Stream of Consciousness
The Forest of the Forgotten
Amnity sat on the old tree stump. Her face was gentle and fair against the light blue and orange hue that engulfed the early morning hours surrounding her friendly metaphysical shop when I came walking up. Amnity had her nose deep in her white oak magic book with the golden-rimmed sheets of paper, and she was reading from it calmly. Crickets broke the silence, but not her attention as she read.
By Parsley Rose 5 months ago in Fiction
something is wrong here
I sit by the window. I’ve opened it a crack, gentle breeze caressing the curtains. I’ve already assessed the view outside—it is not the problem. Not the thing that is making me itch in an untouchable discomfort. An intangible minute difference.
By Raine Neal5 months ago in Fiction
A good laugh. Runner-Up in The Shape of the Thing Challenge.
Not so long ago, new and overly exuberant neighbors moved in a couple of houses over. Normally, the neighborhood is a maddeningly quiet place. Makes you feel sometimes that no one actually lives here. Even the young ones keep it pretty decently discreet, a few F words here and there, yelled to feel their Moxy - to say "we are arriving world', see, we can cuss too".
By Novel Allen5 months ago in Fiction
