Every night, the summer air was like wine, but they drank wine anyway. And drunk on the wine, but mostly each other, they shared touches and kisses and scrapes from the shingles when they climbed up onto each other’s roofs so their parents wouldn’t find them.
In their later years, they try not to remember.
There will never be a straight path to where you want to go.
We meander and wade through the soundtrack of our lives
we might never get there.
I see you twisting your body round the desk as you,
write this, write me, write them away.
How many seconds did you
before considering your underlying regret?
Go straight, turn left and left again and still,
you might never get there.
What tethers us to this spot?
What unknowns have we buried, have we uncovered?
Today, I read that two scientists found fossils of a giant carnivore
and I wondered at their bones.
Did they rest easy?
Did they sprint?
Did they get to where they needed to go?
I give up too easily and talk too much to stay here.
So i turn round, head back and decided that
right here and now,
is where I needed to be.
In autumn, she feels at most peace. The trees in the forest are at their brightest in their dying – the reds, oranges, and yellows. Even the tans she can appreciate. Her hair turns a rust color. She begins preparing – sewing warmer clothes, making jerky, stockpiling wood. The wind whips the fallen leaves around the forest floor in colorful swirls. At night, the fire keeps her toasty warm. And on clear nights with no moon, the stars are at their brightest.
In winter, she finds it hard to be kind. Her hair pales to an icy white, and no one comes through the forest anymore. Most days, she stays inside her hut, trying to keep wa
We leave pieces of ourselves in the corners
Of bookshelves, stuck between the pages
And in the hand painted wooden bowl
Collecting dust and spare change.
My fingers grazed a fragment
When I saw a photograph of you today
And my lungs caught on the memory
Of the first words you said to me
Lingering like a ghost breath
In the soft curve of my earlobe.
(“Hi, mind if I ask you
I hid inside the rain to drown out
The sound. The wet grass stuck to my toes
And the droplets rolled down
Over the shirt that my mom told me
Makes me look like I’ve got a chip on my shoulder.
(She thought her rebel was a princess
My mother used to work as a nurse in the Air Force, many years ago, and early on in her career she got stationed at a base hospital overseas. Although the hospital had been in operation for over a century, more than half of the original building was less than half that age when my mother went to work there. Bombings during some past war had torn the place apart, creating a clear division between the old and the new.
The new sections of the hospital, for example, had well-lit hallways, smooth tiled floors, and the latest medical equipment.
Meanwhile, the older sections of the hospital… held shadows from the past.
My mother heard about
I never knew the numbers that consumed you. You calculated pounds and sizes and calories in the silence of your head, and by the time I realised what you were doing the habit was rooted as deeply as your bones.
I offered you silent support, because I had nothing more to give you, and because it was the best I’d ever had from you. It was far too late when I learned you needed more than silence. Far too often, I’d missed my chance to speak: because I was slow to see what was happening, slow to hear your cries for help; because I thought you must know best, as always; because I was afraid to misstep, to overstep, to risk your ire; a
In the middle of the circus stands a little tent with constellations floating up the sides. Inside you find, on the cloth covered table next to little cushioned chair, a dome shaped box embellished with six golden suns.
As you press them in the exact right order, the latch clicks, and you are rewarded. The room fills with a mysterious smoke while the lid opens in a painfully slow arch, and just as the anticipation threatens to consume you whole, a letter with your name on it is revealed.
“Congratulations!” it says inside. “You've won a free game of skeeball!”
“Let ElfCon 2019 begin!” cried Legolas, raising the Horn of Gondor high above his head.
He then lowered the instrument to his lips and began to quaff Tesco own-brand prosecco from it.
“Chug! Chug! Chug!” chanted Snap, Crackle, and Pop, each waving a tiny stein.
All around the Mercian Suite of the Birmingham Conference and Events Centre, hundreds of elves (and one very enthusiastic Will Ferrell) gathered to swap shoemaking anecdotes and archery lifehacks. Drizzt Do’Urden was available for autographs, and The North Pole Workers’ Union had as strong a presence as ever. A good time was had by
Welcome to Flash Fiction Month, day 13.
It's here, and you made it! To celebrate, we need to time travel a little bit. Hold your hats, and please keep all fingers and toes in the time machine for safety. Or don't, depending on your expected results.
Flash Fiction Month is about writing – and posting – a story between 55-1000 words in length every day during July. Each day we'll upload a deviation where you can post your story for the day, with optional prompts, themes, and the occasional challenge.
Once a week or thereabouts, we’ll be giving you a fiendishly difficult and unpleasant challenge; a task so evil
I’ve seen a woman:
I’ve seen a woman with hurting eyes and the warmest smile
That gave me a preview into who I wanted to be—
Strong and willful in the harshest of times.
I’ve seen a woman:
Who always fed an army of seven hectic little ones and herself.
Whose stressed face inspired a 12-year old to hustle candy at school.
Who whupped disrespectful youth; Who gave the confused clarification.
Who cared for strangers in cold, white, secluded rooms.
Who gave the perfect pep talk in those I-can’t-go-on-situations.
Who was fruitless but more of a momma than actual birthers.
Who gained superman-like strength to
Alette bounced with impatience and tucked on her mother's sleeve. "Can I go to bed yet? Can I? It's almost half past eight. Can I go to bed? It's my bedtime. I wanna go to bed. I WANNA GO TO BEEEED! MO-OOOM!"
Finally her mother gave up on the bills and looked down at the six-year-old girl, who crossed her arms and returned the look reproachfully.
"It's my bedtime," Alette repeated, scolding her mother for not paying attention to the hour.
Trying not to chuckle at the scowl her daughter gave her, she got up and nodded, "You're right. Did you brush your teeth?"
Alette bared her teeth and tilted her head u