Christy Munson
Bio
My words expose what I find real and worth exploring.
Top Stories: 🥳
Unofficial Challenge Winners:
Stories (171/0)
Rain
Rain pelts your windows, smudging panes, making what's familiar look a masquerade. Single-minded droplets streak single file toward your soggy soil, but they'll find no answers here. Nothing's planted. What grows here was kin, and our time here has reached its end.
By Christy Munson26 days ago in Fiction
Starting Line
____________________ You wince, conceding this one race. My first victory in 20 outings against you. I'd celebrate with a victory lap, punching arms overhead with happy fists, dancing my best Rocky Balboa up the crunchy hills like grassy Philly stairs, but I'm too winded.
By Christy Munson27 days ago in Fiction
Until We Meet Again
____________________________ Sunset strokes its golden fingers across the misty isle, sweet an soft as fae fingers meltin intae sommery hand-spun vanilla ice cream on a blà th grianach day. As a fae, A cannot be caucht doin such a thin, runnin ma fingers intae frosty cauld desserts. But thon's no the point. Whit's important is sundoon's gone golden i the hichlands! The low poke o gray an dreary is trapped beneath layers o blissful sunlicht. Dae ye know whit this means? Ryan moment's nere at hand. True love will find the bonnie lass! An forevermore, she'll recount the day for its perfect. Gather round. Quiet now an listen i. Discover whit unfolds wi a gentle nudge from the fae, bi which A mean me. Gin awthing goes tae plan, A'll graduate tae fou fledgit fae godmother bi mornin!
By Christy Munson28 days ago in Fiction
- Top Story - April 2024
Reaching OutTop Story - April 2024
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munsonabout a month ago in Fiction