Tag Archives: prose

Words Underground

Scribe is submersed, subaquatic.

Scribe, breath held, is swimming like a jellyfish.

Scribe, at home in the moment, coexists amicably.

Scribe hasn’t thought to surface for air.

Scribe is landless, stretched thin.

Scribe, stride full, is sprinting like a cockroach.

Scribe, with shadow-born pallor, makes ready.

Scribe will jump toward daylight.

Scribe is airborne, flying.

Scribe, wings extended, is soaring on thermals.

Scribe, eyes closed and at peace, floats higher.

Scribe knows not of descent.

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Here Today by Nicholas DiClementi

They’re demolishing
the house next door to mine.

The weatherboard cracks
and splinters
as it’s torn
from the building’s foundation.
Each piece is tossed
into a pile
like fallen soldiers
into a ditch.
The wrecking ball
crashes into the single brick facade.
“The single brick facade
gives the house character,”
a real estate agent once said.
Piece by piece
is felled or crushed until
nothing remains
but a cluster of grey rubble
where the neighbor children used to play hopscotch.

They’re demolishing
the house next door to mine.
It was here yesterday,
and now it’s gone.

It’s funny,
I think,
how some things are like that.

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Wednesday Write-in #31: White-capped King

Wednesday Write-in #31 @ CAKE.shortandsweet

Prompts: sniffle  ::  font  ::  northern  ::  powdered  ::  pick a card


It’s in the northern part of this state that the mountain peaks are always white-capped, their slopes powdered with virgin snowfall. It’s where the children sniffle in the morning as they prepare themselves for the walk to the school house in the bitter cold. And it’s where King George always takes holy water from the font and crosses himself before finishing his walk to the mills.

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Filed under Featured Content, Flash Fiction, Wednesday Write-In, Writing

Flash Fiction Challenge: Choose Your Random Sentence

Flash Fiction Challenge: Choose Your Random Sentence (courtesy of terribleminds)

The challenge is to write a story based on a sentence spewed out by this sentence generator.


October 15, 1995

I stole some medical records from my primary care physician today.

Actually, I am sleeping with a nurse at the office and convinced her to photocopy the medical record of a recently diseased patient which she readily obliged in that tingly, after-sex fog that so definitively suspends our faculties.

I just put in my two weeks, she told me. So what do I care?

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Filed under Featured Content, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction Challenge: terribleminds, Writing