How our minds work. How we relate to others and our world.
People are fascinating, There are stories everywhere.
Personal essay. Poetry. Fiction.
I'm putting it all out there here. Let's see where it goes.
They had procured, in advance of the birth, a good fairy godmother, one of the best. Nothing could exceed what the heir to the benevolent throne deserved. But the Monster had grown so strong. And no one had expected twins. At least not the king, or the queen, or their court. If Saebeth had suspected she did not say. By the time they were aware, it was too late, the prince arriving before the princess gathered the breath to voice her first cry.
Emily Dickinson said hope is the thing with feathers that never asked a crumb of her. It was not that for me when I realized I wouldn't end my life. My experience of almost unbearably heavy hope is where my story “The Water is Where” ended up, but that’s not where it started.
The Water is Where
Her breath fogged the glass. But what did it matter? The landscape was as dull and colorless as the clouded pane. A sunless January thaw. Crisp white snowdrifts softened and sodden. The world sagged like the flesh on her cheeks, along her jaw, around her eyes.