Excerpt

Gaslit
I rush across 28th street from 3rd Avenue to 1st, trying to get my short legs to Bellevue as fast as I possibly can. It’s 9:42 am, his appointment is at 10 and I’m hoping to make it in time to catch him at the door. My heart has been in my throat since the last message I received from him the night before.
By Carolina Medrano4 years ago in Fiction
The hungry ghost of the year
The TV in the rental room is playing the annual Spring Festival Gala, and my stomach is at this time a burst of rumbling, helpless, pulled up from the bed, turned out a bag of frozen dumplings into the pot and watched the TV.
By Moxadple ggg4 years ago in Fiction
The snake and the human skull
Mr. Palomar was visiting the ruins of Tula, the ancient capital of the Toltecs, in Mexico. He was accompanied by a Mexican friend, an enthusiastic and eloquent connoisseur of Mexican culture before the Spanish rule, who was able to tell him many interesting stories about Quetzalcoatl. Quetzalcoatl was a king before he became a god, and his palace was built in Tula, where now only a row of columns remains, enclosing a patio in the style of an ancient Roman court.
By Moxadple ggg4 years ago in Fiction
The Train Ride
I have never been on a train before—never had the opportunity. So, I’m extremely surprised when I wake up on one with a massive headache.
By S. M. Risdon4 years ago in Fiction
Paris is a Stale Dream
Many Americans who relocate to Paris cling to the idea of it being a romantic city where they will find love and happiness. They have dreamy, romantic notions of living in a city that ceased to exist long ago. They arrive in Paris with visions of themselves sitting in sidewalk cafés while wearing berets. They have the delusion they are unique, unusual, or exceptional because they live in Paris and go to well-known museums. These people don't understand they are not blazing new trails. They are walking the well-trodden paths laid out by many Americans for decades before them.
By Pt Spano4 years ago in Fiction
The cat lived a million times
There is a cat that does not die even in 1 million years. In fact, the cat died a million times and lived a million times again. It was a beautiful tiger-spotted cat. A million people have doted on this cat, and a million people have cried when this cat died. But the cat did not cry even once.
By sissytisha4 years ago in Fiction
The fat and the skinny
At a railroad station on the Nikolaevsky railroad, two friends met, one fat, the other skinny. The fat man had just finished lunch at the station, his lips were still oily and shiny, like ripe cherries, and he smelled of white wine and fragrant orange blossoms. The skinny man had just gotten off the carriage, straining to carry boxes, parcels and cardboard boxes, smelling of ham and coffee grounds. Behind him, a lean woman with a long chin probes, his wife, and a tall high school student with one eye squinted, his son.
By sissytisha4 years ago in Fiction
The warm spring evening was nearly perfect.
After dinner, he and Marla, as they always did, took a circuitous route to their destination. The warm spring evening was nearly perfect. A slight breeze blew in from the east on a night when the sky was clear and full of stars. There wasn't any reason to rush; there were more than three hours before Marla's train departed. They meandered through familiar streets, at times, seemingly without direction. At times they walked hand in hand, raising their voices in laughter as they engaged in their usual rapid-fire exchanges. As they walked the familiar streets, which were once part of both of their lives, Marla came to realize as he had never left her, he would never leave Brielle. He never left anybody. It was in those moments that Marla finally came to realize the unconditional love for which she had always yearned had always been in reach, all she had to do for so many years was reach out and take it. She came to realize nobody would ever love her as he did. A feeling of loss to which she would never admit, came over her as they walked. Marla looked at his face; that face that was ever-present in her life, that face that was once young and wrinkle-free now showed the wear of life, yet the love that flowed from him and the commitment he gave to that love was as strong and it had always been, only now it belonged to somebody else.
By Pt Spano4 years ago in Fiction
Story Pic No. 1 - 5
I take a lot of walks in my spare time. Thankfully, I live in a beautiful neighborhood of a fascinating city (Seattle), which I love to explore; so, whether it's to stretch my legs, gather my thoughts or simply just to get some fresh air, I spend a lot of time walking. I started writing these ‘Story Pic’ flash fiction pieces when—after some self-reflection—I realized that most of my new ideas for current WIPs manifested while I was on one of my walks. So, like any good American, I turned something natural that I did to relax into work. Below are the fruits of my endeavor, each story inspired by something that I came across while exploring and took a picture of (as one might infer from the series title). The stories were originally released weekly on my social media—where they are still available (@willowsfield)—spanning over four months of my rambling thoughts. Please enjoy, if you so choose.
By Willow J. Fields4 years ago in Fiction
ROY
Prologue Ava woke to a gentle voice whispering “danger impending.” Her eyes flew open to see her ROY system blinking the red warning across the heads up display. She felt a prick as her suit injected extra adrenaline in her system. Her night vision flickered on and she cast about, trying to determine what the ROY system had picked up on. Green trees made ever greener peered back, glowing dully.
By K. Villalobos4 years ago in Fiction
The Day I Left
The day I left the Guardian Angels, when I hung up the uniform for the last time, was a surprise to many. In a lot of ways, I’ve been very lucky in my work as a Pararescueman. PJ for short. I’ve seen action around the world, often in the warzones that captured the minds of many in the short attention span the normal person possesses these days. From the end of the GWOT, to the Taiwan “situation” that the leaders of our country never seemed to realize was, in fact, more than just a “situation”. Natural disasters, war, civil unrest foreign and domestic, even some that I can’t talk about, you name the mission, I probably went on it. At least it seems like it.
By D.D. Schneider4 years ago in Fiction
Sunrise in the Elven Haven
I close my eyes, planting my feet, and breathe in the fresh, crisp morning air. Elys Shale, the Elven Haven, emanates an ethereal beauty at any time of day, but there is a particular quality to the dawn’s illumination of its temple towers that especially captures me. From my perch within an envelope of mighty pines, the Haven’s rounded walls seem to flatten into their landscape, and I can see the village beginning to stir. Dawn-fires are lit around the temples to frame their bulbous crowns, and in each their turn, thin tunnels of smoke come roving through the mountain mist, bringing on their tongues a distant taste of burning oak to wade through the scent of evergreens. The elves offered kindness and respite, caring both for me and for Moonshine, my coal-colored horse, as their kin. We have already crept out to the hills by the time the light breaks, and, before returning to our path along the hidden mountain pass, I slide off her back and pause to watch the scene transform.
By Sophie Swan4 years ago in Fiction