Stream of Consciousness

A Crown of Beauty
“Do you remember that verse I told you about?” “The one from Isaiah?” “Yes. The one about a crown of beauty instead of ashes.”
By Sound and Spirit3 months ago in Fiction
In Search of Eternity
His street occupied a position of rare absurdity on the map of City N.: it neither led to the sea nor toward the train station. By setting foot on it, one found oneself even farther from one’s destination. Moreover, it was far less well lit than neighboring Verdi Street.
By Anastasia Tsarkova3 months ago in Fiction
Not a quick fix but a timely stitch
SENSING THE TRIGGER: THE CONVOLUTED MIND AT PLAY On a boat, holding on to an urn, riding in fear, The light through the dense mangroves seems to pave the way,
By Parvathi J3 months ago in Fiction
How to fill a hot water bottle. (Or, How to get through the night.)
1. Go to the cupboard where you keep all the towels and sheets. It's at the top of the stairs. Take a deep breath and roll your shoulders back. For this will take some effort. Reach up and dig into the mountain of materials. Past the scratchy towels, the creased sheets, the mismatched pillowcases, the marooned sock. Keep feeling until you find something somewhat soft. There might be a bit of matting from lack of use. With a slight hardness underneath. Grab onto it. Firmly. Begin to start pulling it out of its hole. Like a game of Jenga, don't let the mountain get on top of you. It helps to use one hand for steadying the mountain and the other hand for gripping on to the hot water bottle. Carefully slide it out. Take your time.
By Sarah O'Grady3 months ago in Fiction
A Bright Ribbon in Darker Times
A flower in a pot, a card and Heroes sweets in Morrisons brown paper bag warm the spot behind the door. I pick them all up, stunned, after reading his message, “I dropped a little something on the doorstep for you.” We are not lovers, not even friends.
By Moon Desert3 months ago in Fiction
Notes on Afterwards
I can no longer think about anything. I simply savor the moments when I can close my eyes and let myself be carried away by the memories of that night. Desire burns me, devours me, paralyzes me. Abrupt sentences, monosyllabic words, insults, linguistic pirouettes—from god to whore—loop endlessly in my head. It’s the moment when one no longer knows how to speak, like a newborn, the moment when the verb is not yet there. The moment when one feels the present instant in all its nuances: through touch, sight, taste, smell. The moment when one almost no longer exists. No, when one truly no longer exists, especially as an individual being. It is the moment of absolute fusion with another. It is the moment of coït. With two dots on a single i.
By Anastasia Tsarkova3 months ago in Fiction
Penicillin
“Now dear friends, come close, come hither! Listen at my altar and you’ll be blessed forever! Good you’re all here. Post a pic or a missive. I’d hate for your neighbors to see you missin’.
By Matthew J. Fromm3 months ago in Fiction
A Practical Manual for Accountability. Winner in Instructions Included Challenge.
This manual exists because something already went wrong. If you are reading this, it is likely because You caused harm and tried to minimize it.
By Cadma3 months ago in Fiction
Smelly Neighbor
To the Community: In response to complaints from other businesses and residents about our company, we want to address these concerns.
By Andrea Corwin 3 months ago in Fiction
The Rules That Kept the House Quiet
I didn’t know about the rules at first. I only noticed that she moved through motherhood like someone walking across ice: slow, deliberate, always listening for cracks. She was careful, but it didn’t look gentle. Her carefulness felt more like holding something in.
By Lori A. A.3 months ago in Fiction
Self Therapy.
"Who ae you, this stranger's face in the mirror. If you are me - You seem more, um... mature than I care to remember". "I'm you, but an extended wiser version whom you refuse to acknowledge".
By Novel Allen3 months ago in Fiction
Pebbling
She woke to the soundless glow of her phone. It lay face down on the nightstand, but the screen had lit itself sometime before dawn, a thin bar of light leaking onto the wood. She rolled onto her side and reached for it, careful not to wake him. His breathing was steady, the shallow rise and fall of his chest familiar enough that she could tell what part of sleep he was in by sound alone.
By Jesse Lee3 months ago in Fiction