Was her brother a dream? (99 word story)

Was her brother a dream?

The boy in the garden was resurfacing. They’d played make-believe siblings before those words; “You know, don’t you?” She’d read his hurt at her confusion as anger, so had retreated. Spikey adults argued above them. Fragments of that conversation, and one other ambush cut deep enough to scar.

His echo became an imaginary friend, then guardian angel, then shadow. She forgot the name she hadn’t liked in her princess days, then misplaced his memory for decades. But he never left her.

It was weird loving someone you weren’t sure existed.

Then Darren’s letter arrived.

The Sue Vincent Rodeo Classic

Originally posted on Carrot Ranch Literary Community:
by H.R.R. Gorman Here at the Carrot Ranch, we take the business of 99-word literary art seriously. Those who participate in the Ranch prompts or yearly Rodeo saddle up to TUFF (The Ultimate Flash Fiction) it out and train new Rough Riders as we go. Now, the Ranch…

Deeper (tanka #writephoto)

pelt in the dark stream,
its chiming distance muting
nadirs and zeniths,
I choose the bright apices
by gravities’ granite lip.

Antonia Sara Zenkevitch

Appointed (#WritePhoto)

Crow calls, silver scented chaos on a wing, the first bird in our fable, servant of the eternal treated like a lesser thing, she has pierced the veil of remembering, sky-scattered ash, forlorn tales warning of apocalypse, past or forward-telling; projectiles of perhaps; of gross human failing; humanity’s mishaps, of greed, and taking, wings flap…

Why is it all about the ‘base’?

but they still talk about the Trumpist base
all ‘bout the base, not justice,
but some of that Trumpist base are fascists
it’s ’bout that base, ’bout that base, not justice
it’s all ’bout that base, ’bout that base …

The Trees’ Prayer

beneath the trees we scatter stones, crystals sprinkled, quartz, adventurine, jasper, shining on whiteout pavements, hematite and sea stone offered, we’re gifted branches by the Rowan that once gave us an indoor sukkah while I was bedbound in our home, one loosed branch will be my pointer in the time yet to be spun, I’ll…

Mother Mezuzah; a Tree of Life Tale

Becca lived with her dad, Jo, and her younger sibling, Jacob, near the city park. From her bedroom window in their attic, some of the remaining trees of an ancient forest seemed to spill into their garden. Everyday her dad would put Jacob in a toddler carrier on his back and they’d welcome the day…

Rowan

Hello all, I hope this finds you and your loved ones well. If it doesn’t you are in my thoughts and prayers. The following is one poem from a temporary flurry of art and words on the Tree of Life. For me this is a celebration of not only Tu B’ Shevat, the birthday of…

Dear Antisemite; a poem for Holocaust Memorial Day

The poem below is the first of a collection it has taken me a long time to share. I’ve not been sharing my work broadly for a while, both for health reasons and the sense of being silenced. Enough said on that one. This Holocaust Memorial Day I am sharing this. It is actually being…