Monique Hardt is a longtime lover of the fantastical and the impossible, crafting works of both poetry and fictional prose. She began writing books at the age of ten and has been diligently practicing her craft ever since.
She killed four people before we knew where she was. Ray, Dad, Aunt Theresa, and Bo fell lifeless into the mud. I stood my ground; Nate, Val, and Garth dropped, running for cover. The direction in which their bodies fell gave me a good idea of her location.
- Top Story - September 2023
The Sun and the MoonTop Story - September 2023
I want to shine. I want to be important. I want to be you. But you are a gleaming star, and I am a moon doomed to reflect you. I shine only with the light you gave me. Your heart, my veins; your mind, my skull; your smile, my dimples.
The Sakura Tree
They decided to sing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. That way, Grandpa Tom, whom I’d never met before today, could sing too. He was once in a barbershop quartet; she told Grandpa Tom they’d follow his lead, Natalie on fiddle and Melissa echoing his deep, base-like voice with a crystal-clear high-tune.