She sat, rubbing her leg. The ache in her thigh had gotten worse. She took out the prescribed pain medicine and looked at it.
She popped two pills onto her salty tongue and gulped down a glass of water.
All the pills in the world would never heal her pain. She held years of lies, secrets, and confessions in the depths of her gut.
The pain was making its rounds: head, heart, legs, etc.
Soon, she’d be gone and no one will care.
Tremaine L. Loadholt has published three poetry books: Pinwheels and Hula Hoops, Dusting for Fingerprints, and A New Kind of Down. She’s editor and creative director for Quintessence: A Literary Magazine of Featured Medium Writers. Her artistic expressions are at A Cornered Gurl, Medium, and Twitter.
When I was a teenager I got the idea to try and start a magazine. It was geared towards music and I failed pretty miserably. I was 17, I didn’t know what I was doing and had little in the way of resources to make it work.
The idea never quite went away. Over the past year or so I’ve found myself thinking about starting something that could showcase the amazing writing and writers I’ve met on this journey. Combine that with the long standing idea of a magazine and you get my latest project.
It’s, what I’m loosely referring to as a literary magazine, Pint Sized Lit. It focuses on poetry and flash fiction with 750 words or less.
The site is still in a little bit of flux but if you have something you’d like to submit please click here
I haven’t done a stream of consciousness write in a long time. I didn’t time this one.
If you haven’t read these before. This is a stream of conciousness write with very little editing (so apologies for anything that doesn’t make sense). I pick a prompt, usually a word of the day, turn on some music and just write whatever comes to my head for a set time (usually 10 minutes).
It’s lips curve downwards and it’s nose hooks right under those skeptical eyes. Made in your image but it’s not you.
It’s soft and stretchy, moist and sticky. Strings of dough stretch from one lip to the other as it mocks my humanoid appearance.
A spark forms in my belly and spreads like wildfire. Before I realize the scope of my ideas, my limbs begin acting. My legs carry me forth, my arms swing out wildly. My fingers pinch at its doughy arms, pulling away long pieces and tossing them into the endless span of existence below us.
They can’t work fast enough, its sticky being pulls at the hairs on my arms and legs. Doughy fingers work their way through my hair, ripping me back.
I could try to frantically escape but something tells me this is like quicksand. It envelops me. Moist strings pry into my mouth, holding my tongue and filling my lungs.
You are dreaming. You are dreaming.
My jerking body flings onto the floor. Pizza boxes scatter and cower from my cries.
A stray pepperoni sticks to the bridge of my nose. A menacing reminder encroaching on my vision.