Just Itching, No Dance
Next time try ants.
One day I went to visit my aunts,
Who squirmed with itchiness in their pants.
I asked one of them why
And she replied with a sigh,
“We thought itching powder would help us dance.”
About the Creator
Patricia Magdalena Redlin
Writes short stories, novels + memoirs.
Ethnicity: American-Mexican.
Degrees: BA French + MBA-IM.
Languages: Spanish/German/French/Italian.
Professional experience: Includes marketing + project management. Freelance translator since 2011.
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Ski Slope
We drove across this guy’s ski hill twice and pretty much ruined it, but it really wasn’t our fault. We had driven into this little town in the Alps somewhere in Austria to go skiing the next day on one of the huge glaciers they had set up as a ski resort. There wasn’t much snow that winter but the glaciers still had enough at the tops to get some skiing done. You had to walk down the rest of the mountain from halfway down, unless you wanted to scrape your skis to pieces on the dirt and rocks, but that was okay. At least we were skiing the Alps.
By Patricia Magdalena Redlin2 years ago in Fiction
Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor7 days ago in Fiction
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