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Weekly Contest #30
Women work slowly in a hunched line, harvesting a crop they will never taste; laboring on the land they used to own. The wind holds a whispered conversation with the barley, even as the scythes cut it down. My sister’s hair streams in the air, a thin red cloud, as her head slowly rises. She watches like the trees. She watches the three soldiers. They are clothed in red, gold and brown as if they mean to outshine the autumn. As my sister watches them turn and leave, I know she has the same thought as I do: thank the Fae that the Roman women a...
Weekly Contest #24
Ghosts are like owls, white faced and and in love with the moon. Silent winged and black eyed. In fact, the two are often mistaken for each other as they glide through the empty space between the desert and the stars. You might go months without seeing them, but that doesn’t mean they don’t see you. Both are known to watch from the holes in cacti and the black windows of ghost towns. They seem interested in human affairs, so they watch. Maybe it reminds them of something. On occasion, ghosts or owls will even follow a person that they deem i...
Weekly Contest #20
The man woke in a sea of wildflowers. He didn't note how the wind blew the yellow petals against the grass. The whole field seeming a writhing mass of yellow stars in a green sky. The only thing he did notice was the blood on the flowers. His own blood. It was crusted on his head and hands. Worse, he didn't know what had happened. Panic made its customary appearance, and still nothing came to mind. His head was as empty as the blue sky. There was nothing. Nothing. His breath hissed out of his mouth. Must be the head wound. But he didn't know...
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