Brynne Nelson

Joined March 2021

0 stories

Bio

I'm a writer. I'm a wife and a mom. I'm a human.

Stories (21/0)

Smooth as A
I rub my cheek gently against yours; Your skin is liquid silk. Is there such a thing? No fuzz but the tiny wisps left from inside the womb
By Brynne Nelson23 days ago in Poets
A Poem on Poems
From an early age, I've loved experimenting with poetic forms. Rhyming poems are especially fun. This structure, you may notice, follows a unique format:
By Brynne Nelson3 months ago in Poets
Old School Bus Magic
scene 1 OVER BLACK VALERIE (V.O.) Ms. Frizzle to Bus! Ms. Frizzle to Bus! Over! FADE IN In outer space, we move past the Earth to the edge of the solar system. A damaged-looking, rectangular-ish red starship is being piloted by a shadowy figure.
By Brynne Nelson3 months ago in Fiction
The Gold In Grief
In the face of the Denarhi, the fire demons, laughter is more powerful than a cudgel—more significant, even, than magic. By laughter, joy, hope, the Denarhi may be turned away. Both hew and hammer, destruction and creation, laughter is the very thread by which magic is woven. If the laugh is true, the Denarhi can burn, scorch, and scar, but never fully devour.
By Brynne Nelson4 months ago in Fiction
In the Name
“What do you mean, you ‘made a deal’? It sounds as though you bartered with my life, Mother!” As a prince, Kinsik was raised better than to shout, especially at the queen. He was well-versed in diplomatic discussion and the art of arbitration. He had been taught to control every impulse, every idea. Kinsik was—ordinarily—articulate, reasoned, patient, and calm. Quite capable of inheriting the crown his mother bore—which was good, as he’d be coronated in a week’s time.
By Brynne Nelson4 months ago in Fiction
Too Many Mattresses
For Tasha Who didn’t have to take me into her heart But seems to have done so anyhow It was a long, long way down. Nobody thinks about fifty downy mattresses being tall, but I am here to tell you—they are tall. I was way, way high up. Is it any wonder that I didn’t sleep? I’m absolutely petrified when it comes to heights!
By Brynne Nelson4 months ago in Fiction
Eyes of a Monster, Tears of a Man
I did not curse my godson as retribution. I cast it as his cure. He, Prince Liam, was beloved, but never satisfied; never fulfilled. He chased continual validation without weighing its worth. Moreover, he never held praise long enough to digest it. I watched, approaching alarm, as his body matured, but his heart decayed. I could not watch impotently while he worsened. A year before Liam’s coronation, I charted a harsher course.
By Brynne Nelson4 months ago in Fiction
The Finest in the Empire
Power is not always bestowed on the able or the wise. Instead, it is often the armament of those least qualified to wield it. I was once unacquainted with these truths.
By Brynne Nelson4 months ago in Fiction
Grandaddy
Dear Grandaddy, The night that you died was the first time I wrote a poem in a good four years. And, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I inherited my writing genes—
By Brynne Nelson8 months ago in Poets
Bullet Dodged
I've run the numbers at least a dozen times, And it always comes back to Prom. Junior year. (For me, that is.) Time lined up in sequence like dominoes, ready to collapse inexorably toward the wrong conculsion at the first misplaced touch.
By Brynne Nelson8 months ago in Poets
Tired Tender
To the tired tender to tinies, to tots: This, too, This teaching, this touching to take the terrors through the twilight,
By Brynne Nelson8 months ago in Poets
Top Story - December 2022
The Answer is "Antidepressants"Top Story - December 2022
I dreamt of cucumberous folks Who referred to each other as “blokes.” Yes British cucumbers, A townful I numbered. Such creative thoughts sleeping can coax!
By Brynne Nelson12 months ago in Poets