https://inkfeathers.com/until-then-theres-coffee/#AnthologySubmission I have always thought publishing my writing by a house is only in the future and that became a habit that I kept thinking for years without considering that I am moving deep into the future every day.But, now I have stumbled upon opportunity to publish my short story through a publication house which … Continue reading A Small Chance to Get Published
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Normal is not what's right; it is just what's common. In a world where hatred was fortunate enough to prey on it's victims, what happened to the people who weren't normal but good is what this story is about.
For every moment in the future that might put a question in my head to doubt my sanity, content, and ever so elusive happiness, let this moment be a reminder that I was happy even if it was only for a passing instance on a mundane day. I am capable of being happy, but I … Continue reading I am Happy Now
If I were to be a thing in this world, I wouldn’t be something bold that steals the show or makes your jaw drop low.
Every time I step on these sands, I feel like I have come home. Back to my mother’s lap to listen to her lull.
“Are you sure about this?” Jenny’s sweaty palms were wrapped around my elbow, and I could feel the heat radiating from her hands inside my cotton shirt. “Yeah, I think…yeah! What’s the point of all these when it’s not useful to anyone, fucking, ever!” I said.
With sweat upon my face after running in a fast pace, I took a seat on the top row thinking of the effort I sow by failing on this day.
First set of threads of a couple of story
Ana cradled her daughter in her arms, the child’s head burrowing deep inside her thick cloak. It was behind them now, but what was before? She had thought it was all over for them when they were cast adrift. Belus had chosen a day of storm to be rid of her, and his face was … Continue reading Two Threads 2
Last night, for the first two hours after taking a pain killer, I dipped in and out of half-sleep, woken by the same imperative repeated over and over—don’t forget two threads of the story, the two characters in a boat, the other two on the mountain, remember how the threads pull together.
Two hours of this anxiety that I might forget the vital elements of the plot of the story plagued me before I woke completely, the pain too bad to sleep and the anxiety still there.
on the water
a boat with swan’s wings
But what is the story? Not one that I am writing. Who are the two people in the boat? What is their relationship with the two climbing the mountain? I wish I knew. Perhaps it is a story waiting to be written, the voice urging me to remember, the voice of what…
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It’s the third day of the month: another peaceful morning, another mud and grass track, and the same warm sun on my face. You know what they say: thrice makes it thrives. Okay, maybe nobody says that, but I got something else to say and it’s about hope.