Category: Stories

A Story that Continues to be Written By Nicolle Vanwie

PREFACE The seed of this story sprouted in my mid 20’s through my 30s, when traveling defined my life and I started keeping “Notes for Something Else”. After years of crisscrossing the globe, I settled down to be an architect and the notes sat for years until my husband and… Read More»

Untitled By Anonymous

I’d never felt solace in my mother’s thick brown arms. But when she stretched them out to me now, I felt a gravitational pull in my guts. Her mouth formed my name, but no sound came out. Kindness of a super human volume poured from her solar face. Though this… Read More»

The Whaler’s Daughter by Moose Jackson

No more for me the kelp the krill no more the sea instead the thrillthe proffered cheek clasped and dainty the tiny fist i dreamed i kissed the whaler’s daughter i dreamed i swam above the land winter storms notwithstanding i dreamed a poemand sounded, singing and won her wild… Read More»

Boris by Anonymous

Above all, Boris was glad to be free of them all. Of course he loved the pod, of course. They were his blood, his kith and kin. But god, the bellowing. They never seemed to stop. Vibration upon and less deep vibration, the constant reverberation of their lumbering vocal chords-… Read More»

A selection of stories by Indigo Mattingly

9 Once upon a time there was a lady who wanted a llama, but it was cold so she had to put a jacket on and a hoody on. 5 Once upon a time a lady went on a walk on the water, but the walk melted on the water… Read More»

Overboard By Elsie Smith

Lovely early morning breeze – dies, Glossy sea, Sun so hot, Time to go!! (The boots are hi-tech walking across water boots, available occasionally on line. Wish I had had them when I was a young sailor!!)

Traces of Angels By Mark Folse

  She goes out in the morning looking for traces of angels. Her momma’s house is chock-a-block with cherubs and delicate porcelain nymphs with gilded wings. Even the fractured worm of ash of the cigarette her mother passed out smoking sits in a bowl cradled by the hands of a… Read More»

The Secret of New Orleans By Kay Michener

  Every song starts in silence. I looked out the window at Iowa in deep Christmas and saw white expanses with inked-­‐in trees and the V of geese in flight. Remembering the wild hoarse goose song that hits me in the gut every time—a cry both communal and of each… Read More»