Our own thoughts came around again. Funny how that happens. A floor holding an image of a mirror came back. Someone wanted something. Watch as the floor says nothing, having seen twice what was once, and then watch as the voice asks for more.
Sometimes we would twist our face
into a blue towel to see what was real.
Take a seat on today. Watch the birds.
Listen to their laughter. Be with them.
My short story, ‘The Stump Maker,’ word count his risen to 3,400!
There’s something about bringing a story to life that fills my soul full of positive fuel.
The submission word cap is 5,000..so I’ll be sliding this one to an end shorty…a heart pounding end I hope! It is a horror story after all ;P
I hope your day is treating you well.
Author of ‘Only. Just. Here.’ Which is published in America’s Emerging Horror Writers: East Region:
And author of the award winning short story, ‘Bodies in The Basement.’
Read for free here: https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/bodies-in-the-basement-awarded-publication-of-the-year-non-poetic-spillwords-press-nyc-2019/
Expressions adrift like wildfire,
spreading- unavailable ribbons of safety
ripped from the hands of the just and
given to the hounds of the hill
Lay us near the side of our brook. We’ll listen and observe a thing burn inside, like we did. Turn again in the mud, smell the ferns, wash the ‘self’, and watch as soul sinks in. Man in a white coat wants to ask how, doesn’t matter much. He’ll be here, or not, again. Seems to us a brook is a fine place to be. It’s always about something. So we see, and we do what there is to do about the seeing until, finality.
I haven’t seen him since 2016
This is us
Wrote a story about him
He’s in the middle
I’m on the right
Phil is on the left
Love the man
He always said
We got to try everything once
That was then
I wonder about that now
I’m 700 words into my new Horror Story, “The Stump Maker,” I can’t wait to submit this! I know how it’s going to end….it’s just a matter of letting the words flow and filling in the dots. …
I hope everyone is doing as good as possible and that your day is treating you well. And please, remember, it’s a beautiful life if we let it be, even when it rains.
Bodies in The Basement won Publication of the Year, non-poetic, on SpillWords Press, NYC. I invite you to read it..
Went outside today.
Still felt the same.
Birds. Wind. Trees.
Drove to the dump.
Mike and Mo wore
masks. I drove a
bit farther from their
dump shack than I
They took their masks
down when they
saw me. I Rolled down
my window and asked
how they were.
Pretty sure either
everything is fine
or everything is
the crow, is perched on a branch
outside my window.
Some fifty feet in the air.
And just now, his friend,
another crow, came to perch alongside him.
They don’t seem to mind about anything.
I like how they do that.
I think I’ll do that too.