Monthly Archives: February 2015

Darkest

There is a pit of deepest hell That treads upon the sod From which the richest treasures grow So promises the god. From suffering comes the purest voice, Throat that bore the unspared rod And in the darkness measured full … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Leave a comment

The Forgotten One, by Wren Hartwood (posted by permission)

The Forgotten One His kind had been many, once, a long time ago. Forgotten alone, upon wind swept, grassy hill. Time has flowed past him, lonely sentinel in stone. Many wander by, never seeing what once was. His tears now … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Leave a comment

Ammonite, by Barry E. Woodman (posted by permission)

The Ammonite. The stone woke and the spirit of the Ammonite broke free and surveyed the beach that had become its home. I was once King of the seas and roamed at will. All creatures paid homage to me and now … Continue reading

Posted in Short Fiction | Leave a comment

Shell I Be Your Valentine, by Kira Morgana (posted by permission)

Shell I Be Your Valentine? The tide receded and the door in the centre of the ammonite popped open. A head darted out, followed by a slithery body and silver tail. The creature shook itself and spotted a glistening shell … Continue reading

Posted in Short Fiction | Leave a comment

Chisel, by Dan Mader (posted by permission)

Chisel He is a man conflicted. His clothes smell like oil and his nails are black. He reads poetry by candle light. He thinks of when she was near him. Hears her voice and starts – he is screaming inside. … Continue reading

Posted in Short Fiction | 1 Comment

Shieling, by Erin O’Quinn (posted by permission)

  Shieling He’d found a dolmen, its linteled roof now shingled with grass and moss, and he’d called it his own. Aye, a shieling, a place of refuge from winter’s raw wind. A place to bring his fractured spirit whenever … Continue reading

Posted in Short Fiction | 1 Comment

Stone, by Suzana Wylie

Stone Poised on knife of cliff, attending onslaughts numbered four. Slow, inexorable, the number four. Against one perhaps—but no. The flickering things lie, touching, vowing, striking sharp, they wink and are no more. No slipping, sliding lies. That is not … Continue reading

Posted in Short Fiction | 3 Comments