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The Principessa of Montenegro by M. K. Hobson
I have decided that she will be the lost Principessa of Montenegro, though I thought perhaps she might be the High Priestess of the Temple of Amun-Ra or the One Kissed by the Three Gods. Any of these would have suited her. Any one would have served to make her believe that she is singular... Listening to Cursive by Chris Brogan
It was a Bill Evans piano piece with the boots up on a
cubicle desk that got me following ice skater curves in my
mind. MY mind, so black paper, gold ink. Not gold like
money but gold like experience in your heart's mechanics... Inspiration by Robin Slick
Marjorie runs her fingers over the blank canvas with a light touch. It's warm in the room — too warm, but the necessary north light streams in and she can't be distracted by the sound of air conditioning; besides, the heat makes her suffer and her suffering makes her create... Girlfriend by Peter B. Fagan
Walking back from dinner, she gives me that sexy look,
that shared secret lover’s look, with her dark curly
hair pulled under her red felt hat, that secret we’re
each other’s look... -
Autumn Fruit by Janet E. Gardner
You brought apples back from the abandoned orchard. Two big bags
full, replete with dusty smudges and still-clinging leaves. Lucky
for us, you said as you blotted the condensed breath from your
glasses and beard, the first frost had come early this year,
before you left, so the apples were perfect...
Meat Puppet by T. R. Healey
Breathing as if a hand were clasped across his mouth and nose, Brosius staggered into his room and fumbled with the lock on the door then secured the rusted chain above the lock. Exhausted, he braced his shoulders against the yellow door, still breathing hard, sweat trickling down his chin... Grandpa Jiminez by Chaz Siu
Grandpa Jiminez is an old, gnarled thing. He pushes his
black knight across the board, looks up at me, smug, as sure
of himself as any punch he's ever given or taken. His eyes
look huge behind those rosy round spectacles...
Tempus Fugit by Kurt Hohmann
"Gotta crawl 'fore ya can walk," said Jack, grinning. "An' ya gotta
run 'fore ya can fly. It's time to fly..." |
