I confront curiosity’s curse daily. Shrubs rustle and I sense faraway beasts. At midnight, I hear the wolves’ distant howls. I wonder what it’s like to be—not live—with the wild. But I resist temptations to go and see. Nature knows I’ve settled here; its citizens acknowledge my space.
Cristina Marie Pagan is a Hispanic writer from North Carolina. Her poetry has appeared in Glimpse and the Mystic Blue Review. She’s also the former cover artist of Seshat Literary Magazine.
Starlight city nestling inland
Where Magic is humming
And Mystery glows
Interwoven between threaded crossed lines
At each end is a watcher
A tall figurine
Stop centrally now, take care with your step
Yes, just there, on that same pinprick where
Stand the Artists who painted
The wild silken road.
Peter Li-ping lives far from the Silk Road but it’s always with him.
The stench, overpowering. Trash, furniture, newspapers piled to the ceiling. Cats everywhere, alive and dead, some scooting through holes in the screen doors.
We held our noses, bought rock-bottom, sandblasted until the smells were gone, subdivided the lot into three, made a killing as the cats watched, waiting their turn.
Jim Doss has published two books of poems: Learning to Talk Again and What Remains. He also published a book of German translations entitled The Last Gold of Expired Stars: The Complete Poems of Georg Trakl 1908 – 1914. In his spare time, he is an editor for the Loch Raven Review.
Nobody saw the tree coming.
The great trunk ruptured the sun-blasted concrete, folding the collapsing buildings into itself as it expanded. Roots burrowed through underground railways, branches pierced the brittle glass of windows, and asphalt flowers blossomed in the air.
The city was abandoned overnight.
Tourists returned only cautiously.
William Shaw is a student, blogger, and amateur journalist. He is fearful and respectful of all trees. You can find him on Tumblr, where he writes haiku poetry about Doctor Who, and on Twitter.
People pass; most don’t notice my existence.
I lived through two world wars, bearing witness to horrors. I harmed no one.
Yet they want me gone.
They come to end my life. I hear the saws, suffer the cuts in my trunk. Soon I will fall.
They call it progress.
Lynne North writes humorous fantasy novels for children. She decided it was time she tried something else…
Where cars once drove there is now wilderness, overrun with animals who never used to call this place their home.
The buildings now serve as monuments for a great society forgotten in time.
He stares across the city and listens to it speak, with the realization he is truly alone.
Adam Randall has previously been featured on 50-word stories, and hopes to one day complete some great masterpiece. He just needs to figure out just what that might be.