Short Story
The Willow. Top Story - March 2024.
We never spoke to those identified as human. I watched, silently, as many selected my brothers to cull. We watched their amorous youths carve words into our bark. We screamed as fire burned our waists, heating and crackling our sap. We watch as their children gather our fallen branches to make games. We watch as some pick up stone and our seeds to keep. Every now and then, we whisper, making them listen as wind drifts through our leaves and needles, hearing our warnings of the woods.
By Jennisea Standing Rock3 years ago in Fiction
Willa's Wedding
Today was the day—the day of Willa’s dream wedding. Everything was as she had envisioned it when she was a child, as she had planned since the sixth grade. Even the person she was marrying was who she fantasized about all these years, which sent shivers down her spine.
By Mother Combs3 years ago in Fiction
Viridescent
They reckoned us children when they found us. Twins. I laughed when I learned what the word meant. They had no idea of our ages, and thought us womb-grown at the same time. My brother was older, although always small and sickly. And of course, we weren't grown in a womb at all.
By L.C. Schäfer3 years ago in Fiction
They Called It The Ice Bowl
This story was originally published on Medium. ************** They’re calling it the Ice Bowl, and it is already exciting, just barely into the second quarter. Sam is enjoying hanging out with his friends, he feels he needs to really savor these times. They can’t always all get together what with school schedules, work schedules, distance between them for eight months out of the year. This is a time where they really need to relish…
By Stephen Kramer Avitabile3 years ago in Fiction
Why I Fell In Love with You...
The first thing I fell in love with was your red hair. I mean it is the first thing you notice without a doubt but I have a heritage in Ireland and Scotland and am deeply attracted to red hair so your beautiful red hair and your goatee drew me in. It was almost brighter than the sun itself. I just love hair on a man. There is something truly primal about it. The second thing was when you looked at me I felt like I was in my ancestor's shoes looking out at the great blue ocean that carried us all to America. Your eyes are so blue that one could seriously swim in them. And speaking of primal, when you spoke your voice had a deep, husky sound to it but not so deep that it couldn't have a soft edge to it. It could be both at the same time and it was truly a God thing your voice. The first time that we held hands I knew that everything would be okay. Your hand was soft in the center but rough around the edges. It takes me back for a moment to my great-grandfather's hands. He, too, had red hair. To be honest, I've searched my whole life for a man with hands like my Papa. He had rough hands from hard work. You see, he worked with wood, vehicles, metal, and anything that needed fixing on his farm. At the same time, he could also tend the earth with a gentle soft touch or wipe a child's tear away with a gentle swipe of the finger. My grandma always taught me that you could tell a lot about a man just from his hands. I never forgot that lesson. At that moment we held hands, I felt everything I had been lacking in a relationship before that moment suddenly fell away. None of it mattered anymore.
By Lindsey Altom3 years ago in Fiction
