Who knows why the black cat walked in front of us for two miles, occasionally looking back.
Not my cat, not yours. Just a black cat, late night walking down a three mile track.
And that disappearing trick with a mile still to go.
Eileen Carney Hulme lives in the North of Scotland. She has three full poetry collections published. See more at eileencarneyhulme.org.uk.
She contemplated the fork. She’d seen the golden path a thousand times; the dark path, never before.
Ahead of her, the growl of a predator she didn’t know.
Behind her, the cry of a predator she did. “Baby, don’t be this way.”
She turned onto the dark path, and ran.
Claire Bartlett lives in Copenhagen, where she writes from her enchanted forest apartment.
The massive doors latched behind her nearly closing on the white satin train. Her hands shook as she clasped the lilies to her breast.
She began the long slow walk into her new life with eyes downcast.
The lilies fell as she raised her eyes and wondered: Who is he?
Pat is a retired teacher who spent 20 years trying to convince 13-year-olds that algebra is valuable.
I was sea swimming when something bruised my leg. I didn’t look down because anything was possible. Rip-tide, shark, dolphin, fish, fingers of seaweed fisting something, driftwood and on and on. My mind could make it anything I thought.
Juggling nightmares and magic, I brushed it off and swam on.
Having escaped from marketing, Jacquie Wyatt writes poetry, flash fiction and novels. She was second in the Write Invite league in 2014 and a Flash Flood author 2012. Two of her poems have just been accepted by DawnTreader.