My stomach felt like a balloon under my fingers. The cold gel pinned my thoughts onto the effort of not peeing. “The fetus sack is visualised”, the operator announced to no one in particular, startling me out of my penance. I looked up at him, then at the screen he was facing. The patches of grey kept moving, like clouds on a breezy day. A dot stood out. A tiny dot that seemed to throb. Both of us stared at it, though only one did with any knowledge.
I knew it was mine. I had made it, maybe the first...
I am in Palm Springs the sun the haze the people I am in focus everything behind me is a blur an attractive sexy blur. I am in focus, focus with a lower case f. I want to tell you something I want to tell you what it feels like all hot and steamy the way chilled alcohol burns and tingles demands more my throat loose my toes free the smell of grass the smell of pools. I want to tell you something something about time about memory about thinking that things would never end never get bad I want...
He had had that dream again. He had dreamed about that walk and the ice sculpture many times. But this was the first time, he had floated up above the forest.
"If I hadn't woken up, what would I have seen?" he wondered.
A month later, he had the same dream again. And this time, he floated above the forest and went higher and higher into the sky.
The earth below him shrunk and everything grew smaller until the forest was just a speck in the distance.
"George," he heard a voice calling. It was the same voice he had...
#hashtag condo livin.
Last year i bought a tiny orange tree to spruce up my tiny patio. #condolife.
Over the many months, I watered it and moved it around my patio- chasing patches of the much needed sun. #citruslove. #vitamin c #noscurvy #
I noticed that my oranges were closer to the size of grapes. I notices that there was some missing step....Some missing ingredient. They were small. Anemic.
I replanted that orange tree. Watered it. Placed in the sunniest corner of my tiny patio.
Many, many months later. My orange tree produced what looked like clementines.
With great pride...
They laughed at the little thing as it squirmed
The dark water so close but so far away now in their minds
The way things change the eye flits away reconstructs
Safety is everywhere in this dangerous time, safety is in the struggling eyes of a small thing
They left it to it's toil the diurnal nocturnal pull of it's nature
Clinging to the raft looking at the shore
The sun warm and pure on it's matted fur
Feeling like a fool, alone but still wondering how she looked, how she looked to other people. She should just allow it to die to apps on into whatever, darkness, light, next. she unfolded upward and took a picture, morbid and wrong the dust on her knees felt like it was teeming with death and life the circle of things. How to escape a forest it would be the title of her first and last book. Few would read she would place the first copy here next to a half remembered site where a corpse of something beautiful l once...
Balanced on the line, he told her again, "Put it down!"
"Come on, then," she said, impishly.
"I can't. You know I can;''t cross the line. I'll have to go back."
"Why?"
It's just how it works. It's a liminal space. I'll explain if you put the book down and step away."
She looked baffled, then nervous. "I can't! It's stuck to me."
On no! "Then bring it to me. Quickly. Please."
"What's happening." Her voice was flat, lacking timbre. She was fading and I couldn't get to her. I only had seconds.
"Stay where you end up. Don't move....
Walking in the woods at this hour was not a good idea, he told to himself. It was dead silent with only the wind whispering between the trees. It was very dark with an eerie purple night sky. Then the sky exploded.
He had never seen a lightning in the colors of the rainbow. Such a thing did not exist. Lightnings also moved much faster, blink and you will miss it. This one moved from west, towards of him, like a highway in the sky made from light unfolding right before him. The lightning touched the ground a few meters...
Prompt: Lola
“Who’s for another?” it came out as one word. Jack knew it and hid the knowledge with busy bustle. He wove towards the bar with a half-dozen empty glasses and the promise of help when he was served, but that detail was forgotten as Emily spoke in her soft voice.
“Does anybody here know the library?”
“Not since school,” was one answer. “Not old enough yet,” was another.” I have the internet at home,” said a third. I didn’t want Emily to lose interest in the face of such flippancy, so I tried to help.
“I go sometimes,”...
The visitor asked, "Can you write a story without a prompt?"
"I don't know," said the writer. "I've never tried."
"Really? You mean all those stories you wrote arose from something you'd seen or heard?"
"Or something I'd read. Tasted. Felt. Wondered about."
"And the novels? The poems? That terrible album you wrote and recorded?"
The writer smiled. "Yes, all of them. I need to have something to start from, some germ of a concept that I can build on. It's like the way a jazz musician riffs off a set theme. They start with what they have and make...