Prose

“Nina” by Just Another Writer.

Through years of comments, sneers, good meaning, she developed a sense of people’s true selves. Sticks and stones may break her bones, but words gnawed.
She was sitting on a train one night. A man was sitting opposite, smiling at her – incessantly. He wore purple crocodile cowboy boots and a Stetson – conspicuous.

The alcohol had exceeded its peak and left a sludge of sleepiness, as the train rocked, her head dropped. Every jolt woke her, ahead and unmistakable, the man never ceasing to show those pearly whites, a crocodile smile. The end of the line – ‘howdy ma’am’ a Texas twang as he helped her to her feet.

Free Verse Revolution Publication.

I am beyond happy to announce my first publication with Free Verse Revolution. My poem is entitled “Ocean to Ocean” for FVR’s July issue of galaxies, credited under my main pseudonym. My gratitude and appreciation goes to Kristiana Reed for accepting my poem in this month’s theme.

Variant Literature Magazine Publication.

The Second Chance Anthology contains literary pieces that have been withdrawn by their authors from unsafe publishing houses and magazines. The goal of the anthology is to bundle works into what is deemed a safe literary community and to expose magazines that contain unsafe views, for instance, racism, sexism, homophobia, anti-semitism, etc, etc.

who are we?

evolve e v o l v e the lithology of the cortex and the humanity of posy flowers like bones, we are nothing if not to the sea standing alone to dissolve it is lost to I, as to my… Read More ›

fall together.

it gives us an offbeat sparrow
while we, mourning our oceans,
see the mind
that makes
the root of madness
or rock,

we could never
fall together.

“All About The Taste” by Baby Funbo.

Tony was seated at a bar with a group of unfamiliar faces and the only reason he was there in the first place was that his roommate, Bradley had dragged him out of the confines of the small, dingy hostel room they shared. Unlike his roommate and the people he was surrounded with, Tony wasn’t a talker and didn’t enjoy divulging information about himself to others.

solitary dream.

the canticle is seen through other eyes,

not mine, and I don’t understand a word,

whispers press

unmourned in your eyes,

the trace of winter

into loneliness.

dream from dream

godly fields

of life then lassitude

of the shunt of death.

Father listens to what I read,

Noveau waves in homemade poetry; dream from dream

godly fields

of life then lassitude

of the shunt of death.

Father listens to what I read,

Noveau waves in homemade poetry;

“Beware Of Wolves” by The Magpie Fancier.

The little girl rattled off an impressive order, mostly bread and pies, things that every household would need. With a guilty flicker of her eyes, the little girl also requested a few cakes. The Baker suppressed a smile and said nothing. She had a feeling those cakes would be gone by the time the girl returned home.

‘I don’t recognize you from the village. Does your family live out in the woods?’ The Baker asked, neatly piling the pastries into the little girl’s basket.

‘Yes. We’re hunters.’

‘Goodness, all of you?’

‘Yes. We only hunt wolves, though. We move around a lot, you see. That’s why you don’t know me.’

The Baker smiled to herself at the little girl’s bravado.

‘I think you must be very brave, to hunt wolves.’

The little girl beamed. ‘My name’s Rosie. Your pies smell lovely.’

‘Thank you. They’re famous around here. Or at least, they were.’ The Baker tucked the cloth over the top of the basket. She eyed the girl thoughtfully. The child couldn’t be more than ten years old, rather young to be wandering around alone. It was common practice for parents to give their children brightly coloured cloaks, to make them easier to spot. Red was a popular colour, but this little girl wore a vivid blue cloak, with a sunflower embroidered on the back. The ribbon threaded through her black curls matched the cloak perfectly.

‘Are you going home by yourself?’

“Ballade for the Ultimate Seeker” by Stavyah.

Like the Sun that shines, radiating bright light,

a guru disseminates thoughts lofty and wise.

Using his power, directness, and mystical might,

pulls you out of every single and dangerous vice.

Get closer to your guru, feel the spiritual rise,

an elevation that could get you to the worlds beyond;

Horror House Flash Fiction #5 Contest Winner and Entries.

“I assumed I had been troubled, but I couldn’t remember who I was entirely.”

And the responses were amazing. The piece that I chose as the winner was Billy Mann’s entry, which you can read below. It’s very disconcerting with excellent elements of horror and amnesia that embodies the prompt well. I hope you enjoy it just as well as I did.

Kevin Morris Guest Post.

I have, for as long as I can remember, been a lover of woods, and I’ve many happy memories of crunching through the fallen leaves with my grandfather, and collecting acorns and conkers with him.

Visual Verse Publication.

My piece, “I leave in a deeper silence” was published in Visual Verse for their current chapter. This is my first publication with them. It is written under my main pseudonym, and you can read the poem here.

“The Last Vow” by Priya.

He didn’t know why she’d asked to meet at the old cottage. It had been years since his wife had even mentioned this property. She greeted him at the door with a smile, vastly different from the weird behaviour exhibited by her since the last two weeks. “Come in,” she ushered him towards the living room. “Let’s sit and talk for a little while before dinner.”