Word Witch
The sun is luminescent overhead. The man is pale, an albino with golden eyes. He dons a broad-brim hat of woven grass. The brim is dyed red. He digs in his pockets for the key to the house; it barely fits because of the rust. The battered door creaks inward. Dust and bottled love make his nostrils flare. Legend sniffs to clear the tears from his eyes . . .
Sitting in the scented moonlight my toes tremble. The steam that curls above artistic plates is the same clarity that haloes each salt-grain star.
You cook the mushrooms in butter and eat them with white wine and your lover under a moon that never crests the mountains . . .
She watches me with keen eyes hollow with wistfulness. I try to speak to her when I find the courage, but she never answers. I think she is mute. Her silence intimidates me . . .
A young girl chooses between toiling over straggling plants or ancient texts in the hopes of reviving her dying world.
I am a year old. My first road trip from Virginia to Florida is paved with oranges, cigarettes, and cops. Episode one in Stoney River.
K.M Allan is a writer I have been following since before she became that beautiful mistress of words; an author. Time and time again I have been inspired by her tried and true writing tips. So, when she published her first book, The Beginning, I had to read it, if only to see her writing techniques in action.
A blind boy contemplates the arrival of his newborn sibling without favor based off the whispered experiences of a school bully.
A gentleman but not a gentleman was what Edward always was, given the 'no smoking' signs pasted to the ghastly lavender walls.
E is for Epic . . .
She is that which never wavers, silent in the face of bloodshed, smiling in the face of the storm. She is loyalty; forever inspiring.
She came from the woods, her hair deserving of jewels and her face as sad as a dying tulip.
A foster child, Jay Baker has been alone since birth. With no one to talk to, his journal pages become his family as he chronicles his journey toward adoption.
"Is it true you do not spank me because I am blind?" Father said nothing. Only his breathing sounded as Miles' heart sank. It was true, after all. It was not love; it was because he was blind. Disabled. Different.
The place smelled of the smell of sadness; salt mixed with ashes and dead rose petals. A cloak of tragedy settled over all those who entered to walk the paths between the burial plots.
