Reading Stories

Girl had found the boxes of books from the storeroom to be a treasure trove. Bear had long forgotten they were there, although he, too, had plundered their wealth when he was a boy, then discarded them when he reached his late teens. Girl was distinctly older than that but found that reading them let her pretend she was a child again, and rediscover a time when life seemed simpler, fresher, and more promising. As such, sh...

Immersed inside a book outside a storeThe lady stopped, involved in stories deep.To break into her mind might prove a boorBut surely one could ask to take a peep. What novel had she found inside the stall,A queer old book or volume bound in calf?Perchance a quaint old tale to hold in thrall?One hopes it isn't just some worthless chaff. A strong allure is built from many quirksDisplayed while one has lost oneself inside.A...

Before the creak of keys in the door, came the cacophony of jeers. It swelled in volume until almost painful on the ears, dying to a faded moan after a few long minutes.The man, in the end cell, closed his eyes in the hope that it would soften the assault on his ears. It did not. Four times a day the yelling occurred, never was it necessary. Animals they were, not men, snarling and howling for their supper. Supper! A gran...

"Ayyyy?"Abigail gritted her teeth. Why couldn't her father ever, not once, manage her full name? She was simply a sound, a noise emitted from between filthy lips when he needed to refer to her. The screech of her first initial was his calling-cry when he wanted her, or a whine when she wasn't good enough."Coming, Father." She picked up the tray, heavy with ale and meat, curling her skeletal fingers around the oak handles...

When I was fifteen, I wrote a poem that earned me a spot in a writer’s workshop. I didn’t submit it, a teacher did. I was the youngest person in the workshop. I did not know it at the time but a special arrangement had been made for me after some degree of protest. I didn’t even have to pay. There was a girl, she was seventeen and apparently gifted from the way her poetry read. She paid. The rest of them were pretty much...

I go to the library to relax To find a book with all the facts Read a short story on the run Grab a joke-book just for fun Visit places I have never been See people with different trends Look up sports, animals and such These and more with only a touch With a library card and a look The world becomes an open book

With a thought the feeling returns and I impulsively clutch my chest. It won't go away. My mind whirls with disordered thoughts. I realise that I'm frowning again and try to relax my eyebrows. The pain abates a bit, and I chastise myself once again for my moment of weakness as I become conscious of the way I'm clutching at my heart. But that thought is enough to trigger another wave of overwhelming loss to wash over me. D...