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glass_raindrops

Tunisia

18-year-old TCK obsessed with language in general, especially the written word, for my entire life. Working on my first fiction novel. Check out my blog at glassraindrops.com for more writing and even some art (my avatar is one of my paintings)!

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glass_raindrops (Tunisia) published:

Starsfall: A Life-Changing Smile

PROMPT: Novel Writing Competition

I love the depth of the night sky. In the city the distant points of starlight are veiled, but I can still trace the major constellations: the Big Dipper, Orion’s Belt. We had a couple nights as a family laying on sleeping bags in the backyard around a fire, fending off mosquitoes and learning constellations and tracking satellites across the deep blue ocean of space. My neighborhood is utterly silent at night, save the occasional far-off barking of dogs and...

Seeking Peer Reviews

6 days ago

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glass_raindrops (Tunisia) published:

The Disaster of Absolute Silence

PROMPT: Talking to “You”

The sky stretches above our heads, a faded dome of simmering heat, bleached at the edges. You let your eyes trace its expanse as you march to the rhythm of my boots. You experience a moment of smug reflection, pleased that you remembered to wear lightweight sandals instead. Sure, your feet are starting to ache, but what of it? You aren't baking like me. 
The mountain of rubble tumbles on before us, populated only with scattered brush and a few...

Seeking Peer Reviews

3 months ago

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glass_raindrops (Tunisia) published:

Alpine Storm

PROMPT: Slow Seeing

We sit on a wooden deck, a little sliver of porch, on the side of a mountain in the Alps. We just finished dinner, even though it's about 8:00, and my mom whisks away the mismatched dishes with remnants of stew puddling at the bottom. That contented feeling settles in your stomach, the kind that weighs you down and fills you up. 
We spend a few minutes like that, just sitting in the brisk air, watching the sun sink in...

Seeking Peer Reviews

3 months ago

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glass_raindrops (Tunisia) liked Hiroshima by jasonstarlight (United States)

3 months ago

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glass_raindrops (Tunisia) reviewed:

Here To Stay

PROMPT: Flash Fiction Competition

Extra note: I also love the way you linked the seasons to your family's emotions for the "shadowy bandit." The love for your pet shines through. It's simply awful that the poor thing died.

3 months ago

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glass_raindrops (Tunisia) published:

he escapes from the earth - يحرب من علم

PROMPT: Flash Fiction Competition

Yousef was expelled from his mother deformed. His head filled with water until it became a cantaloupe, his eyes scrunched under the weight, his emaciated body dangling. His family came from the south, from bleached sky and baking ground. They had no money for surgery so they left him in the dim hospital to die.
At first I was repelled from his metal crib. I held his head gingerly, a thin balloon stretched tight. He sucked feebly at the bottle....

Seeking Peer Reviews

3 months ago

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glass_raindrops (Tunisia) published:

I Went to be Friends with the Moon

PROMPT: Writing for Children Competition

I gazed one night at the moon's pale face
and the Moon gazed back at me, 
her attempt at explanation
was crystal clear to see. 

"I wish only to follow,"
she whispered in my ear, 
"Please do come back tomorrow," 
and then she disappeared. 

Next night I sat expectantly, 
cross-legged on my lawn, 
waiting for the moon to show
before the night was gone. 

She rose above trees' leafy hands 
her smile shone bright and strong
"I'm glad you came...

Seeking Peer Reviews

4 months ago

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glass_raindrops (Tunisia) published:

Artist of Fire

PROMPT: Writing Small

I once walked in on my brother having a miniature matchstick bonfire in his room, marveling at its beauty. He's watched a blue, etherial blaze in silence, fountained sparks from his forge like fireworks, fed the campfire on a midnight beach. He is the artist, flame his paint. 

Seeking Peer Reviews

4 months ago

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glass_raindrops (Tunisia) published:

I Went to be Friends with the Moon

PROMPT: Writing for Children Competition

I gazed one night at the moon's pale face
and the Moon gazed back at me, 
her attempt at explanation
was crystal clear to see. 

"I wish only to follow,"
she whispered in my ear, 
"Please do come back tomorrow," 
and then she disappeared. 

Next night I sat expectantly, 
cross-legged on my lawn, 
waiting for the moon to show
before the night was gone. 

She rose above trees' leafy hands 
her smile shone bright and strong
"I'm glad you came...

Seeking Peer Reviews

4 months ago

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glass_raindrops (Tunisia) published:

Lead On, Mr. Lewis

PROMPT: Other Worlds

The summer after we returned to America, my family took a short vacation in the Smoky Mountains where my mom’s family owns land. The day-long road trips down there blur like the view out the window, the view that shifted from city to blank fields to looming trees illuminated only by the twisting path of the headlights. 
We visited great-grandma one day, and I grew bored with the grown-up conversation. I decided to explore. 
The basement steps were terrifying to...

Seeking Peer Reviews

6 months ago

Published Work

Novel Writing Competition

Starsfall: A Life-Changing Smile

I love the depth of the night sky. In the city the distant points of starlight are veiled, but I can still trace the major constellations: the Big Dipper, Orion’s Belt. We had a couple nights as a family laying on sleeping bags in the backyard around a fire, fending off mosquitoes and learning constellations and tracking satellites across the deep blue ocean of space. My neighborhood is utterly silent at night, save the occasional far-off barking of dogs and the trilling of bugs. Lion, my tabby cat, didn’t particularly care for that racket.
That night, though, a soft drizzle obscured the sky and chased everyone indoors. My window hung half open, accepting the chill air into my previously stifling room. Light from my bending desk lamp pooled around my hunched shoulders as I sucked on the tip of my paintbrush. A muddied paint mug perched precariously on a pile of old textbooks from junior year, a blotchy rag lay...

Talking to “You”

The Disaster of Absolute Silence

The sky stretches above our heads, a faded dome of simmering heat, bleached at the edges. You let your eyes trace its expanse as you march to the rhythm of my boots. You experience a moment of smug reflection, pleased that you remembered to wear lightweight sandals instead. Sure, your feet are starting to ache, but what of it? You aren't baking like me. 
The mountain of rubble tumbles on before us, populated only with scattered brush and a few minuscule, flowered thorns. You glance over your shoulder, stumble, and catch yourself on hands full of bloody gravel. Brilliant.  
"Are you okay?" I ask, kneeling next to you on the narrow path. 
"Fine," you grunt. You accept my arm up and dust yourself off, hissing in pain. The tender skin of your palm is peppered with tiny flecks of filthy rock. You sigh and start picking them out. 
"You sure?" I inquire, eyebrows knit together. Most of my jaw-length dirty-blonde hair has...

Slow Seeing

Alpine Storm

We sit on a wooden deck, a little sliver of porch, on the side of a mountain in the Alps. We just finished dinner, even though it's about 8:00, and my mom whisks away the mismatched dishes with remnants of stew puddling at the bottom. That contented feeling settles in your stomach, the kind that weighs you down and fills you up. 
We spend a few minutes like that, just sitting in the brisk air, watching the sun sink in a blazing hot pink globe through the hills on our right. The distant valley homes fade comfortably into grey as golden sunlight streaks the lush mountainsides. Cowbells from a nearby slope sound in the still, fresh air. I chuckle absently.  
"What is it?" you ask, amused.  
"Your head," I respond, still smiling. "You keep bashing it on the ceilings like Gandalf in the Hobbit hole. Do you have a bruise yet?"  
You frown ruefully, rubbing the offending spot. "This place...

Flash Fiction Competition

he escapes from the earth - يحرب من علم

Yousef was expelled from his mother deformed. His head filled with water until it became a cantaloupe, his eyes scrunched under the weight, his emaciated body dangling. His family came from the south, from bleached sky and baking ground. They had no money for surgery so they left him in the dim hospital to die.
At first I was repelled from his metal crib. I held his head gingerly, a thin balloon stretched tight. He sucked feebly at the bottle. His weight settled over my heart.
Next month he was gone, another child, gaze liquid brown, in his place.

Writing for Children Competition

I Went to be Friends with the Moon

I gazed one night at the moon's pale face
and the Moon gazed back at me, 
her attempt at explanation
was crystal clear to see. 

"I wish only to follow,"
she whispered in my ear, 
"Please do come back tomorrow," 
and then she disappeared. 

Next night I sat expectantly, 
cross-legged on my lawn, 
waiting for the moon to show
before the night was gone. 

She rose above trees' leafy hands 
her smile shone bright and strong
"I'm glad you came again," she said,
"I've felt far too alone."

I smiled hesitantly back
and glanced down at my shoes. 
"Do you want to be my friend, miss? 
I'm often lonely, too."

Her eyes shown radiantly bright
and she stepped down from the stars, 
"That's all I truly want," she said,
And then the night was ours. 

Writing Small

Artist of Fire

I once walked in on my brother having a miniature matchstick bonfire in his room, marveling at its beauty. He's watched a blue, etherial blaze in silence, fountained sparks from his forge like fireworks, fed the campfire on a midnight beach. He is the artist, flame his paint. 

Writing for Children Competition

I Went to be Friends with the Moon

I gazed one night at the moon's pale face
and the Moon gazed back at me, 
her attempt at explanation
was crystal clear to see. 

"I wish only to follow,"
she whispered in my ear, 
"Please do come back tomorrow," 
and then she disappeared. 

Next night I sat expectantly, 
cross-legged on my lawn, 
waiting for the moon to show
before the night was gone. 

She rose above trees' leafy hands 
her smile shone bright and strong
"I'm glad you came again," she said,
"I've felt far too alone."

"I understand you're sad, miss,
I also want a friend.
Would you be my friend, miss?
We, neither one, must spend 

an hour curled lonely in the dark
missing our happy half. 
Instead, we'll spend our time together,
play games, spin stories, laugh.

Her eyes shown radiantly bright
and she stepped down from the stars, 
"That's all I truly want," she said,
And then the night was ours. 

Other Worlds

Lead On, Mr. Lewis

The summer after we returned to America, my family took a short vacation in the Smoky Mountains where my mom’s family owns land. The day-long road trips down there blur like the view out the window, the view that shifted from city to blank fields to looming trees illuminated only by the twisting path of the headlights. 
We visited great-grandma one day, and I grew bored with the grown-up conversation. I decided to explore. 
The basement steps were terrifying to a seven-year-old, but down the narrow path I went, clutching the metal rail. The wood sneaked under my feet and cans of repellant, bottles of rat poison, and mouse-traps stared back at me from the ledge along the staircase. At the bottom, a cement slab covered by an ancient braided rug. The laundry room to my right, a bookshelf to my left. I had loved books my whole life, following along over my dad's shoulder as he read to me...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

ebb and flow

What majesty in a wave. 
what peace in gentle curves
as they tumble in sand 
soft from eons tossed in black depths.
Pearls at the ocean's throat. Undulate 
between my toes. 
My strip of sand lies between
the Golden furnace consuming the sky 
and billowed clouds stretching rain to meet
the ocean's horizon. 

Years I have stood, heels sinking in sand.
Years I have knelt by flickering flames
enchanted by embers of words 
drawn out by flecks in the sky.  
Years I have walked, barefoot, on this shore
arms linked with my father's 
in step with my mother 
watching my brother
collect shards and scraps and shells. 

Years have gone, seconds have slipped 
relentless waves, wishes, worries
replaced each year with more. 
for Years I walked this shore. 

Others walked beside me. 
Their footsteps waded off into surf 
branching off along my path. 
The waves pull at my path now, beckoning 
endless expanse of blue, white-tipped, that
drips from a...

Synchronized Sounds

forgive me

my hair in pale pigtails, i pouted. 
Stale air opens to metal porch,
past the sloping green lies the lake
shimmering in late gold light.
Portraits smile from paneled walls
down on her, 
regal in her green armchair, 
white hair a halo, 
and me. 

I glare at my toes,
guilty. 
Her rosebush stands in the sun, 
drooping blooms broken. 
My sandaled feet trace a pattern on green, stained carpeting. 
a weight crouches in my small chest. 
the words grip in my throat. 
the tears leak from my eyes. 

“I forgive you.” 
As if they are simple to say, average to admit. 
my sorry came too late, she beat me to it. 
It squeaks out, deflated. Stripped of potency. 
tears heat to anger
anger at the power taken from my tiny fist
anger at my shame. 

In the years since
as her mind leaked out her brain
as consciousness failed, 
i remembered. 
forgiveness unwarranted, freely given. 
a lesson from a woman...

Beyond Reason

Omnipresence

Who's seen the moon uncurl from heav'nly bed
And is she formed of rose or hook or smile? 
Who's seen flame's heart burn far past glorious red
And crouched, entranced, by fire's side a while?

Who's felt the sweet embrace of gentle breeze,
Warm and cool and soft the selfsame time?
Whose soul has music brought low on its knees
With rhythm, chorus, magic and sweet rhyme?

Who's glimpsed the muffling gauze of early cold
Draped softly o'er the sky in gold of dawn,
Whose even gaze seen morning's hue unfold
And grasped the anchor that they do belong?

When dunes of silk extend from inky sky
Whose footprints mark the unknown, empty sand?
When bright-hoped children wonder endless why
Who lets them ask, but not to understand?

Whose eyes track men like specks, angels below
Each burning with their own eternal flame?
Who's seen those lives connect, and truly known
Each flicker's worth to HIm is just the same?

Rewilding

The Rain Plays Many Voices

sliff (noun): That little bit of water that continues to trickle down a hill or gutter long after the downpour has ceased. 

domthur (noun): The resounding echo of desperately deep and distant thunder.

sollow (noun) : A cold, bright place found among deep, dry snow or light rain. 

plitter (noun) : That pittering, pathetic splutter of a sprinkle that hardly seems worth the effort and is somehow mesmerizing.

thorming (verb) : When rain slams the ground and walls and roof it almost punches straight through, when the roaring of the thunderbattle rolls over and swallows your bellowing attempts to be heard, and when the terrible majesty of an all-out downpour fills you with inexplicable exhilaration. The expresso shot of pure life. 

 

My December Competition

goodbyes of sand, saltwater, and snow

December feels odd as the years go by.
I remember the anticipation of the past, the crowding of family, the joy of the gift-giving. Cliche. Common. Special.
The Christmas before we left Wisconsin, we got a real tree. It rained needles across the hardwood and made the whole house smell like evergreen. I wore a plaid dress and sat for a charming picture by our fireplace. I ripped open gifts and left the multicolored paper strewn across the hardwood for my parents to clean up, heedless of the noise and the mess I left. I remember my aunt and my uncles; my cousin, too young to sit up on his own, gurgled on the couch. My little brother raced around the room in his faded Superman pajamas with boundless energy, his dimple emerging under the influence of his constant grin. His teeth are still crooked. He now looms over me, thinner and more angular, with longer hair and broader motions and...

Book Review Writing Competition

When Death Tells the Story: Markus Zusak's The Book Thief

There is no doubt in my mind that Markus Zusak's The Book Thief is a modern classic. The way the author uses words is a phenomenal draught of joy to any lover of literature. The unexpected language, the stunningly real character development, and a plot to rip your heart out combine into nothing short of literary art. It possesses distilled language, still dripping and alive on the page. Almost every line begs to be quoted. From beginning to end The Book Thief is raw, stunning emotions in a handful of ink. It takes up residence in your soul. 

The Book Thief is narrated by Death. This fact, never directly admitted, proves startlingly poignant.
He relates the story of Liesel Meminger, a ten-year-old girl who was dropped as a foster child on Himmel Street, Molching, Germany, during the second World War. It features wardrobe-shaped, harsh-tongued Rosa Hubermann, the silver-eyed accordion player Hans Hubermann, Rudy Steiner, the lemon-haired neighbor who wants nothing more than...

1 Photo, 20 Words

flicker.

Indigo flames
coalesce into golden
flecks. The harmony of existence is
displayed in a
moment, 
passing over our
fragile
minds.

Book Review Writing Competition

When Death Tells the Story: Markus Zusak's The Book Thief

There is no doubt that Markus Zusak's The Book Thief is a modern classic. The way the author uses words is a draught of joy to any lover of literature. The unexpected language, the stunningly real character development, and a plot to rip your heart out combine into nothing short of literary art. It possesses distilled language, still dripping and alive on the page. Almost every line begs to be quoted. From beginning to end The Book Thief is raw, stunning emotions in a handful of ink. It takes up residence in your soul. 

The Book Thief is narrated by Death. This fact, never directly admitted, proves startlingly poignant.
He relates the story of Liesel Meminger, a ten-year-old girl who was dropped as a foster child on Himmel Street, Molching, Germany, during the second World War. It features wardrobe-shaped, harsh-tongued Rosa Hubermann, the silver-eyed accordion player Hans Hubermann, Rudy Steiner, the lemon-haired neighbor who wants nothing more than to be Jesse...

10 Second Essays

To Coin a Proverb

1. Logic depends almost wholly on your worldview. 
2. No conflict will be solved unless at least one side chooses to appreciate the other regardless. 
3. Few realms of life are not stained with gray for those who keep a curious mind. 
4. Happiness is temporary, joy is contentment, and hope trusts that life will be better. They are not mutually exclusive. 
5. Contentment shares no virtues with complacency. 
6. Philosophy should be interesting, belief should be practical. 
 

Flash Fiction Competition

Wuthering Storm

She watches the grey sheet of rain through heavy eyelids. Her ears ring as the steel curtain advances across desolate countryside, consuming shrubs in a thundering that vibrates the oak beneath her toes, painted plum. She clutches her floral mug. The coffee’s cold. 
Lightning echoes through clouds. She squeezes her eyes shut against the memory. 
Sophie’s mittens gripping hers. Sophie's pleading. Sophie’s delight, caramel coating her mouth. Sophie's desperate hazel eyes, choking. Mother’s screaming. Her own voice, calling for help. 
She pulls her knees up, dripping silent tears. 
I tried to save her, Mom. 
"Your fault."
The storm strikes. 

Novel Writing Competition - Nov '15

Chapter 1: A Life-Changing Smile

Come on Mom, where are you? I felt my hands getting progressively sweatier as I waited. I surreptitiously wiped them on my t-shirt. The beeping of each item as it went under the scanner nudged me closer to social failure. Where was that woman, after all? We’d purchased enough supplies for our little four-person family to survive a month of the apocalypse. Soon I would be forced to wait awkwardly for my absent mother to return with her credit card to pay for the trove of groceries. Being me, I was not relishing the moment.
I watched the orange juice and industrial-sized bag of Lucky Charms (for my sugar-addicted little brother) slide into the bagging area with growing anticipation, then glanced around the store, over racks of tabloids, for my missing mother.
I craned my neck, staring over the ear of the man behind me. My eyes refocused on him and instantly my discomfort quadrupled. The man was maybe in...

One Sentence Story

Goodbye

It seems harsh not to cry when so many are leaving, but you see, so many have already gone. 

Enumeration

11 Experiences Expats Enjoy

  1. You know how to navigate an airport, and which countries have the most security. 
  2. You had your passport years before your driver’s license.
  3. In fact, you might not have your license yet. 
  4. Your experience is so multicultural, you don’t know what influences you the most. (For example, you might live in an African country, speak French and English, have parents from Latin America and hang out with Asian friends.)
  5. You break out into a nervous sweat at the question, “So where are you from?”
  6. And your answer vastly depends on which country you’re in. 
  7. You can develop quick connections with other expats (no matter where you meet them). 
  8. Your group of friends tells the coolest stories. (Lost on safari, hunting in the Amazon, almost blown up by a cigarette at the roadside gas station… The list goes on.)
  9. Mostly your life feels totally normal…
  10. But sometimes the weirdness of it hits you. 
  11. Still, you know that this way, your life...

Inventory

Starfall Characters

Karyn - mustard yellow duffel bag
1. Watercolor journal with engraved cover, open to an image of a pale man with shark teeth. 
2. Artist kit with watercolor set and pencils
3. Hardcover copy of The Hobbit
4. Threatening note scrawled in black ink
5. Pocketknife
6. Photos of family (and the cat)
7. Taekwondo black belt certification

Luke - worn backpack
1. Duct tape
2. 3 types of lighters
3. Rope
4. A granola bar from last week 
5. Carbon rods from inside batteries
6. Deck of cards
7. Laptop running at least 3 operating systems
8. Miscellaneous cords, wires, and solar panels
9. The ingredients for a flash bomb
10. Battered headphones

Brooke - bedroom
1. Weapons rack with assorted blades
2. Greek column 
3. Tiger pelt
4. The Art of War on the dresser
5. Antique violin case, well-used but empty
6. Bookcase of leather journals from different eras
7. Constellation mural on the ceiling

Gabbi - bedroom
1. Grand...

Illumination

casual genius

He ambles purposely through the halls with shirt untucked and dark hair falling in his eyes, dragging a ragged backpack that overflows with hastily scribbled notes on Physics, Calculus, Arabic, English, French, Korean... He is entirely unapologetic and frustrating in his casual genius (not to speak of his odd humor), yet no one can help but grant him a silent, grudging respect.  
 

Illumination

casual genius

The dark-haired senior perches solidly on one of those stiff school chairs, munching on ramen, mind clattering wildly on fifty different levels, wholly focused on the chess board in front of him. As he ambles a piece across the board, his opponent considers the game with eyes stoic behind his glasses, hands on his thin knees, mind turning smoothly in the comfortable silence of the room. 
 

All Talk

To See, To Change, To Fight

Alex, I haven't seen you in so long. 
I know. 
How've you been? Did that job pan out? Get any good professors this year?
Some. 
You didn't answer my other questions. 
Fine, I've been fine. My job's fine. 
Oh. 

Did you make any new friends here? Will I be able to meet them?
Gosh, I dunno, Heather.
I would love to see what you've been up to in that massive city of a school. 
Sure, I can give you a tour sometime. 
... You already did a year ago, remember?
Right. I forgot. 
Are you all right? What's going on? 
I'm fine, I already told you. 
You don't seem fine. 
I told you, I'm fine!
...
Little brother. 
I told you not to call me that. 
I don't care how tall you are, you're still my little brother. What's wrong? 
We're in a restaurant, sis. Everyone can hear. 
No they can't. It's busy enough. Chatter's a good cover for whatever...

After... After... After

The Road Goes Ever On…

After countless sunsets over beaches that were never the same, after nights spent tracing shifting maps in unchanging stars, after the dewy grass under the hickory trees in our old backyard, after a field in Austria, after a beach along the Mediterranean, after an eager and tear-filled plane ride that stretched in endless trails into darkness, after fearful expectations and homesickness, after the quirky teacher who taught us an awful lot about how to be open-minded, hold on to our values, and learn well (but considerably less about language arts), after the shaky videos of scrawny friends wrestling and laughing and doing handstands, after the ‘graduation’ party when we played card games on the floral carpet and ate cheap pizza and listened to “Dumb Ways to Die” entirely too many times, after the multi-family camping trip when none of us took a bath for a week and it was so blasted windy that Kaleb almost flew away with the tent,...

Everyday Magic

firewings

Most children catch fireflies.
I watch my own stumble through the dew,
chubby hands outstretched to wings
that flicker beneath the dome of rich blue.
A memory surfaces of myself in
my grandmother’s home in the mountains,
running after minuscule elfin 
figures in the full silence of night.

lights flutter,
glittering through a mesh
of thick darkness. 
Glass jar on
cambric,
eyes blinking into sleep,
reflecting a star-map
of glory.

Flashlight

wondering

torn shreds of joy
flutter
on the breeze
in the lives of millions.

yet here i am
watching light
dance
off green glass
and wondering
what it would be like
to fly

Friendship Narrative Competition

shifting sands


"I wish you had told me sooner."
Karyn watched the rotation of the ceiling fan flash and change in the fading light. Her dirty blonde hair spread over the patchwork quilt on her friend's bed, framing a face that certainly didn't look her sixteen years. A buildup in her increased with her roaming thoughts. The bed shifted as Alli pushed up onto her elbow. Hazel eyes stared down at Karyn from under dark brows that were creased in frustration. 
"I wish I could have. My parents really didn't want word getting out, though." Karyn attempted to ignore that piercing gaze, instead imagining how the past months had escaped her. Living in the Middle East had been as complex and exotic as any life, not close to as terrifying as the media painted it. Until the attacks that forced her family to leave on a wave of well-meaning concern from friends and family. Even then, everyone just seemed scared. Like the...

Friendship Tweet

lifeline


They know your insecurities, what your wedding dress will look like, and all your odd quirks. You could stand with a planet between you and remain close in your soul.

drifting

Every time it is this way.
Right before we have to leave,
I feel a
weightlessness  .  .  .
a disconnection
like a hot air balloon that has
just
let
go
.
And the thoughts seep back in,
the ones about where,
if at all,
i belong.

If home is where my friends are,
and all of them leave,
one
by
one
Where does that leave me?

I rest my head gently on my folded hands,
watching patches of light and earth drift by
unsettled heart, but still i close my eyes...

Six-Word Memoir

me

vibrant words for a stitched-up story
globe travel with pen and page
all that's left is to trust

Setting as Mood

The Cheshire Moon

I huddled deeper into the darkness of my suitcoat, watching my dark-haired reflection in the wavering mirror of a drain. The buildings around us shifted in the darkness, merely a venerable backdrop for a hazy scene. There was a loud scraping, and the metal cover rolled aside. We stood there for a spellbound moment, staring into the dark depths of the hole. The shadows in it seemed somehow different from the shadows around us, as different as bright sunlight is to the flickering brightness of a single bulb. They seemed more ominous and foreboding, stirring around like an evil, ethereal soup. The chill that rose from the hole smelled musty, dry, dank, and dead. Goosebumps spread all up and down my body, and I gave an involuntary shudder, nudging a stray strand of hair out of my eyes. 
"Well." Luke's voice, sure and confident, echoed each of our thoughts. "Here we go." 
Abruptly, Brooke swung herself into the hole, and...

Five Novel Titles

Typewriters and Boys That Fly

A Rain of Starlight
The Year I Lost My Dreams
The Joke of the Cosmos (that's me!)
Veil of Stars
Typewriters and Boys That Fly

O’Clock

death, outrage, repeat

January 27, 1945: Aushwitz prisoners liberated
November 13, 2015: 130 killed in Paris


1945
ground shook, 
pebbles
dancing on strings.
the tanks arrived, and the soldiers
trying not to 
gape,
hearts
shattering, seeping 
at the edges. 
Eyes, hollow. 
Souls, loosened.
Bodies, destroyed.

Death may not have a sickle and cape,
we'll all know someday. 
Until then, I see her
veiled,
cold, 
hardened
from the work she must do. 
Not so much from her patients, mind. 
Many pass into glory,
more blessed than those of us here.
(except for the good people who don't)
it's the ones left behind...

We claimed that it would never happen again. 

2015
screams ripped from throats, 
chaos bleeding,
city ripped to shreds. 
reporters arrived, proclaiming tragedy. 
we all announced
our support 
our shared pain
for a city outraged.
Wives gone,
Fathers lost,
Sons murdered.

And yet,
are we really surprised?
The world is
broken,
fractured,
at the seams. 
There is no safe place, really.
We all run...

Improbable Flavor

Taste the Sky

Sky spreads above, a dome encircling our world. The coolness of it soothes my throat as I drink in the starlight, remembering other nights beneath its folds. I taste velvety blue, sprinkled with pinpricks into glory. I taste wood smoke, crackling fires in fine sand and tales told under the comforting folds of a darkness that draws secrets from your throat. I taste rain, cool and sweet, and the exhileration of a thunderstorm in bare feet. The brilliance of a hundred streaks of light bounces around inside my skin, longing to be released. 

Ten Words to You

pinpointing me

Fine sands bookend open-hearted people. Tiny world wrapped in words.

Ten Words to You

pinpointing me

Beach to desert, suspense-filled country. Home on a knife's edge.

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