All articles filed in Short Stories
A Bumblebee’s Faith
When the bumblebee dies, the day is the most beautiful it has ever seen. The world above has never been so blue, so clear and lulling, and the trees have never smelled so sickeningly sweet. The bumblebee once thought that trees were like the promise…
Read MoreWinter’s Promise
Present. Past. Future.These are three beings I know.Intangible and impalpable peoplewho nevertheless walk with mein the snow. Present and Future leave nofootprints for the eye,and you would not even know they were there,if Present’s boots did not crunch with a sigh. Past indents the white fieldwith tracks that are faint and true,left with flowers springing,yet…
Read MoreWarm Child
Three deer statues,side by side,once so golden and smooth.To the farthest left and right,the two are hugein comparison to the fawn snuggled in between. Sightless eyes andscentless nosesyou would think make for poor sketchesof the world revolving.But it is not so,for the deer see more than you and I.A world not meant for thee and me.…
Read MoreRain, Rain, (Do(n’t)) Go Away
It rains too much where I live. It is raining again today. Peering beyond the streaked glass window, I strain to see the faint lamplights pulsing in the haze. Dark, round hats and black umbrellas dot the streets, poorly attempting to cast…
Read MoreLike a Fool I’ve Desired
In the moon’s dreams, it danced with a girl. It was different than dancing with the sun. The sun was always out of reach, lonely whisps curling ribbons that were snipped by jealous comets. They were spinning in beat with a voiceless melody, the absent tune swallowing the space between everything and nothing. Everything and…
Read MoreVague
The window is open tonight, the breezeless evening sighing in the silence of the moon. Another sleepless sheep wanders the pastures beyond the glass pane, grazing on grass that cries in the fond memory of golden sunlight dew. Occasionally the sheep stops to inspect the odd flower protruding from the greens, but she steps past…
Read MoreRocks
If the thing had been in a fairytale or a nursery rhyme, I reckon it would have been the big, bad wolf. Its stomach would have been carefully cut open with scissors, and stuffed with heavy, heavy rocks. The stitches would be crude– but that would be okay, it was going to fall down a…
Read MoreSolitude’s Delivery Man
Mr. Verd had always believed that fallen leaves were symbols of change. Where you found one shriveled skeleton, it could be ascertained that a youthful bud had emerged from the depths of a timeless slumber. When Autumn came, whistling melodies of foreshadowed snow, the man wished he could walk among boulevards of sunset showers, surrounded…
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