Christy Munson
Bio
My words expose what I find real and worth exploring.
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Stories (177/0)
Dance Card
You arrive. You arrive jostling solemnity and silence, balancing reticence and resolve, looking lovely and lonely. I listen to your thoughts. Careful now, you think, lest eternity's tenants wake and all Hell breaks loose. I grin. You do still think of me from time to time.
By Christy Munson7 days ago in Fiction
Waterlily
There's a toad in my dream. There's always a toad. Stone still. He ignores the impertinence of nothingness. He sits. Silent. Bug-eyed and blank-faced. Sat upon a pristine lily pad. In my pond. In my backyard. Unaware, unconcerned, that I call this haunted acre home.
By Christy Munson9 days ago in Fiction
The Painted Nail
Small bottles rattle, so she places them gently into her lab coat's pockets wrapped inside thin swaths of cotton mesh. Her aging femme fatale face reveals her plans, were anyone in the lab to catch her just now. But she's alone. Alone with her thoughts, and the lab's sterile equipment, and all these panels, gadgets and dials.
By Christy Munson10 days ago in Fiction