Kristen Balyeat
Bio
Words fly to me on the wind, bump into me as I'm strolling the city, splash me in the face while I rest by the river, and shake me awake in the middle of the night– I’m humbly one of the many vessels they use to come to life.
Stories (124/0)
Dr. Harold B. Frog, Psychiatrist: Therapy is in Session
Harold is a stickler for routine and begins every day the exact same way; sunrise toad-chi in the park followed by an intense game of leap with his personal trainer. After a hot shower, he reads the Amphibian Times at his kitchen table over a swamp latte and bowl of Locusts & Oats. Then he dresses in his crisp, freshly ironed collared shirt, neatly tucked under his favorite sweater vest, and walks down his circular staircase through the french doors to his home office. Sitting at his desk, he checks his schedule for the day.
By Kristen Balyeatabout a year ago in Fiction
Nova | Dragon Seeker
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Every time I see it, I'm reminded of the story my mom tells about my birth under this same magical display; coming into the world with purpose, at midnight on the dot. Tonight each cloud seems to have its own rhythm, swirling through the atmosphere. I’m running through a forest of giant pines, as beautiful as I remember them. They tower over me like dark guardians, piercing the lavender sky as their sappy perfume fills my senses. The breeze is cool and envelops me with a chill that tells a story of how it grazed the icy peaks above before it touched my skin. I waltz through a meadow of wildflowers, they sway with me as I dance to the song of the birds. My bare feet feel every fallen needle, every pinecone, every rock. The bears wake from their hibernation and saunter through the field alongside me, relaxing in the fresh sprouts of new grass. Spring snow falls from the plumb-colored sky and covers us with a blanket knit of violet ice crystals. I’m refreshed, grateful for its beautiful softness that creates a hush over the land. I run to the river laughing and singing as I jump into the frigid water, the moon reflected in the currents. I try to catch the moon but it escapes me every time. Peering up through the trees, I watch the lavender clouds rushing through the sky as though they are chasing a dream… I hold on to the magic of this moment with all my might. I don’t want to leave…
By Kristen Balyeatabout a year ago in Fiction
Ripple
One pebble in a pond creates a small splash and an endless ripple.
By Kristen Balyeatabout a year ago in Poets
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