Stories from
September, 2009

Our best days: Him: ?  Me: …  Him: ??  Me: !!!  Him: ???  Me: @#%&!!!!  Him: …!!  Me:  >:)

Mercedes M. Yardley (@mercedesmy) was always sweet and gracious, she swears.

He glared. Sex is not a reward. She shrugged and placed a dish in the drying rack. He stewed on the couch a while, then took out the trash.

William Wood lives in an old farmhouse in the Blue Ridge Mountains with an understanding family. He often writes instead of sleeping.

Grass between toes. Painted nails, tattooed ankle, slow gait.  No haste, not as before. The fields remember her anyway. Flowers kiss hello.

Marie Croke’s brain resides in her little toe. As she walks it rattles around and around, occasionally spitting out something profound.

Our pastor left his hat here, so dad wore it to church the next week. Mid-sermon, the pastor squinted our way, so dad tipped his hat hello.

DannyPoet (@dannypoet) is a writer of fiction and poetry who is currently working on his first novel.

He leaned on her stomach, imagining he could still hear the little ghost breaths, but she pushed him away, crying, before he could be sure.

@Mari_ness lives and writes in central Florida, under the unhelpful guidance of two adorable cats.

She lived in a world of beautiful confusion: raindrop curtains and jellybean stars; graffitied skies and dripping suns. Yet they pitied her.

Em D likes quirky witticisms, sexual innuendo, and blueberries. Em D hates corny puns, toilet humor, and raisins. (@slashindex)

She almost said yes, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw two lurking smirks, an elbow poking a rib. No, she said. Not with you.

Jennifer Tatroe (@jhtatroe) lives in Seattle, where she’s working on a novel that’s decidedly longer than 140 characters.

I know you read everything I write, wondering if it’s about you. Well, here you go. You’re worth 121 characters to me.

Mercedes M. Yardley wears poisonous flowers in her hair.

If Frankenstein ever knocks on my door I’ll kiss him right there at the threshold. Thank you, I’ll say, thank you for being so obvious.

Peter Schwartz is just a less obvious monster.

The grey cathedral steps open up to arches of sky. From the garden glints the Bishop’s ring, who covers his face when I spot him.

Dannypoet (@dannypoet) is a writer of fiction and poetry who is currently working on his first novel.