Short Story
The Strong Word
Studio lights permitted the viewer enough visual stimulation as a NASA engineer’s workspace. The producer, Latrell “Real Weight” Voight, looked black as root beer. He queued up a video of a documentary depicting the construction of a skyscraper in Wilmington, Delaware a few blocks away. The engineer, Argent “Clean Bill” Boggs, possessed the skin color of an oak tree.
By Skyler Saunders21 days ago in Fiction
What is Kept. Runner-Up in Craft Over Catharsis Challenge.
Spring First Visit She arrived in the early afternoon with her youngest daughter. They parked on the street, one house down from where they used to. The walk to the door was short and familiar, bordered by plants that had begun to recover unevenly from winter—some already green, others still brittle at the edges.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales21 days ago in Fiction
Bridges. Content Warning.
In preparation, my shadow crossed that bridge. A mission, a reconnaissance in a way. It was just a moment in time I could never forget; I mean who could and soon it will be in the distance. I mean it is life changing, life is always changing. Of all the things we have weaved and engineered in life as humans you would think we would have found a way to control the weather, disease, and each other by now. The snow piling up and the wind was strong blowing off the frozen fields. Across the street I watched from my bed the tombstones bracing the wind for days as the snow drifted in front of them, as if the bodies were under all that snow still waiting on the grounds first thaw. That gap between breath and silence briefly on hold, waiting peacefully for the storm to pass. I am sure the dead have somewhere to be, but what is the hurry now?
By Gerry Thibeault21 days ago in Fiction
9:52
by Leslie L. Stevens 9:52 PM. Jessica bounced into the kitchen like she owned it. Ponytail swinging, sneakers squeaking, still high off sixty bucks in tips and a full week of crushing it. Her tables were clean. Her section was empty. Her stomach was growling.
By Leslie L. Stevens Writer | Marfa, Texas22 days ago in Fiction
The Saloon Murders
It’s late in the evening. The cowboys and cowgirls are all in bed. A woman is sitting in the dark again. She is at her desk typing details in a letter. She doesn’t need the light to see what is being typed. She’s got it down to a science. She types it urgently as if it’s a matter between life and death. The typewriter dings with each return. She is frantic and determined to fix what this woman has done to the man she loves. In mid-sentence, the phone rings causing her to jump. She answers it.
By Meredith McLarty22 days ago in Fiction
