the sandy shore while Quinn had stared into Johnny's deep blue eyes. She had bristled against the chill in the salty sea air so Johnny had pulled off his faded black suit jacket and offered it to her. What a gentleman.
By Meagan Dion2 years ago in Humans
