-Manhattan Blues- There is an old woman Singing blues There is an old man Buying her wine He says: "she sings like an angel,” She says: "but I have green eyes, And I cannot fly, though I tried"

Scuffed “Most likely to kill someone,” Brody reads. Flinches. He unfurls his fists, stares at the words: shiny, in Caren’s glittery purple pen. Caren watches him from under the halo of golden hair, cat-eyes

Shades of White Partly cloudy, basically drizzle The weather is stuck in routine Yet another holiday season advertisement Swoons from the screen Parenthetical promise of snow Is thinly felt through the

Mango's Last Dance The water moved all wrong or rather, it didn’t move. Neil got down on his belly, ignoring the dirt and the sharp pricks from dried pinecones and branches, and crawled closer to the still,

Wind's Rainbow The small human smelled like rainbows and dry grass and mud. The first time, it came so close to the hard things that kept him away from all those smells that he could have touched her with

You know you were very little but not very small. You know this because you weren't wearing very much, and your naked belly had folds in it, and the sweat that collected there tickled unpleasantly, and

This is for a writing competition hosted by @kyrios. You can see the post and the prompt HERE For any writers out there - you have till September 15th to enter, and if you're into fantasy at all, the prompt

If you live in Florida, there was a distinct moment when Irma turned from just another hurricane to something much more menacing, a one of a kind storm. The images of the storm on our screens were enough

This is an entry for Fictioneers Writing Contest Arctic Imaginings You are the first to hear it, the faint wail of the wind, hollow, and tinny, the wrong note on a french horn, and you know, can tell somehow

This if for Plain Mike's Writing Challenge. The prompt was this illustration by @svdsdragunov. I thought it was a very cool piece of art. Title of the art - The Forgotten One. I hear them shuffling out

This is a contest entry for A Wish... And so it seems this quest will end With both, a bang and a whimper The latter likely mine I take another stealthy breath That poor soul, pinned down to my left If

I stumbled on this network doing something work related. Work is drafting narratives for businesses, marketing copy and all the other cringe worthy things we generally think of when it comes to 'ad people'.

This is an entry for THE WAITING It’s the waiting that kills you Your skin, now healed, tingles From an adrenaline dump You recall in a microsecond The right kind of look To intimidate. But you can’t see

This if for a Color Challenge hosted by @kalemandra. Somewhere in California....

note: this is for an Art Prompt Writing Contest Word count including title: 987 ( The first time I flew on an airplane, I threw up. We were jammed like the proverbial sardines inside a Tupolev something

Light, you think, is a fragile thing, a rare, breakable thing, something that you are so very lucky to hold for the few hours each day when the sun finally rises slightly higher than the line of the horizon,

Here is a link to PART 1 Prologue ONE Calton The guards were whispering and Calton found it strange they felt they had to keep secrets from them. There were no secrets left. Not today. He found it stranger

First, a quick note: this is a work in progress, and definitely not for everybody. It's YA/Fantasy, where chapters are told from different POV's, so if that seems like too much trouble - you won't enjoy

There is a painting of a crooked tree An empty page, a glove, a drop of blood, A slender hand, a mirror, cup of tea The smell of winter, And the lack of stars Which brings me to this city To my room: It

Hi all. I'm a writer. Feel like it's the only damn thing I've ever done that I was any good at, though I do know how subjective it is. I've just always sucked at everything else. I think stories truly