It's called a murmuration, when the starlings flock together and swoop like that, as one, a great cloud of them, moving in synchrony. How do they know? Who keeps the choreography?
Elf is considering the squalor of the kitchen at the north end of his (ex-)girlfriend's trailer. Ariel. Or: that tramp, as his mother calls her, which never fails to make Elf wince and flinch, even though he knows that's just the purpose and the point. His older brother only smiles; his younger brother elbows him and laughs... Read the whole story HERE
The snow has come early this year. They’re saying it’s going to be a terrible winter. The climate has been having a tantrum from all our neglect, all our abuse. Global warming, is that it?
I’m in mourning, so in a way I welcome the freeze. It seems like it’s going to fit in with my grief just right.
I’m lonely, that’s what.
And I’m a little bit sorry too... Read the whole story HERE
She stops this train of thought by reaching for her glass. Mustn’t go on. It’s over now. It’s been over for years.
“Was,” she says and shakes her head. “Was..." Read the whole story HERE
They…who? My husband, for one. Okay, my ex-husband. But this is an old story, one told over and over, everywhere, time and time again. Sure, I was young once. Sure, I was lovely. Maybe even beautiful. Maybe stunningly so. I’d heard this said, now and then. I fell in love with a boy, is what. Or at least I thought it was love. He was the one for me and I for him. Everybody said so. A first date. A second date, and so it goes. Dinner. A movie. The back seat of his father’s car. A blanket in a field somewhere. My mother’s living room sofa. The back seat of his car. His dorm room. My dorm room. His apartment. Mine. And so on and so forth. Wedding. First house. First anniversary. First baby. Second baby. Two miscarriages. Preschool, kindergarten, grade school. PTA. Church. New house. New car. Promotion. Parties. Middle school. High school. College... Read the whole story HERE.
Flowers. Scrolls. Soft watercolors. Subdued shades of gray.
This: “When someone you love becomes a memory, / The memory becomes a treasure.”
And this: “Those we love don’t go away, / They walk beside us every day, / Unseen, unheard, but always near, / So loved, so missed, so very dear.”
All these notes I’ve opened and read. I’m taking care of business. I’ve emptied your closets. Clothes and shoes. Your razor, your comb. Your papers and your books. What’s left behind here in the house are empty places, blank spots that I will have to find some way to fill.
People tell me: “Don’t forget to eat.” “Go out, now that you can.” “It’s time to get on with your life.”
It’s not like your death was unexpected. It wasn’t a tragedy. We knew what was what, and I was waiting for it, you were hoping for it. Today? Will it be today?...
Read the rest in Jet Fuel Review
"'See the holes?” she asked, pointing. 'Just there. And there. And there.'"
Read the rest at Limestone
It begins when Meena Krejci, not sure what to do and fearing she'll be blamed for the injuries that have caused her father's death, panics and takes flight, driving west across Nebraska and into Colorado, where she encounters an apocalypse-predicting madman, his captive sister—the troubled young woman in whose release Meena will create a violent version of rebirth for herself—and a bear.
Told through alternating narratives—a portrayal of the last few days of Meena's life and an account of the events in the past that have brought her to where she is now—this is the story of a woman running away from home for the first time and the strong, nearly universal desire to shed one's identity to become somebody else.
Sam was no one. He was nothing. She didn’t love him. She didn’t know that he loved her. Or if she did, she didn’t care. They were friends, that was all.
Sex. Death. Resurrection. features seven established and emerging authors and seven multidisciplinary artists coming together, disparately, around love, loss, hope, and rebirth.
Read "Resurrection" HERE
Read the whole story HERE
What had happened to me was only a failure of body; it was not a problem of mind...
Read the whole story HERE
After being kicked out of her home by her mother, 17-year-old Mollie Mifflin travels from Nowhere, New York, to the home of Emily and Deacon Molene in Brevity, Iowa. Emily is the author of Mollie’s favorite novel, Forevermore, which tells the implausible story of a pair of goblets that will grant any couple their fondest shared wish. Over the summer, Mollie insinuates herself into the Molenes’ lives—cooking and cleaning, and otherwise making herself indispensable to them—even as they are unaware that she has made their attic her home.
After the Molenes meet John and Sarah Steele, a successful but unhappy young couple, Mollie begins to blur the boundary between reality and fiction, coming to believe that the Molenes have used magic goblets to exchange bodies with the Steeles. Is it possible that Mollie’s suspicions are correct, or is she merely a very troubled teenager? And if this fantastical story is true, is it too late to undo the spell?
You can read the whole story HERE
Take Isabel Cooke. Here she is, in her house in her town in her world as it is now, with her husband dead a year. All the friends and colleagues who came around at first, to honor him and comfort her, have slipped back into their own lives again, leaving Isabel to fend for herself, supposing she must be over her grief by now.
You can read the whole story online at Necessary Fiction: Part One and Part Two
In the little town of Wizen River, Nebraska, a woman called Annie D. lives out her widowhood in a kind of peace, tending her beloved garden and observing the world around her like people do everywhere. There was a time, when Annie D. was a girl, when Wizen River was about the simplest, most innocent place a person could live. But even small towns change – and not for good. In Wizen River folks have taken to locking their doors at night for the first time ever.
Annie D. can't help but wonder and remember and search her soul for a key to what's long buried and forgotten. And the things she has to say could fill a book…