Tag: short story
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Bottom of the Mountain River
Today, you are a river otter. You slide into the stream from the slope of the shore, watching the silver shiners swim in every which way. They are fighting for their survival. But so are you. It’s dinner; you must hunt. You work until you catch enough to eat yourself, and then some extra to…
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Infelix
When the car headlights flash against the ceramic flowerpot, still sitting on the corner of the porch where you left it, I see your green feline eyes. Still waiting where I left them. Whoever first said black cats were unlucky never got to meet you. Every time I cried, you found all the hurting places.…
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Logging Off?
Yeah, 10 hours yesterday / I am happy though / (happier than most) / Satisfied, even / I mean, the rush is never as strong as the first time it hit / but at least something is guaranteed / it’s the internet / there always *has* to be something out there / something else to…
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The Wall in My Therapist’s Office
At the end of every appointment, I drag myself from her office, walking past the vibrant banners. Each flag is illustrated with its own colors and flown by its own people. Like a lighthouse, they guide the lost home. Like a moon on the water, they create peace amongst the chaos of the world. The…
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“Buddy”
Between the wire-barbed bar, lens cap of his life, he can see a worker approaching his cage. This time, she does not offer him food. She reaches for the sign above his cage (“Puppy for Sale”) and pulls it down, the replacement already under-arm. “Dog for Sale; Marked Down.” Partially paid for by what it…
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Tell Us How You Feel
I’m sitting on a city bench, running on empty. Whatever vividness used to live here has just. Burned out. That space of empty space. Lost in something I have lost. It’s a feeling not like ice, but ash asking, “Where do I go from here?” And then staring at the ground beneath my feet. Losing…
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When We Are Reclaimed
Slow-dancing to jazz, they waltz down the street, framed by an orange sky. It’s the end of the world; the cries of deep voices mix indiscriminately with shrill ones, reverberating endlessly down the road. Dark figures, veiled in the unknown of shadow, watch from buildings far back as the lovers dance across the asphalt. The…
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Contact
Thirty-seven. When the eyes scour the photo, they will notice, however unconsciously, that the photographed hands hold each in thirty-seven places. No matter whose eyes look at it, no matter what species will find the photo, they will be amazed by it. On the deserted planet of the worst people during their worst time, the…
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Wishes of Sugar and Insulin (Varies by the Day)
She’s sitting by the fire, drawing with a pencil and crayons. Her phone (though she wishes it was a dog) whines at her side, begging for notice. My service dog is hungry, she tells herself, flipping over to maintain the strange creature, growling and groaning. Her stomach flips as she does it, turning on the…
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Children of Earth and Sky
Even if I were to collide with the glass of the bus window, destroyed by all of the moments of my darkest hours, I can open my eyes and escape. For, beyond every pane of glass, there will always be a bird wrapped up in the melodies of its own song, perhaps hunting, drinking, bathing,…
Hazel J. Hall 