Short Story
Mibs and Boulders
Using our meager allowance money, we bought small packets from the store and sorted them into colors: blues, greens, yellows, reds, oranges, and whites. Some were multicolored, and I turned them repeatedly in the sun, peering closely as if into a gazing ball. Kept safely in their small drawstring pouch, they clacked together in our pockets as we walked or ran to meet up and play marbles.
By Andrea Corwin 2 years ago in Fiction
Midnight Sun. Runner-up in Summer Solstice Challenge.
My dog trots happily behind my boyfriend, occasionally looking back to make sure I haven’t been separated from the pack. Midnight is only minutes away, and as usual, we’re running late. For the first time in over fifty years, the entire town is gathering by the river to honor and celebrate the summer solstice. That may sound impressive, but the reality is that there are barely 2,000 residents in the small town of Girdwood, which makes for a close-knit (granted, sometimes too close) community. People are bound to gossip if we are late, but I don’t care. The sky is too beautiful. People wonder how Alaskans can tolerate such long, harsh winters— for them, not even a summer of endless daylight can justify nine months of darkness. But these people have never witnessed snow-capped mountains kissing white clouds in a cool blue sky in the middle of the night. I breathe in deeply. The air smells like the rainforest—crisp, green, and invigorating. And the sounds: river rushing, birds chirping, twigs snapping beneath my feet. Everything is alive. My dog stops in the middle of the path again, looking back impatiently. I catch up with her and my boyfriend, who is used to my trailing behind; understanding my need for walking in the woods to be a moving meditation.
By Marti Maley2 years ago in Fiction
Solstice Spell
It is the longest day of 2024, June 20th, in the northern hemisphere and, unexpectedly, I am back again on this small island, long ago called Taystayic, and now inhabited by painters, artists, musicians, natural lovers, and spiritual people. Among them, my beloved white headed-wrapped Kundalini yoga teachers.
By Laura Rodben2 years ago in Fiction
An Uprising Begins
Elden's favorite part of the Desivion rite of passage ritual was when they tossed the shell into the Well with their prayers for the return of the Gods of the Desivian Sea's love for each other and then the participants all formed a circle and held hands and sang their prayers. The families of those receiving their Desivion Ceremony also formed a circle, behind theirs, and joined in the songs – teaching them, really, as they had not been taught outside of the home since before he could remember.
By Gabrielle R. Lamontagne2 years ago in Fiction
Driftwood People. Runner-up in Summer Solstice Challenge. Top Story - July 2024.
Forever they roam Those people lost Without a home Misunderstood Discard like Driftwood Frederick held tight to the thin wood clenched in his fist. The cataracts blinded much of his vision these days, but he wanted to come, had to see for himself the charade to take place on this day, the longest of the year. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he watched his fellow churchgoing townsfolk dismantle the latest camp of homeless from the park. Center Park with its flags still flying around the statue of the Union Soldier from Memorial Day. Where every year the gazebo held the town Christmas tree for carolers and family photos.
By C. H. Richard2 years ago in Fiction
Dog Star. Runner-up in Summer Solstice Challenge.
“So when are we supposed to start?” Roger Gibbs asked. The two men sat on the hill overlooking St. Luke’s Methodist church. From up here, Bill Whitt could see just how bad the steeple was getting. Reverend Marino did his best to repair what he could, and the flock helped, but the church had been here since 1802. Aside from the primordial tree near the eastern limits, St. Luke's was the oldest thing still standing in the town; one of the oldest Methodist churches in the country. That made repairs impossible even with coffers overflowing, and Big Root, Tennessee's coffers hadn't overflowed since before World War 2. He looked at the sky, then at Roger.
By caleb paschall2 years ago in Fiction
The Jumps
"You want to...what at the Callanish Stones?" Katherine was fairly sure she hadn't heard her best friend properly. There was no actual way that was allowed, and Isla was usually the kind of girl who read school policy documents when they were handed out at assembly.
By TheSpinstress 2 years ago in Fiction
Me and the Misses
You don’t judge us and we won’t judge you, son. You are just passing through and probably want to know more about this place… As I said, my wife and I have lived here all our lives and this place has its ways that some folks might find downright strange and weird, but…we ain’t changing for anyone.
By Kendall Defoe 2 years ago in Fiction
