Stories tagged “imagery”
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Through the Frozen Hell
Deafening winds carried the blinding sheet of snow over the blank white oblivion. Though it appeared untouched, something small and brown struggled through, its prints concealed moments after every step. Weary, empty black eyes attempt to search throug...
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Campground
We sit around a camp fire sharing stories as we sip down our vodka and rum. Bundled up in sweatshirts with our hoods covering our heads we huddle closer to the heat. The flames lick the air, releasing small particles of burning ash into the sky. We lau...
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Dirge
The air is stiff, as stiff as my spine against naked wooden pews. Solemn murmurs glide from pillar to pillar as crackling fabric gnaws at my skin. Bursts of color— draping bouquets, lonely rose on Grandma’s lapel; filtered light and dust sp...
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The Hunt pt. 1
The huntress shifts across night in a silent power that echoes across the plains, seeking blood and owning her land with a surety that escapes all else and is hers alone. She smells a warmth and hears a pounding, the flutter of a heartbeat so close to ...
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The Hunt pt. 2
The drum of pulsing veins grows ever louder as she gains on her prey, and with every passing fractional second she draws nearer, and nearer, and yet nearer, and then there is a flash of pressure. The wall bursts to permit the point, then the edge, to p...
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When I Let My Hands Talk
A writer will always write to an audience who might never see the words, so in essence then a writer is always talking to themselves. * * * Mmm, yes, the power of a writer. The ability to take someone’s focus and turn it whichever way, so long...
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The Future Is Amoung Us; For Those Who Look
I remember the past as I predict the future Mere wisps of my imagination fill my head To my surprise sights of marvels, and amazement sculped in my mind As it intertwines with my soul These visions of my future came as my dreams, that I guard and nurt...
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The Shifting Pedestal
A pedestal is no place to be. They’re unstable and wholly dependent on the construction of the floor. A shifting tile or an expanding crack can disrupt a pedestal’s base and end in disaster. The pedestal is nothing without its foundation. A...
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For My Friend
Her moon, like hurt, pales in the sun’s comfort; the warm light lifts what discourages with the mist— and this regal girl emerges with dark purple lips, pearls in her fists, and blue worlds of mackerel skies reflecting off of her soft emera...