Etiqueta: a short stories
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Out of the Ashes by Laura Bennett
This is a submission for Kevin’s No Theme Thursday. Image by Kevin from The Beginning at Last Never forget, you’ve been through it all Times you’ve been hurt, they watched you fall But you showed them, you got back up again Rose from ashes, you broke through the pain Shackles…
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Valentino by Lyn White
It was February fourteenth and the nesting season when they decided to clean the palm trees. Two baby doves fell with the branches, one already dead, one still living. Valentino survived though naked and blind, to be taken home and fed every twenty minutes of the day. Strength was needed…
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«Missing You» by Miriam Costa
«Missing You» by Miriam Costa You asked me for a hug on that empty white room.The walls were white, the floor, the tube however, that came out from your arm was transparent. I hated that place but I never meant to say that I was goint just for him… so…
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Each Man Kills the Thing He Loves by Luisa Zambrotta
Each Man Kills the Thing He Loves What did Wilde mean? Perhaps he was saying that love itself corrupts or alters its object. That would certainly seem to have been true of his relationship with “Bosie”, Lord Alfred Douglas, a spoiled boy further spoiled by Wilde’s adulation. “Each Man Kills the…
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A boat on the Red River | Mai Thảo
A short story in Vietnamese by Mai ThảoTranslator: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm Halong Bay, Vietnam. Photography by Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm Picture a boat dock in a small town. A winter afternoon. Cement pillars damp with dew. The orange flicker of oil lamps spilling out from under the low grass…
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soul stabbing wounds by Bogdan Dragos
“Isn’t it odd?” she would say, “that as a writer your father has such a limited vocabulary when speaking to us, his family?” Yes, mother. That is very odd. I don’t know how it came to be this way… The boy would only think of these words, never utter them…
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LINES DRAWN ON A MAP by Mike Steeden
As a kid I was as daft as a brush. You see back then, having listened to my teacher at school on the subject of ‘Nations’, it came to me that the world would be a better place if humans didn’t mess around controlling their territory. To me the giving-up…
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Permanently Childish by Gerarld Yelle
I was about to jump in the shower when I heard my cousin say Yolanda was playing the drums in the high-school marching band. I knew it couldn’t be Yolanda. She was in the Poconos. I said I think you mean Miranda. Something in the way he laughed made me…
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Meet Poet Michelle Navajas, an Interview by Francisco Bravo Cabrera
Well today I am proud to bring you Michelle Ayon Navajas! She is a wonderful poet, educator and writer from the Philippines, who is also the editor for Hotel Masticadores! I know you will enjoy this as much as I did talking to her. MICHELLE IN HER OWN WORDS LatinosUSA:…
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The Ballad of Reading Gaol by Luisa Zambrotta
After Oscar Wilde was released from prison, where he penned his meditation, De Profundis, starting with the aphorism: “Suffering is one very long moment.”, he wrote the poem. The Ballad of Reading Gaol, in 1898. It was first published simply under his prisoner identification number, C.3-3. the third cell on…
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I am still alive… by John Coyote
I am still alive… She told me, soldier, bleed no-more. What is done, is done. Like a Hemingway story. Twisted roads lead to our proper place. I looked at the dark eyes Gypsy woman and I asked her. I am lost and do not know what I need. Once I…
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coloring book by Bogdan Dragos
a rather slim but very big coloring book with thick pages She opened it across her lap and shuffled from page to page while the child seated besides her watched smiling at the black and white drawings awaiting to be filled with color It followed a kind of storyline with…
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Ice floe by Amber Drake
I stand precariously balancedOn a small island of iceAdrift in an oceanWith no shore in sightDark green waterAs far as my eyes can seeThe smallest of wavesThreatens my footingMany times IOverbalance and tumbleInto the cold seaWater closes over my headFills my mouth and noseThe taste of salt makes me gagStubbornly…
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Sylvia Plath by Luisa Zambrotta
Sylvia Plath died on 11 February, 1963 Sylvia Plath was born in Massachusetts, in 1932. She published her first poem at the age of eight and was considered a model daughter and student, sensitive and tending to be a bit of a perfectionist.In 1956, in Cambridge, she met and married…
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INSULT TO THE TRUTH By Katya Mills
She pushed her finger in the buzzer and it was like she was poking him directly in the eye the way it made his head ache. It was one of those old spring-loaded doorbells that carried a high dose of electricity like pressing on a pack of bees. She could…
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she died by the time childhood ended by Bogdan Dragos
the girl who lived by the graveyard would come out only in the evening the girl who lived by the graveyard would play with stick snares instead of dolls the girl who lived by the graveyard would be ever barefoot but never dirty She was deaf-mute but her smile needed…
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