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Kathleen March

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2020

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1507 Followers

900 Following

150 Stories

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Just hold me

Hand Do notAbandon me Do notWriteOn the rubble Of the world Do not hurtWhat you’ve never touchedNever broken Do not write thatWar of words thatHind Rajab heard when othersDidn’t. When others heard that.When they shotWhen her hands bled redWhen her blood muddiedHer head and the wordsStoppedBecause the 300 bulletsWould not Hands that never came never liedShe cried untilUntilUntil a tiny part of the warred worldStood still. Still doing nothing And doing nothing still Watching The world on a screenThe volume stillScreaming its silence The hand w...

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19th Nervous Breakdown

I always liked that odd Stones song, but not for any normal reason. When you were a child you were treated kind But you were never brought up right You were always spoiled with a thousand toys but still you cried all night Your mother who neglected you owes a million dollars tax And your father's still perfecting ways of making sealing wax You better stop, look around Here it comes Here comes your nineteenth nervous breakdown Here comes your nineteenth nervous breakdown Here comes your nineteenth nervous breakdown I was always trea...

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Nevermore (N end)

It’s time. I’ve been telling this story long enough to know it should not be turned into a novel. I’m very weary of it and realize it needs to be brought to an end, for my sake but for your sake as well. The haunting is more than I can bear, even though I’m not human, as I’ve told you from the beginning. Not human doesn’t mean not having a heart, or its equivalent. In fact, maybe my suffering is worse, precisely because I’m not human and my heart is bigger, more vulnerable because of who or what I am. Do not think my lack of humanity, then, ...

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Choices

She knew it was all a dream and that she was smack in the middle of it; she also knew she’d awake, of course, and - poof! - everything would be the same as always. Except that when she actually woke up, everything was the same, but the same as it had been in the dream. Which is to say that she had been given a gift. It had arrived out of nowhere and now was in her possession. It consisted of a soft white cloth swaddling a small blue box that opened to reveal a note that read: You are hereby allowed to relive your life. Change whatever you li...

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No, not there… (N6)

Henry Karl dreaded making the decision, but he knew he would have to go back to where it all started, to that far-away country he still couldn’t find on a map (he wasn’t very good with maps, I’m pretty sure). He had to go back, however, because it was the only source of support he still had, after burning a lot of bridges and pockets as well. Support meant money, financial backing, opportunities to go places and do things. It also meant groveling, in his case. He hated getting on his knees unless it was for a good reason, but he’d run throug...

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Words from the heart

Everything He Touches Dies. I am your journal. You made me once and now you can make me again. Allow me to explain… You were wondering how to use up all the nice prints you’d made over the years. Maybe eight years, maybe more. They were lovely prints, full of color and form. You found incredible ways to combine them all, often in ways that went against most people’s thoughts regarding mixing, matching, clashing, fitting, cutting, and assembling. Once you’d learned how to selected the hues and apply them to the papers, you couldn’t stop. It ...

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Little Shop o=f Horrors (N5)

Hank wanted to set up a business, but he didn’t really know how to do it. He knew he had to, because available income was drying up and his life style was on a rocky road. It made him afraid, sad, and angry. And it had to stop. His second (or third) (or fourth) wife wasn’t being particularly helpful, either, because her own fortune (why else would he have married her) wasn’t turning out to be as abundant as he’d anticipated. He’d have to be creative, although he didn’t understand creativity and work wasn’t his strong point. Then Henry Karl h...

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Can’t tell a book by its cover (N4)

I’m feeling a bit frayed at the edges. Seriously. Remember, I’m not human, so things can happen to my body that don’t happen to real humans. I’ve got fringe and other ragged things coming off my arms and back, but I’m no monster. It might be a good idea to spend some time reading and calm down. Where’s the book I just had on my desk? [Opens the book] What’s going on? This isn’t a journal! It’s supposed to be a book. To read. To make me think. All the pages are blank! Maybe this is the book I’m supposed to write? Now, just when I’m frayed an...

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Yearning

I’m not doing well these days because there’s a lot on my mind and that makes it very hard to concentrate. My thoughts are like the worst crossroads in Portland, Maine, where five - or maybe ten - streets meet and the stoplights twist in the wind so you can never be sure if it’s all right to turn left or the oncoming traffic is going to slam into you. All I can do is hope for relief, maybe by distracting myself from what’s going on. To that purpose, I’ve decided to create a scrapbook. Yes, that’s not something people do anymore, but I like t...

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Proud words (N3)

Primer LessonLook out how you use proud words. When you let proud words go, it is not easy to call them back. They wear long boots, hard boots; they walk off proud; they can't hear you calling Look out how you use proud words. ~ Carl Sandburg (1922) We all know of a moment in which someone says the wrong thing and can't take it back. Proud words aren’t easy to define, and the harm they cause isn’t easy to predict. Maybe we’re the one who’s guilty of saying the wrong thing at times but is it the other person who goes deeper into the crime...

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And the answer is… (N2)

Stuck in Limbo. That’s where I am and where I mean to be. I mean to stay here because it’s safe. Even nonhumans seek safe spaces if they want to survive. I want to live because I’m relevant, necessary. The world needs me. Remember, I can only be who I am - a bridge, a hawker of tales, teller of truths - because I am not human. As such, I am free from fear, knowing my existence is not in danger. My voice, my choice. Doing this because someone has to. The demons must be revealed, reviled, and ruined. With or without remorse, which I certainly ...

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It begins… (N1)

This is a story told from the perspective of a non-human or fairy tale character who is feeling impelled to share their side of the story. Nothing about what the character says has been verified, but it still could be true, nonetheless. —————————— I am perhaps not human to some people, but that fact does not mean that I do not have a fully functioning brain and some important things to talk about. As I tell you my thoughts, it’ll be my goal to explain things in a way you can easily understand. In the end, you may not believe what I’ve told ...

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The Plate

I put the plate on the dining room table. There was nobody else around, so I was going to eat alone. I often did that, ate alone. Morning, noon, night. Except I didn’t often sit at the dining room table, for what, I always told myself. A person alone can eat standing up at the kitchen counter or lounging on the sofa or reclining in bed. Eating just happens, and we pay little attention to it. The place we sit, or if we stand instead, is of little importance. On this occasion, however, I had chosen the big table over the coffee tables in other...

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This is me

When the sharpest words wanna cut me downI'm gonna send a flood, gonna drown 'em outI am brave, I am bruisedI am who I'm meant to be, this is meLook out 'cause here I comeAnd I'm marching on to the beat I drumI'm not scared to be seen this is me “This is me,” theme song, The Greatest Showman, 2017 This is me - standing up free and tall - when I hear this amazing song to affirmation and acceptance of who we really are. Yes, I’ve had a lot of trouble with this attitude I have. Consider this recent theme song for a film in conjunction with ...

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How to mangle a poem

I was looking out into the darkness. It was about ten o’clock and snow was coming down steadily. Almost embarrassed, I began to recite Robert Frost’s poem like the fourteen year old girl I once was. But I had to prepare a class for my students in 400 level English and all I could do was mouth Frost’s words. How to bring the words into the realm of reciters like myself? I would ask them all to describe what was going on in the sixteen lines of pure simplicity. They would submit their ideas and I… well, who knows what I would do with them? Any...

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