Short Story
Going Home
Going Home D. A. Ratliff I hadn’t planned on going there. Fate brought me to speak at a seminar in my home state, and the fact that I was only an hour’s drive from my old homestead gnawed at me. I tried to push it away, but the itch was there and needed attention.
By D. A. Ratliff5 years ago in Fiction
The Warning
Chimes tinkled gently in the breeze, and if you closed your eyes and listened, it might almost seem soothing, filling you with a longing for days long gone by. You might even remember idle summer days, playing outside in the fresh-scented grass or napping on the front porch with a cool glass of lemonade beside you, within easy reach.
By KL Marchowski5 years ago in Fiction
The Unfinished Hem
There was a noticeable frown emerging on her face that she tried to conceal. The sturdy scissors, with an orange handle, hung between her fingers then slid to the floor with a thump. Her shoulders slumped as she stared at the unfinished garment.
By Krystal Grant5 years ago in Fiction
The grass was always greener on this side
The warm breeze brushes the tall California Grass and a flock of seagulls gracefully fly by, guided by the sudden change of weather. The last solar eclipse made the seagulls hesitate about starting their migration south at the beginning of fall. They pretty much predicted the absence of food by calling the others in their flock with their screeching chilling calling while challenging the others for territory. Their heads lowering crouched up and down, like yelling at someone-their ‘mewing’ was not as often as before. Maybe the neighbours cat is around, they’re telling the others a threat is around lurking in between the bushes. I noticed in the distance, some other flocks of what I thought were more seagulls, were not.
By Chacha Jaramillo5 years ago in Fiction
Clouds of Smog.
The day started out like any other day, only it wasn't any other day. It was really far from any other day. Sure, the sun rose and the birds chirped but the sky was foggy and gray. You could see bits and pieces of ash drift through the air like rain. I should know, the roof of my house was gone. I could clearly see the not-so-clear sky directly above me as I gazed from my bedroom. Or, what used to be my bedroom...
By Vanessa R. Powell5 years ago in Fiction
A Stitch In Time
The dust jacket is light and comes off easily. I tuck it away, shaking fragments of the past on to ever creaking floorboards. The machine is revealed, resolutely white with vivacious red branding and violet-blue stitch patterns positioned underneath a green-eyed light. There are no cobwebs, but I blow anyway as though a firm well intentioned exhalation might release this tangled present from the grasping grey hands of a cloudy yesterday. It doesn't. Whether I bravely open my eyes or keep them naively shut, the past remains, weaving its shadow through today’s warp and weft.
By Racheblue Love5 years ago in Fiction
