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A few night ago, I had a dream that I had written a kid’s book. In the dream, I was reading the book aloud to a group of kids. I read what felt like half the story before the dream ended. I have had an idea for a book for children for a few years,
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Sif stood outside the apothecary, watching through the window as Hrist and her granddaughter, Edda, worked. The girl was smiling as something the older woman was saying. Sif wondered if she was telling a joke, recanting a story, or offering praise for Edda’s work. Sif had watched the pair for well over an hour. The
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Sif liked to use the tame magic when no one else was looking. Her family had a gray, L shaped device that was light enough to hold in one hand. The handle was about the length of her hand, and the barrel was a little longer and had more girth. When switched on, it blew
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Sif moved casually through the streets of the town, chewing on her thoughts. The main road with the shops had been cleared by Helga earlier. She felt the lingering presence of her sister Bairn along the avenue. The smell of woodsmoke was strong on the wind. She caught the scent of roasting meat. Hrist must
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Sif walked through the piled drifts, moving towards the woods without haste. The storm had stopped blowing after Ulfrun had commanded it, but the sun had not come out until the next day, and Sif had not felt like leaving the fireside while the clouds still hung overhead. She trudged through the snow, knowing she
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Sif pulled back the curtain and looked out across the blinding snow. The gales were so strong they were blowing the flakes sideways. Ulfrun was at the fire, gazing deep into the flames. Sif dropped the heavy fabric, shutting out the cold. She joined her sister at the hearth. “Can you see anything today?” she
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Didn’t you tell me Not to eat my own brain with my thoughts Those intrusive falsehoods that wind their way in Like worms or spiders Those thoughts that tunnel through the sponge Which is soft and delicious and easy to digest. Didn’t you tell me not to do that? You told me to call you
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Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror Count all the scars that have somehow shown up in my Gray hairs and smile lines and crow’s feet And I wonder if this is what people see when they look at me Or if they see something different than the pain That I feel is plainly
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Once, I was called an onion as a compliment. I think it’s true. An onion has a thick outer skin that protects the rest of the bulb. Each layer is thick, until you get closer to the center, where the heart of the onion flakes apart if you touch it just right. It has visible
The Quick and the Dead
Short stories. Creative experiments. Ideas that might not pan out.
The Quick and the Dead 