“It’s …”
“The ubiquitous silence maybe?”
“Is that why we’re whispering?”
“I guess …”
Trees stretched to the sky, blocking out all but scattered patches of fading sunlight. An absolute stillness settled over the forest cloaking it in a deep harrowing silence. Dina swallowed her breath, scared to draw the forests stoic attention towards the duo. Riza’s skin prickled against the percieved threat of quiet.
“Where are the birds?”
FOWC: Ubiquitous
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By: Linda M. Crate we’re just ghostsonce we knew each othernow we just wisheach other a happy birthdayon facebook,and i used to mournthe loss of everything we had;used to talk for hourschildhood youth twined us tightas the golden rods dancingin the field—childhood innocence and growing pains,and everything between;you were always so strongand so bravei admired […]
We Were More Than Ghosts —
By: Linda M. Crate “you’re not as pureas the driven white snow.” didn’t realizethat being humanwas a purity test,yes,i am far from perfect; but at least i admitmy mistakes and flaws— you were a devilwho insisted he were an angel,trying to inhibit my flightbecause you were jealousof my wings. Linda M. Crate’s works have been published in […]
Jealous of My Wings —
By: Zach Murphy
Aria caught the city bus as the sky donned a pinkish glow before the day’s final gasp. Her daughter Millie sat on her lap, gripping her wrinkled hospital scrubs — the ones with the cat patterns on them. Millie had entered that age where she often asked all the difficult questions of the universe. Are the sun and the moon friends or enemies? Do aliens go to the bathroom? Why do other kids have a dad, but I don’t?
Ding!
“Here’s our stop,” Aria said.
After dropping Millie off at grandma’s house, Aria hopped back on the bus and waited for it to bring her to work. She gazed out the window and sighed. The city was winding down while she was just beginning her 12-hour shift. The bags under her eyes carried enough stories to tell to the stars. Sleep was just an elusive dream at…
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There’s a man hoarding his words
Cherishing each breath
Snatching it from the air
Dirty fingers shoving between thin lips
As he swallows without tasting
The sour avarice of words unsaid
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We all want somebody to save.
RDP: Rescue
By: Haley Schirber
The way the sun shifts slowly.
Alters the light.
These moments big and small
will make you feel the might.
Though just as shade grows gently,
swallowing the light
these hatreds that you harbor
must now be brought to sight.
The sea of fear keeps rising
and with it comes our plight
there is something that you need to hear
but with it comes a fight.
By: Tremaine L. Loadholt
She sat, rubbing her leg. The ache in her thigh had gotten worse. She took out the prescribed pain medicine and looked at it.
“Oxycontin.”
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
“My confidence is gossamer.”
“Gossamer?”
“Gossamer.”
“That guy was pretty confident I guess.”
“That guy?”
“Yeah, the heart guy. The big monster one. Like an olden days Kool-Aid man.”
“I don’t think … Gossamer is a word. It’s not a person or monster or whatever you’re talking about.”
“No offense, I know my Bugs Bunny. Maybe you mean another word?”
“Maybe you have the name wrong. My word is Gossamer.”
“Google it then. Let’s see who’s right.”
*furious typing*
“Gossamer, thin, delicate, insubstantial.”
“And, right there, Gossamer. Big red heart dude.”
“Huh. Ironic.”
“Yeah, also, have you met yourself? Your confidence is not “gossamer”. You’re not a wilting flower or silk blowing in the wind.”
RDP: Gossamer
