Prose
Buried in the Holler. Runner-Up in After It’s Gone Challenge.
Time falters and the rhythm of the holler unravels, and every legend must be redrawn. What was once a reliable peak has surrendered to the valley. A mother’s passing is a slow erosion of the foundation that held our world in place, leaving us to study the silence, a new law governing the atmosphere. The heavy stillness is a presence, lingering in the spaces mother once filled.
By Tim Carmichael7 months ago in Poets
Sweetie Bird’s Beak-Moving Blues
Introduction: Sweetie Bird’s Beak-Moving Blues By Vicki Lawana Trusselli "I’ve heard the whispers in the writer's groups. I’ve seen the headlines. According to the internet, AI is currently busy plotting a global takeover while simultaneously stealing our creative souls. It’s a great script for a sci-fi thriller and having worked in the film industry, I know a good plot when I see one.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 7 months ago in Poets
Alone in a Dream
Hey, you. I wanted to let you know that I heard your cry. I listened and I understood. I hear you. Sometimes I like to think about my place in the universe, and I close my eyes and I imagine that whatever it is that makes myself me, body and soul, is a single atom amongst the infinite fabric of space and time.
By Amos Glade7 months ago in Poets
A Day In The Life
T otal fear grips me in the darkness R emember, I must be quiet A lone in this cell, is it days or weeks? F ear grips me, makes me tremble F reedom, lost forever; no one will find me I don't know if anyone's even searching C ollar and chain tether me, offering no leeway K ept drugged, imprisoned, enslaved, for later use E ventually, to be sold at auction D elivered to some pedophile abroad
By Alexandra Grant7 months ago in Poets
