You were always there, around a distant corner, the far-away man, in the back of my mind. As my sister lay withering away in a hospital bed, it was you, with those ice-blue eyes, always smiling, that wit, your spark. I could see all of you, still. You were the sunlight and the rain, the thunder and the fire. You were everything rolled into one, and I moved about with those vibrations,...

Added 22 Jul 2021 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 1 | Avg Score 5 | Views 149 | 1 Comment

    Dear Sam, I watch the June bugs crawl around as the fireflies float and light up my porch. It makes me want to let go, give in and be free. Part of me wants to tell you, you do light up this tiny space, my world. Your humor and compassion, that coolness and great love for music make me feel like I’m back in our hometown, but I’m not. I did escape that world and left for college to...

Added 21 Jul 2021 | Category Flash Fiction | Votes 1 | Avg Score 5 | Views 152 | 1 Comment

              For that is the question, isn’t it? I don’t know who you are anymore. Once, you were the guy, my carefree man with those sea-glass colored eyes and that laugh. Oh, the way you could make me laugh. We used to sit outside on a blanket in the plush grass with the berries and the gouda, the white wine and lay there looking up toward the turquoise sky until that dark day, the one...

Added 11 Feb 2021 | Category Flash Fiction | Votes 2 | Avg Score 5 | Views 177 | 3 Comments

It’s 3 o’clock in the morning, and her creative brain is racing, racing once again. The house is soundless and dark. During those lonely hours, that dreamy state, she finds herself talking to Maya Angelou, the master poet, the one who possesses language, wisdom and light. She asks for guidance, some inspiration, that jolt, that will appear and fill all those sad, blank pages that wait for...

Added 10 Feb 2021 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 3 | Avg Score 5 | Views 189 | 4 Comments

In the watered down version of you, you are merely an acquaintance not the love from my youth. In this version, you are smaller with those thin hands that keep slipping through mine. And, yes, you still speak with a bit of a southern accent, but it’s not smooth or gentle. This voice does not grasp me at once wrapping me in the light that was you. Those sweetheart-baby doll-honey-sugar words...

Added 21 Nov 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 2 | Avg Score 5 | Views 175 | 2 Comments

Jacob calls me in the afternoons, around three to make sure I am out of bed. On this day, I am groggy, but I still answer. “Let’s go have a margarita at that Mexican place by the gallery tonight,” he says. “Not yet. OK?” “Oh, come now, Jane! They have great fajitas, killer salsa. Besides, margaritas are your fav!” “I’m not up for it. Not today,” “Have you been able to paint?” “No.” ...

Added 19 Nov 2020 | Category Flash Fiction | Votes 2 | Avg Score 5 | Views 205 | 2 Comments

They called you King Edward. You were King of your ground.  Whether we were lonely, joyful, worn-down, or heartbroken, riding down the highway of life, with a switch of the radio, you could fill days with illusions to match any mood. There were colors spilling from the guitar, swirling into sounds that shook us, wrapped us, the eruption we didn’t expect. You molded our tiny, fragile...

Added 14 Oct 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 3 | Avg Score 5 | Views 176 | 3 Comments

You weren’t always a ghost, sometimes a bit distant or “emotionally reserved” as they say, this easy, strong, quiet presence. Six feet tall and suave, you with the crazy wave in your hair, fierce dimples, a hint of gold around your pupils, all of it. You wrapped me. I was a junkie for years before the doctor gave us the diagnosis, that dim one. And so in time, you began to diminish. Mouth...

Added 06 Oct 2020 | Category Flash Fiction | Votes 4 | Avg Score 5 | Views 303 | 4 Comments

It’s 4 AM. My mother wants to drive. There’s nowhere for us to go, but she wants to tell me about Jesus, the devil, and music. It’s summertime. I don’t get to go to school. She has turned the radio knob up as high as it will go, and the sounds of pianos, guitars, and horns fill the air. My mother used to be a sexy singer in a cocktail lounge before her head got sick, all sour. Now, she...

Added 04 Oct 2020 | Category Flash Fiction | Votes 6 | Avg Score 5 | Views 280 | 6 Comments