Her voice dragged me in, this old crone
who sat in her chair rigid like a schoolgirl.
It beat against the wisteria tendrilled heat
and the cloistered darkness where we sat,
my aunt and I, me home from school to the barren
bower of her past, where jilted desires hung unspoken,
an endlessly fingered bridal dress of twisted longing.
A story for children of all ages and a winner! Congratulations! As the Bethlehem Writer’s Group announced: “The challenge was to write a children’s story for any age, preschool through middle school, in 2000 words or fewer. From a large number of delightful, exciting, and intriguing stories, these two (see link) made it into the top three. We think you’ll agree that they are exceptional.” (Update: click here for link to “Lara’s Tree” and “Rider in Black.”)
Of course trees can talk to you. Sometimes they make the best of friends.
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“How did it happen?
Why, where, and when?
What was the weapon?
And who did it, Sven?”
The ashram still had its Beatles graffiti. A shrine now. No incense burned beneath it but they grilled and gated it behind an iron fence and placed a straw basket beside a watchful cross-legged yogi whose piercing gaze was enough to disgorge a “donation” from the harassed tourists taking selfies.
Continue reading “Only a Christian Writer Can Write True Horror”
(This is the second of a two-part story. For the first, click here.)
It seems a blur and to this day Norbit is hard put to explain exactly what transpired in the moments after his foot’s encounter with a figure in a shimmering suit and hat of purple riding what appeared to be a bicycle, playing what looked to be a miniature keyboard.
There Will Never Be Any More Solken Wine (fantasy short story reblogged from Heaven, Hell & All of Us)
“There will always be more emeralds,” Jaidus said, studying the still, moonlit valley below. “And rubies? A pence apiece! But there will never be any more Solken wine.”
“Diamonds? A dinar a dozen! But there will never be any more Solken wine,” Durpen agreed.
Jaidus surveyed the narrow valley of the Stanis River, far below the rock ledge where he lay, steep walls heavily forested with oak and poplar as the hills drew together here where the river tumbled out of the mountains, the snow still covering the higher slopes not far beyond the crumbling arches that led into the ruined palace of the last, and now long dead, Solken king. He rolled to the side and shifted his dagger, pinching him at his waist.
“Did you ever taste any of it?” Jaidus asked.
continue reading via There Will Never Be Any More Solken Wine (fantasy short story) | Heaven, Hell, and All of Us.
Dreams from a Pilgrimage 