April 3, 2018

“Witches Gone Wicked: Womby’s School for Wayward Witches” By Sarina Dorie, Part 2

“Witches Gone Wicked: Womby’s School for Wayward Witches” By Sarina Dorie, Part 2

As promised, following Chapters 1 and 2 yesterday, here are Chapters 3 and 4 of Witches Gone Wicked. If you like what you’ve read, the author has a special, limited time offer for you. You can have a free copy of the ebook in exchange for writing a brief review. If you’re interested, please go to InstaFreebie to claim your copy. Once you’ve finished, please thank Sarina by posting a review on Amazon or Goodreads.   Witches Gone Wicked: Womby’s School for Wayward Witches by Sarina Dorie Chapter Three Encounters of the Witchkin Kind   I had hoped that once I came to Womby’s, everything would be clear to me: I would understand where I came from and how my powers worked. Now that I knew my best friend, Derrick, was in this realm, I…

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March 28, 2018

“A Poet of Sorts” by Rashmi Prakash

“A Poet of Sorts” by Rashmi Prakash

Here is a lovely, reflective poem for you today. I. Cross, out-of-sorts at odds, always in want of a better word I’m a poet of sorts.   Crucified on the cross- roads of time and purpose I stand and ponder: if the road I’m on   is less traveled or more? Cars spin 360 degrees below, as I watch from my Ivory Tower   40 feet above is enough too much reality is not good for me. I’m fussy.   I don’t like to get my feet dirty. Head planted firmly in the clouds I take great strides   across the seven seas. Cross deserts; climb peaks. Sometimes, I’m seen millions of light years away.   I straddle both worlds. Clearly, I’ve businesses of my own to attend. Philosopher at large   sage, devil, demigod…

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February 6, 2018

“Sitter Envy” by Christopher S. Bell

“Sitter Envy” by Christopher S. Bell

Even on a Friday, Nina felt guilty calling off. She wouldn’t have to improvise a cough on Monday; her fellow technicians recapping their weekends in expenses and well-planned excursions, an occasional raw moment surfacing from the dust. Usually this meant somebody out of place wandered in, caused a ruckus, and migrated back to their designated end. Flagstaff had many corners to facilitate bad habits. “Don’t pick your nose, honey,” Nina instructed her son, both mildly catatonic on the sofa. She’d wanted to have an adventure with Levi that day, take him somewhere new and gauge his expression. Instead, her four-year-old spent a good portion of the morning sleeping before they discussed Shirley over breakfast. The young boy had grown quite fond of his babysitter, championing their endless summer in between bites. Beyond disappointment, Nina felt…

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January 31, 2018

“Forgetting She Forgot” by Roger McKnight

“Forgetting She Forgot” by Roger McKnight

Addie Voss’s Michael was the one with asthma, but she learned to share it with him.  He wheezed and hacked and she complained about his clogged-up tubes like they were her own.  Looking for relief, the two fled Illinois and headed for sunny Albuquerque, but the desert air gave Michael nosebleeds.  In Redding and Denver, it was the heat or the altitude.  That had been the go-around since they got married in the early ‘90s, nomading it here and there, looking, hoping. Now today, an ordinary Tuesday, Addie was waiting in confusion at San Francisco International for a plane back to Minneapolis, their latest city, where she had left Michael and their four kids a couple days earlier.  For Michael, jobs were plentiful in Minnesota, even if breathing remained a chore.  She guessed other things…

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January 4, 2018

New Year’s Poetry by Chimezie Ihekuna

New Year’s Poetry by Chimezie Ihekuna

Editor’s Note: Please see Simran’s review of  Chimezie’s – “Mr. Ben’s” – collected works in the Reviews section. Be Inspired When you’re down, you tend to be close to your feet and consequently, close to defeat. But for the sake of success, please rise to your feet. That’s the feat!                                          Succeeding The Race Success is the race, So, you should to move at your pace  After all, it’s your lane So don’t let your strength wane It’s about completing your journey Don’t let anyone take you funny There are no competitions Because you know your onions Reaching the finish line is its own accomplishment Then you will appreciate the beauty of your commitment   Talking Thoughts Talking can be cheap But its consequence might be difficult to keep Its seeds can be weak…

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December 19, 2017

“Once Pink Youth” – Poetry by Hope Bolinger

“Once Pink Youth” – Poetry by Hope Bolinger

Drip Castles Teardrops of North Carolina sand bite into Pure pink skin, The color of raw sunsets—of a conch’s innards—of a teething child’s gums.   A sunburnt fist Plunges into a wan Bucket full Of sludgy sand.   The Atlantic water on top of the Sunken soil sloshes like Stomach acid.   Fistfuls of sopping slush Form spires of mire, tilt(yards) of silt, ditches of grit—graves of gravel.   Alas, pure pink castles of Muddied fancies Disappear   In a wave Of briny ocean breakers Dissolving into a stump of once-pink youth.   Snow Questions Spring Yellowed school books say Spring makes all fair beings grow, do ashen teachers see sun’s rays—sickles, shred Snow? Sharp grass blades impale, sting? No frail child, browning slush, murky backwash from tires muddied your thoughts. Infant soft moss Spring…

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December 17, 2017

“Etiquette,” A Short Story by William Masters

“Etiquette,” A Short Story by William Masters

I RIDE ELEVATORS.   To reach my office in downtown San Francisco I take the escalator from the ground floor to the mezzanine. From the mezzanine I ride an elevator from elevator bank A to the 21st floor. From the 21st floor I switch to elevator bank B and ride to the 33rd floor on which my office is located. If I arrive in the building between 8:30 and 9:00AM, multiple stops at various floors extend my ride by six to ten minutes.   I rely on gearless traction electrical thrust to deliver me to work.   In order to arrive on time I must also add elevator travel time to my bus commute. Eighteen minutes plus twelve minutes equal thirty minutes. Of course, I still add an additional six to ten minute wait for…

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December 14, 2017

Five Micropoems by Akshat Shukla

Five Micropoems by Akshat Shukla

Fusion A light Sinks into lethargy, Dying for A fusion with darkness.   Sunlight The sunlight Bathing in a river; Bubbles of frolic Dancing on the shifting surface.   Commotion The strings of commotion Stretched Beyond time and space Binding the universe In a bundle Of knotted ciphers.   Thoughts Thoughts Scamper across The mind, Colliding, Falling over each other — Stampede.   A Bumblebee Drunk on nectar, A bumblebee Whirrs around, Soaking in The sunshine, Zigzagging Along the hedge, Amazed at the beauty Of the morn. ***   Akshat Shukla is a research scholar at CSJM University, Kanpur, India. He is working on Ecocriticism for his research thesis. Apart from research writing, he writes poetry and fiction, in which he became interested  when he was introduced to romantic poetry. His poems and stories have…

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December 12, 2017

“The Oddity of Jo Bobby and the Seven Doors” – A Story by Derrick R. Lafayette

“The Oddity of Jo Bobby and the Seven Doors” – A Story by Derrick R. Lafayette

Editor’s Note: This story is a bit longer than our usual fare, but we’re publishing it nonetheless because it’s an unusually entertaining work: a western and a mystery and even a bit of a supernatural thriller, set in the early days of America. Enjoy! “You Bobby-Jo?” “I’m Jo Bobby.” A gunshot blast rang through the wraparound porch of a colonial-style blue and white house that morning in Wormwood, Tennessee. August 9th, 1830, the hottest day Wormwood had ever seen. A gunshot blast so loud that the nearby sheriff, prune-skinned with a handlebar white mustache, woke up in his bed. The gun holster, cupping his gleaming silver pride and joy, was hanging lazily off his bedpost, adjacent to a snoring whale of a woman who wasn’t his wife. The sheriff gripped both sides of his coarse…

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November 16, 2017

“The Green Sock is Good” – A Short Story by Riham Adly

“The Green Sock is Good” – A Short Story by Riham Adly

“How can you possibly go to work wearing these?” I looked down at my feet and smiled. “What’s wrong with them?” I pretended not to notice. “You’re wearing mismatched socks and one of them is green for Heaven’s sake! That’s bad luck,” Bob, my all-knowing husband, hollered, before pointing his index finger at my feet. Must admit though, the look on his face was priceless. “I don’t have to be a neat-freak like you, and besides they’re both clean. No holes in the soles, and contrary to your belief, green brings good luck.” His frown deepened as I started laughing. I wasn’t making any sense believing mismatched socks brought good luck, but they did—this pair at least. It all started last week when I was late for work. The alarm didn’t go for some reason,…

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