Love
Something Extraordinary
Naomi could feel nothing extraordinary as she curled a hand against the delicate skin beneath her bellybutton. She was hoping for a miracle, a sign that might help make the decision for her. But there were no miracles beneath her palm. Choices still hovered over her, expanding like wet cotton, filling every space of the waiting room with their presence until it was hard to breathe.
By Kemari Howell4 years ago in Fiction
Why Waste Good Beer?
Why Waste Good Beer? Sometimes, for no apparent reason and completely without warning, a picture comes into my mind. I am reading a book, The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and suddenly, I see myself from above, the ceiling perhaps, in my granny glasses, reading out loud to George. We are both quite grey. I am kneeling on the carpet by his slippered feet and I place my head on his lap and I feel his broad hand stroking my hair so gently and with such affection, that I want to cry. But it is not real. And I awake from the daydream with a start, several paragraphs down the page, Robert Louis Stevenson’s words quite lost to me, even though his writing is flawless.
By Janice Garden Macdonald4 years ago in Fiction
Where Tomorrow Begins
I knew her while I was still in my adolescent years, lacking any concrete motivations or the will to express any of my true desires. However, I will be the first to mention my hazy interest in seeing what she would look like as the years passed and her face started to age soft features into ones of maturity. I still had no idea what that feeling was, or what I wanted to do with it. Amidst the changes to everything about my life; my body, my face, and my sexual urges - all of it seemed to revolve around the one consistent thing in my life, Claire. We kissed once...It was after one of those poorly put together end-of-the-year festivals during our junior high years, but I remember it so vividly.
By Adonis Rosemont4 years ago in Fiction
The Pair Tree
The sun rises lazily up and over the morning horizon, dewy grass aflame with its orange and yellow reflections, the lake glistening in the early morning light, wisps of steam rising from its surface. A hollow log echoes the songs of a matched pair of frogs, their voices joining with the crickets and songbirds to create a morning concerto. The fragrance of honeysuckle perfumes the heavy, early morning air.
By Chris Weppler 4 years ago in Fiction
Elena's dilemma | A struggling Miami artist finds her inspiration in a $1 bargain painting
“Who on earth would buy this?” I thought while rummaging through a stack of old paintings. I worked in this thrift store myself as a cashier for the last three months in a desperate attempt to make rent money.
By Irina Patterson4 years ago in Fiction
An Alternative Beginning
The morning sun kissed their naked bodies, gently baking their soft skin, as they enjoyed the last of their sleep underneath the blossom. Eve awoke first. She sat up, yawned, and stretched her arms high above her head. She must have jostled Adam in the process, for he was not far behind, dragging his mind from his dreamworld into their reality.
By Lloyd Blunden4 years ago in Fiction
