Location: empowering laguna
Where you can see the world.
A beauty resembling
a beach of the past.
Powerful pops pulsate past the timberline.
Banjos sound on a stranger’s radio.
In their tent, light above shakes,
Bobs,
With the slowly
Stilling momentum borne from
Love, that vibrant lightness,
Those lavender fingers.
J. of Newark is a custodian at his local library and writes fiction for fun.
The story of the week for July 18 to 22 is…
Once, and Forever by Angela Brett
Angela gets us inside the character’s head and implies a deep, rich story from the character’s own perspective. That’s a great accomplishment, and very difficult to do in this format.
Afterwards they rose to meteors scribing violet and crimson arcs across the sky.
“Too beautiful,” she said.
“Near the end, when the halo ice burns, we’ll see fire falls.”
Later, she whispered, “We’re still fabulous together.”
“Never better,” he agreed.
Together, they watched the night become the incandescence of extinction.
Jack Kogut is a mostly professional engineer and mostly amateur scribbler of mostly fiction.
One thousand nine hundred steps to the top.
The food poisoning from the night before writhed within her stomach. After four days of hiking, she was determined to see the sunrise at the summit. She hurled twice, on step 949 and step 1,245.
The glory of step 1,900 was unmatched.
Jennifer Masson wrote this story.
Jaden was unimpressed. The occult museum wasn’t even scary as Gramma’s basement. He rolled his eyes at a doll slumped in a cage.
Hannah kept still. She’d waited a long time. She’d prefer a girl, but the boy would do.
Hannah blinked her doll eyes. The little boy was hers.
L.L. Madrid has always wondered about dolls.
I held my whiskey and listened to the sound of melting ice fill the silence of my lonely apartment.
Cracking the window, I watched a mother bird fight thistle and thorn to find food for her babies in the harsh storm, still singing.
Maybe, I thought, things weren’t so bad.
Adam has had his stories and poetry published in numerous online and print publications. To find out more, follow him on Twitter.
The fire raged in the downtown office block.
Flames danced angrily, a seething mass of hatred,
Ruthlessly punishing with every inch they consumed.
From a distance, he watched his handiwork.
The fire raged within him. Still.
White hot and all encompassing
Equally violent, fuelling the next part of his revenge.
From the North West of England, Jon works in local government, with a background in newspaper journalism. He is currently enjoying experimenting with short forms of writing, likes to think he can do so creatively, and quite often has to delete everything he has written and start again.
I still know I was mortal once.
I don’t remember what I did to deserve this. Something terrible? Something good? A wish? A curse? Anything that goes on long enough becomes torture. Any certainty clung to for eternity eventually slips away… Or does it?
I think I was mortal once.
Angela Brett is a mathematician and linguist by training, programmer by trade, and writer by neglecting everything else. She writes at angelastic.com
I’m in the shadows, the one you rarely notice. I provide security. Occasionally I whack a guy. I don’t ask questions. That’s part of the deal.
But my employer has crossed too many lines. I may lose my life, but I must save my soul.
One shot. Bam.
I’m unemployed.
Kevin Myers submitted this story from an undisclosed location. Okay, you win, it’s Ohio.
Brass blazed, strings sang, and timpani boomed the finale to Venet’s Concerto, but when the orchestra lulled for the star instrument, there was silence.
The xylophone player lay unconscious under a fallen stage light.
“Don’t move him,” said the conductor. “He might have percussion.”
Not even the piccolo player laughed.
E. M. Eastick is an Australian writer currently living in Colorado.