Fiction

Category

He Was Beautiful by Ron Moore

When tragedy strikes we become sleuths. We reconstruct events to establish the belief that it should have been us, it could have been us, it was our fault or we caused their death somehow. The days pass into weeks, the weeks years until the memory fades and details dim.

Fiction: A Life Like This by Laura E. Smith

A new short story by Laura E. Smith

Must-read

One Poem by Charlotte Van Schaack

Writing On The Wall   Even with the fear of haunted place, everyone is trying to become a ghost.          As in the paid...

One Poem by Kate Gorman

FALLSTREETLIGHT SWITCH The sodium-vapor streetlightswith fresnel lenses like lidded eyeshave been replacedwith horseshoe-like arcs of LED lights.As the morning stays dark longerand evening comes on...

Three Poems by Mary Whitlow

Cloth & Sun    Chaos greets me at the door—   broken things swirl,   dust motes through worn curtains,   a breath before the next bruise.   You coil like an old cobra,   fangs...