“No one’s going to be looking,” he snapped.
He heard her sigh but didn’t turn to look. After a moment, the sound of her struggling up the embankment and the crashing of undergrowth came to him as she made her way into the bushes that covered the upper slopes.
Continue reading “Breakdown by Matthew Roy Davey”
I’m Angola Togo, a journalist. Recently, I listed influential people I would love to interview to better understand our history and the human condition.
This list included Queen Zenobia of Palmyra, Hammurabi, Hannibal, Budda, Cleopatra, Shakespeare, Napoleon, Mahatma Gandhi, The Dalai Lama, Eleanor Roosevelt, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Sojourner Truth, Martin Luther King, Jr., Muhammad Ali, Paul Roberson, Langston Hughes, Albert Einstein, Zora Neale Hurston, Jackie Robinson, James Baldwin, Nina Simon, Octavia Butler, Jimmy Carter, and Lyndon Baines Johnson.
Continue reading “Angola Togo Conversations with Samuel Little and Jim Jones by Frederick K Foote”
Snow White had had a hard day. Her spirits needed a lift, so she decided to break a rule of a lifetime and sample some of her own product. Although her real name was Pearl, she had adopted the nickname her suppliers had given her, “Snow”, because she was the major distributor of cocaine on the west coast.
Continue reading “Snow White Meets Little Red Riding Hood by Tony Dawson”
Prologue
Hello. The target audience for this humanly-written, essayistic mind, heart and soul exploration is: poets; creative writers; writers; artists and “creatives” of all stripes; spiritual people; people interested in history, and the future; anyone interested in any or all of the above.
If you can’t jive with that, this writing isn’t for you.
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever: Fame; or The Queen of Crucifixion by Dale Williams Barrigar”
Well, hello there folks!
Hope you are all well and I am delighted to welcome you to Week 536!
I know that I have prattled on about snow-flakes and the enraged and the PeeSeee Brigade and I decided to look at it with some positivity.
…I couldn’t think of any but I did consider this.
Continue reading “Week 536 -Where Has All The Sense Gone? Did They Ever Have Any? And Don’t Cheat!”
May 1939
In the heart of Berlin, our family created and cultivated a magnificent bookstore—Wunderbar. Green and gold glazed tiles adorned the Art Deco exterior. Famous clientele such as Pablo Picasso, Josephine Baker, Sigmund Freud, Greta Garbo, Sir Charles Spencer Chaplin, and Hannah Arendt crossed borders to spend time in our shop. Some exuberant patrons described Wunderbar as a divine pilgrimage.
Continue reading “Under the Stars by Rachel Prizant Kotok”
An urgent knock on the apartment door woke him. He lay there, waiting for his mind to coalesce around a coherent thought. The knock turned into a thump, which soon became a rapid hammering, accompanied by yelling. Gustald recognized the voice. It was Gerti, a work colleague from Concept Compliance. He only vaguely knew her. Enough to give a polite greeting as they passed each other in the corridor, but certainly not sufficiently well to expect her to be banging on his door in the middle of the night. Why is she hitting the door with her fists at all? he wondered. Is the access sentry inoperative?
Continue reading “Lost In Thought by Dan Bell”
Evelyn stared out the kitchen window willing herself to ignore the breathing coming from the living room. It was a wet labored breathing. She wiped the last dish and set it in the rack. Another breath was pulled from the lungs in the other room.
Continue reading “The Breather by Rebecca Petty”
The bones spoke to Angelina the way other women heard gossip over garden fences. Snake vertebrae whispered of rain coming from the east. Coyote teeth predicted claim jumpers and cattle thieves. But it was the human bones that spoke loudest, and those she kept hidden beneath her floorboards, wrapped in red silk stolen from a dead Chinese merchant’s shop. Each bundle reminded her of her own lost child, the daughter whose bones she’d never found to read.
Continue reading “The Bone Reader of Tucson by Dana Wall”
Envision a seamless sky lining a hillside speckled with white stones. The air surrounds them, almost scentless, incensed lightly by pungent moss. Gaze ahead as the lush hills overlap, take hold of one another, layered green and hazel veils each saying to the next: Spring. Translucent Spring. And I could see through it and taste it as anyone can at seventeen. Every day seemed to be like this one, then, endless and shady, but on this Tuesday morning curiosity did more than lead me. We ran. Run with me now.
Continue reading “Meant for the Dead by Susan Jennifer Polese”
literally stories 