A Tiny And Colorful Literary Journal

Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

July, 2018

Dear readers and contributors,

I apologize for the late posting of this issue!  It’s a tiny one, too.  And I’ve included a piece of my own.  I hope you enjoy.

 

Pink Bikini by Nicole Monaghan

She wants coves, coconuts, indigenous lizards.

She wants the ocean.

She was six then sixteen.

I will gather her the whole sea in my arms.

 

Nicole Monaghan is founding and managing editor of Nailpolish Stories, a Tiny and Colorful Literary Journal.  Her collection of small fictions Want, Wound won the Burning River Contest in 2013.  She is editor of STRIPPED (PS Books 2011), an anthology of anonymous flash fiction featuring nearly fifty writers of flash across the country and the world.  Her work appears in many venues both online and in print.  Visit her at http://www.writenic.wordpress.com

 

 

Garage Band by Erin Adams

She shimmies under, hopeful

Three-chord thrum stops, drummer makes a fat joke

She dumps someone’s mom’s lemon squares in her purse,

hits the opener button.

 

Erin Adams is author of the novel, Wait for the Light, and she works as a freelance copywriter when she’s not being lazy. Her brilliant husband, ill-behaved dogs, and talented writer friends are her greatest inspirations. You can find out more about Erin at http://www.erin-adams.com

 

Three pieces by Clarissa McFairy

Mimosas for Mr. and Mrs. 

He never gave her roses, only mimosas. Mimosa wedding bouquet. Mimosa petals on honeymoon bed. Mimosa cocktails in bathtub. Mimosa kisses. Then she drowned him.

 

Nein! Nein! Nein! OK, Fine!

“Enough booze! Gimme that bottle, Kat. How many lives d’you think you’ve got?” “Nein! Nein! Nein! OK, Fine!”, sobs Katinka, kissing her ninth Hansa goodbye.

 

Nein! Nein! Nein! OK, Fine!

One more kiss, Brunhilda. Nein! Nein! Nein! OK, Fine! Her smouldering lips sink into his neck. Afterwards, he phones room service for a Bloody Mary.

 

Clarissa McFairy lives in Cape Town, South Africa. She writes short stories and poetry for anthologies, at home and abroad. Her poem, La Mia Musawas a vox poetica 2012 Best of the Net nominee. Her poetry book, Strange Bedfellows, published in the USA (Red Dashboard LLC Publishing) is available at Amazon.com. Clarissa says she writes as the muse grabs her and whirls her around the dance floor of life.

 

 

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April, 2018

Midnight by Charles Rafferty

 

Two of Luke’s friends peeked in through a back window. They began clapping. A minute later, Mandy hurried to the car, her shirt buttons misaligned.

 

Charles Rafferty‘s new book of prose poems is The Smoke of Horses (BOA Editions).

 

 

Over the Edge by Steven Jakobi

 

The sniper is good at his job. They trust him, need him. That is his special kind of hell. His conscience is driving him insane.

 

 

Steven Jakobi is a retired biology professor. He and his wife live in rural Allegany County, New York with three dogs, two cats and a mess of chickens.

 

 

 

Two pieces by Stella Samuel

 

After Midnight

 

Moon rays lit long hair

as her breath paused.

One teardrop on soft skin.

She said,

“How many minutes ‘til you pass through me again?”

 

Italian Love Affair

 

By the ocean side, it sat.

In a wave lost on its break.

The missing piece

to a night she’ll never forget.

One high heel.

 

Stella Samuel is an author and editor writing women’s fiction, LGBT fiction, and children’s literature. She lives in Arizona, just about a mile south of the sun where her winter weather Saint Bernards soak up rays at her feet while she writes poolside.

 

Coalmates by Rachel Doherty

Entombed together

The last two men standing

Sharing one last swig in our inky grave

As we toast our lost brothers . . . and that annoying canary

 

Rachel Doherty works for a telecom giant by day and is a giant in her own right by night (a.k.a. a working mom who enjoys being creative in her spare time).  She graduated with a BA in Communications from Fordham University and an MA in Media Ecology from NYU.  She has been published in the 100 Voices anthology, the blog The Drabble, and the journal Yellow Mama.  Her own blog can be found at http://www.writestuffny.wordpress.com

 

 

 

Black Onyx by MM Wittle

 

Hidden in her classroom, her ring absorbed the remaining light because this lock down was not a drill. Proving her mother’s onyx ring myth wrong.

 

 

MM Wittle is a Senior Lead Educator by day, an adjunct professor at night, and a writer on alternating weekends. Feel free to follow her on Facebook at http://www.facebook/MMWittle. 

Some day, she will remember her twitter password, and you can follow her there as well.

January, 2018

 

Five pieces by Suzanne Cottrell

Quiet Time 

Striving for completeness,
Vanessa sauntered along
paths of concentric circles
struggling to lose herself,
so she could find her true self.
How many more times?

Shattered Souls 

An eerie silence before
the floor shifted
beneath their feet.
Teetering, wobbling,
clinging to each other.
Dishes rattled, fell, shattered.
Prayers to be spared silenced.

Turquoise and Caicos

Couple’s needed escape to tropical island paradise
Tepid, turquoise, shimmering waters
Exhilarating horseback ride through surf,
an attempt to splash life
into their mundane relationship

Pump the Jam

Rock’n roll groupies
orbit their planetary rock star
around the United States,
experience concert euphoria,
hoard musician’s paraphernalia,
long to attend a private jam session.

Brown Bag

Sunday night dilemma,
school lunches, what to pack?
Each child’s food preferences,
limited grocery options,
lacking creativity,
peanut butter and jelly,
apple, juice box again!
Suzanne Cottrell, an Ohio buckeye by birth, lives with her husband and three rescue dogs in rural Piedmont North Carolina. An outdoor enthusiast and retired teacher, she enjoys hiking, biking, gardening, and Pilates. Her flash fiction has appeared in Dragon Poet Review, The Pop Machine (Inwood Indiana Press), and Nailpolish Stories, A Tiny and Colorful Literary Journal.

 

 

Six pieces by Clarissa McFairy

 

Watermelon Martini

I eyed him over the rim of my Watermelon Martini, as from the gods, (theatrically) or balcony in Romeo and Juliet. He’d be a pushover.

Between the Sheets

Between the sheets, I find paradise. Each sunlit sheet, crisp and clean, yielding to my words. Penned in my new 50-page pad, exclusively for poetry.

Tap dancers

Her glass stilettos clink as they tap the tiles of the Trattoria. Tall champagne glasses, toasting each step towards her new prey. Spouse number six.

Vont to Bite my Neck

Vot keeps you so young? Me: Vampire! See my butt, no flab. Svetlana turns green … then bear-hugs me, growling, Vont to bite my neck?

Wildshine

She spun words, nibbling them before spitting them onto the page. Then she polished each one until it shone. She went for wildshine, never matt.

Satin Sister

Satin sisters into which I slip my morning feet. Soft, fluffy fairies, ferrying me to Jasmine tea. And the steamy kiss of hot buttered toast.

Clarissa McFairy lives  in Cape Town, South Africa. She writes short stories and poetry for anthologies, at home and abroad. Her poem, La Mia Musa was a vox poetica 2012 Best of the Net nominee. Her poetry book, Strange Bedfellows, published in the USA (Red Dashboard LLC Publishing) is available at Amazon.com. Clarissa says she writes as the muse grabs her and whirls her around the dance floor of life.

 

Blood Red by Candy Chilton

Crimson blade, scarlett line. Running rivulets from wrist to fingertips. Red blood congealing on her nails, dripping globules to the floor like spilled nail polish.

Candy Chilton lives, loves and laughs in Belgium.

 

Pink in the Park by Rebecca Field

She had a fetish for getting naked in public spaces, which he was happy to oblige, until she threw his trousers into the boating lake.

Rebecca Field juggles writing with caring for two young children and working in a demanding healthcare role. She has been published at Literally Stories, Short Fiction Break, 101 Words and Flash Fiction magazine. Forthcoming at Spelk.

 

Blue Mosaic by Joanna Weston

An indigo sky. Black water. Her surprised blue eyes. Bright turquoise swimsuit.
My wife with a million bucks in the bank: definitely worth one bullet.

Joanna M. Weston. Married; has two cats, multiple spiders,
a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader,
‘Frame and The McGuire’, published by Tradewind Books; and poetry,
‘A Bedroom of Searchlights’, published by Inanna Publications.
Her eBooks found at her blog: http://www.1960willowtree.wordpress.com/
http://www.1960willowtree.wordpress.com
A Bedroom of Searchlights – poetry
ISBN 978-1-77133-305-4
published by Inanna Publications

 

Quantum Nailpolish by Colin W. Campbell

Clever scientists said that nailpolish can be any color at all until someone looks at it. But how many girls do their nails without looking?

Colin W. Campbell writes short fiction and poetry in Sarawak on the green tropical island of Borneo and faraway in Yunnan in Southwest China. http://www.colincampbell.org

 

Five pieces by Jose Ramirez

Dr. Magic

“There’s nothing else I can do, I’m sorry,” he insisted. “Medicine is not magic.”

Years later, I attended his funeral: inoperable multiple meningiomas they said.

A Love Story

I had a dream once, where I was falling — in love, into a hole, into a rut, into pain, derision. And then I woke up.

The Future is Now

I met a robot on the street. My hate welled up when he said, “Hello.”

“Freak,” I snapped. “Go back to where you came from.”

Real Ghosts

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” my sister Cora whispered, weeping over a picture of Mama — so young, beautiful, and serene.

“I know,” I lamented.

Forgiveness

Mrs. Aguilar loved birds to death. She kept a cemetery in her backyard, each with little names, with little crosses, and little rosaries for forgiveness.

Jose Ramirez is a lover of very short stories — flash fiction, micro fiction — because they help him concentrate the meaning of ideas. A graduate of San Francisco State University, he majored in Creative Writing and minored in Journalism. Born in Texas, he now lives in San Diego.

 

Three pieces by Olivia Taylor 

Super Star Status

I met him five years later on the red carpet, radiant. He, the star, was starstruck by the formerly invisible fan of his scraping beginnings.

Crushed Candy

A glowing rainbow mess stuck to the sidewalk at Disney World, proving that even the garbage was magical. Inside, the candy store smelled like hope.

Red My Mind

Clark was quiet and gentle until someone was in trouble. Then he abandoned Plato to defend a justice that the ancient Greek would not understand.

Olivia Taylor loves to experiment with numerous genres of writing, including poetry, short stories, novels, and screenwriting.

 

Six pieces by Tyrean Martinson

Espresso Your Style

Hipsters drink cold brew
Teens giggle over mochas
The moms sip non-fat single lattes
Hot single men caress double macchiatos
And I drink honeyed tea.

Sashay My Way

A soft scent of cologne earns my glance. His suit fits tight.
The elevator dings. It’s my floor.
I exit, breathe out, let him go.

Scaredy Matte

The canvas looms. She grips the dripping brush.
He touches her.
She jerks away, spatters crimson across white.
He knows she will create his masterpiece.

Dating a Royal

Boring, but her mother insisted.
After an endlessly formal dinner,
she dove back into the sea,
hid her crown,
and raced manta rays with friends.

I’m Not Really a Waitress
I pack heat.
I wear pink lip gloss.
I smack my gum.
Remember the first one before you order anything off Billy Bag’s special menu.

Breakfast in Red

She ordered stewed tomatoes.
Her fingers were red, not the nails, but the skin.
I didn’t ask. I just served.
One never questioned the queen.

Tyrean Martinson is a writer, teacher, daydreamer, and believer who lives on the Peninsula in Washington State. She is the author of speculative and non-fiction books, as well as over 100 published short works of poetry and short stories. Find her at: http://tyreanswritingspot.blogspot.com

 

Powder Room by Erin Adams

No soap.
Florescent gloom.
She shimmers like she’s never felt pain.
I avoid the mirror.
She slams into a stall, pukes her gorgeous face off.

Erin Adams is the author of the novel, Wait for the Light, and she works as a freelance copywriter when she’s not being lazy.  Her brilliant husband, talented writer-friends, and her ill-behaved dogs are her greatest inspirations.  You can find out more about Erin at http://www.erin-adams.com

 

 

Best of 2017

“Best of 2017” stories were selected for their use of unique language, breadth of story in so few words, emotional impact, and the complex and original relationship of the titles to their stories.

Congratulations to the contributors for spinning these powerful pieces that made 2017 sparkle here at Nailpolish Stories. To NS readers and contributors alike, enjoy, be inspired, and thank you for supporting the journal.

 

 

from January

Naughty Nautical by E.J. Hagadorn

I roll up my sleeve and reach beneath the waves. Scars open, and the mermaid drinks her full moon tribute. Love is a funny thing.

E.J. Hagadorn’s published works can be found at http://www.ejhagadorn.com

 

Green Be My Body by Linda Imbler

Upon my death, bury me without the box.

Absorbed by worms in lilac gardens,

Will worms then travel to other gardens?

Leave my traces there?

Linda Imbler is the author of the chapbook “Lost and Found.”  She is most recently the author of “New Lives” forthcoming in Ascent Aspirations: Friday’s Poems. Other poems were published by deadsnakes.blogspot.combehappyzone.combluepepper.blogspot.combuckoffmag.com,  Broad River Review Literary Magazine, Fine Flu Journal, Blognostics,  and  Bunbury Magazine .

Three short stories have been published at Fear of Monkeys and Danse Macabre. This writer, yoga practitioner, and classical guitar player resides in Wichita, Kansas.

 

 

 

from April

Pillow Talk by  Madeline Mora-Summonte

Tonight, the voices slither, settle inside her with a sigh.
She shuffles from room to room, knife in hand.
Blood patters her feet like rain.

Madeline Mora-Summonte is a writer, a reader, a beach-comber, and a tortoise-owner. She is the author of the flash fiction collections The People We Used to Be and Garden of Lost Souls.

 

Garden Variety by Suzanne Cottrell

Seeking self-reliance,

Laboring daily,

Battling aphids and Japanese beetles,

Watering to overcome drought conditions,

Nightly arthritic aches,

She hopes for a harvest of fresh vegetables

Suzanne Cottrell lives in rural, Piedmont North Carolina.  An outdoor enthusiast and retired teacher, she now has time to pursue other interests and projects.  She is a fledgling writer, working to spread her wings and ride the thermals. She particularly enjoys writing poetry, flash fiction, and creative non-fiction. Her writing has been published in Nailpolish Stories, A Tiny and Colorful Literary Journal; The Weekly Avocet; The Fall Avocet; and The Plum Tree Tavern.

 

 

from July

Two pieces by Len Kuntz

Play Date

After the divorce, their sex is better than ever.  The bedroom rumbles.  His Ex showers quickly, says, “I’m so glad we’re not in love anymore.”

Sure Shot

The house sits empty now, so he fondles the pistol the way he once did his Ex, the searing bullet hot as her last kiss.

Len Kuntz is a writer from Washington State and an editor at the online magazine Literary Orphans. His latest story collection AT THE DEEP END is forthcoming from Ravenna Press in June of 2018. You can also find him at lenkuntz.blogspot.com

 

 

from October

At the Barre

Stretch away the hangovers

plié, relevé

trade fifths for eight counts

plié, relevé

forget why you wanted to forget

plié, relevé

pirouette, dizzy, but sober

 

Make the Cut by Annmarie Lockhart

First, finger the margin,
find the edge, then slice,
clean, take some extra.
Leave nothing behind.
Stitch the incision.
Then the scar will guide you.

Annmarie Lockhart is the founding editor of vox poetica, an online literary salon dedicated to bringing poetry into the everyday, and Unbound Content, an independent press devoted to poetry. A lifelong resident of Englewood, NJ, she writes two miles east of the hospital where she was born. You can find her words at fine places in print and online.

October, 2017

Seven pieces by Vallie Lynn Watson

Starter Wife

I called her Dialtone. I felt no jealousy, nor guilt. Pity. And anger once, when she said she hated music though she’d married a drummer.

 

Fishnet Stockings

When he photographed me, I snuck one of him, promising deletion. I instead printed then hid it, deep in my lingerie drawer, visible through sheerness.

 

Using My Maiden Name

The bellhop addressed us as Mr. and Mrs., using my surname. From then on H. called me “Mrs.,” except in bed, where I was “Dr.”

 

Topless and Barefoot

Once in our room I removed all my clothes, then most of his. We didn’t dress for forty-eight hours, though he never removed his socks.

 

Two Hour Lunch

The last time I saw him I had the flu. He visited at noon, made breakfast in bed. We didn’t know we should say goodbye.

 

Broke by Noon

We crossed paths once, a few months later. I almost raised my hand as our cars passed, but then saw she was in the backseat.

 

No Room for the Blues

He circled the deflated hot air balloon, leaned down, rubbed the blue velvet-like material, and knew she’d be okay. He left the woods quietly, alone.

Vallie Lynn Watson‘s debut novel, A River So Long, was published by Luminis Books in 2012. Her Pushcart-nominated work appears in PANK, Frigg, Gargoyle, and other magazines. Watson received a PhD from the Center for Writers and teaches at UNC Wilmington.

 

Three pieces by Lori Cramer

Jaded

Spotting my ex at a ballgame, I’m catapulted into the past: youth, revelry, indiscretion. Older and wiser now, I hurry away before he can see.

 

Pearls of Wisdom

He’d claimed to be at a baseball game with his buddies, but she suspected infidelity. The proof came later: a receipt from a jewelry store.

 

Something Blue

When we met, your mood matched your uniform, blue as a Picasso, but by evening’s end I’d transformed it into a lighter and brighter hue.

 

Lori Cramer’s short prose has appeared in Blink-Ink, Boston Literary Magazine, 50-Word Stories, Ink In Thirds, andWhale Road Review, among others. https://loricramerfiction.wordpress.com. Twitter: @LCramer29.

 

Eight pieces by Annmarie Lockhart

closing night

I warned you.

But you preferred

benefits without

friendship.

He holds my hand,

brings me flowers.

It’s curtain time.

Take a bow.

Exit stage right.

 

At the Barre

Stretch away the hangovers

plié, relevé

trade fifths for eight counts

plié, relevé

forget why you wanted to forget

plié, relevé

pirouette, dizzy, but sober

 

bubbles only

lip-bruised blood blister

collarbone-grazing fingerprints

leftover from a new-moon night

fade before we remember

where we misplaced

the bouquet and the garter

 

Make the Cut

First, finger the margin,

find the edge, then slice,

clean, take some extra.

Leave nothing behind.

Stitch the incision.

Then the scar will guide you.

 

Find Me a Mannequin

I’m not asking for much:

dance partner     hot pocket     sous chef     yes man     open hand

good habit    strong jaw     teddy bear     gold locket     heart throb

 

Mooning

My skin turned green in the shade

of the blocked sun, invisible ink

spilled secrets, told the tale

of how much

I want

to

eat.

 

Skinny Dip

A minute before his head hit the rock

he told her he didn’t love her and

dove, deaf to her curses, streaking

the lake bloodshot.

 

Baguette Me Not

Bring me cream puffs, lobster tails,

cannoli. Spin me sugar that tastes like love.

Pull me passion fruit taffy. Frost my skin.

Or kiss me.

Annmarie Lockhart is the founding editor of vox poetica, an online literary salon dedicated to bringing poetry into the everyday, and Unbound Content, an independent press devoted to poetry. A lifelong resident of Englewood, NJ, she writes two miles east of the hospital where she was born. You can find her words at fine places in print and online.

 

July, 2017

Precious Pink by Dave Harper

He waited, breath ragged, unblinking eyes, moaning. Sticky, pink froth bubbled from a chest wound.

Pistol cocked, Sanchez, always humane, administered the coup de grâce.

Dave’s hobbies are writing and watching paint dry. He’s uncertain which is more frustrating.

 

 

Nirvana by Arlene Antoinette

I curl my body around your lascivious words. Each
taking root in my womb like a growing infant,
waiting to be released by your kiss.

 

Arlene Antoinette is a novice writer who enjoys trying her hand at poetry and flash fiction. More of her work may be found at 50 Word Stories and Postcard Shorts.

 

 

Two pieces by Elizabeth Konkel

Fairytale Ivory

Hooves over sand, the gallant knight races toward a looming tower ahead. Armor and a sword is no match for a dragon’s breath of fire.

Cotton Candy

Chocolate shutters and licorice for tile. The gum drop hearth never melt from the fire. Cotton candy roof. A house of sweets beckons you close.

 

Elizabeth Konkel grew up on a farm, finding inspiration there for her writing and photography. She has written articles for Crixeo, Blasting News, and Am Reading. She’s inspired by myths, fairytales, and legends, weaving these tales into her writing.

 

Seven pieces by Len Kuntz

In Stitches

Her breasts lay in the trash somewhere.  He didn’t care.  It was her heart he wanted.  To prove it, he kissed each stitch with tenderness.

Skirting the Issue

The scratch marks resembled a polygraph test and she smelled of her lover again.  In bed she yawned, said, “Love you,” nodding off at once.

Play Date

After the divorce, their sex is better than ever.  The bedroom rumbles.  His Ex showers quickly, says, “I’m so glad we’re not in love anymore.”

Off the Wall

She said, “It’s me, not you.  Besides, we were too young.”  The last photograph you burn is a honeymoon shot, bride and groom on fire.

With the Band

They call her Penny Lane, take turns.  One throws up on a guitar, another breaks a snare.  She’s meat but she’s also their biggest fan.

Carnival

His dad is The Strong Man, shocking spectators with his might, having bills tossed his way.  At home, he sharpens his knuckles on each kid.

Sure Shot

The house sits empty now, so he fondles the pistol the way he once did his Ex, the searing bullet hot as her last kiss.

Len Kuntz is a writer from Washington State and an editor at the online magazine Literary Orphans.  His latest story collection AT THE DEEP END is forthcoming from Ravenna Press in June of 2018.  You can also find him at lenkuntz.blogspot.com

 

 

 

April, 2017

Two pieces by Madeline Mora-Summonte

 

Pillow Talk

 

Tonight, the voices slither, settle inside her with a sigh.

She shuffles from room to room, knife in hand.

Blood patters her feet like rain.

 

Pink Ponies Dancing

 

Lipstick. Glitter. Heels.

Jenna plays dress-up, giggles, twirls. Her dolls look on, approve.

Lipstick. Glitter. Heels.

Jenna plays dress-up, shimmies, strips. Men look on, approve.

Madeline Mora-Summonte is a writer, a reader, a beach-comber, and a tortoise-owner. She is the author of the flash fiction collections The People We Used to Be and Garden of Lost Souls.

 

Five pieces by Suzanne Cottrell

 

 

Garden Variety 

Seeking self-reliance,

Laboring daily,

Battling aphids and Japanese beetles,

Watering to overcome drought conditions,

Nightly arthritic aches,

She hopes for a harvest of fresh vegetables

 

Guilty Pleasures 

Cosmetic surgery promising eternal beauty,

At what cost?

Exquisite black dress, garnet adorned neck

Romantic rendezvous,

Misunderstanding, spilled wine, hurt feelings,

Cursed necklace of Harmonia.

 

Under the Twilight  

 

Strolling hand in hand on Waikiki Beach

Crimson sunset, gentle sea breeze

Waves massaging our feet, footprints marking time

Wishing the night would never end

 

Minimalistic  

 

Cleaning, de-cluttering, organizing,

Never enough time or space.

Cinderella escapes taking only essentials.

Her new domain, four hundred square feet,

Enter at your own risk!

 

In Stitches  

Office breakroom gathering

Have you heard the one about—–?

Uproarious, gut wrenching, knee slapping,

Simultaneous chortles, coffee spewed all directions

Hey, tell it again!

 

 

 

Suzanne Cottrell lives in rural, Piedmont North Carolina.  An outdoor enthusiast and retired teacher, she now has time to pursue other interests and projects.  She is a fledgling writer, working to spread her wings and ride the thermals. She particularly enjoys writing poetry, flash fiction, and creative non-fiction. Her writing has been published in Nailpolish Stories, A Tiny and Colorful Literary Journal; The Weekly Avocet; The Fall Avocet; and The Plum Tree Tavern.

 

 

 

 

Four pieces by Tyrean Martinson

 

Fangirl

Dear Mr. Fantasy,

I want …

everything.

Heart, mind, body, soul.

I have a basement waiting.

Love,

Jane Stalker

 

Don’t Sweater It

You know, he gave me the sweater because he loves me. I’m not making it up. I’ll wear it forever or until we break up.

 

Don’t Let the Dead Bite

The sign annoys me although it’s a stupid kiddie haunted house. We all know zombies don’t bite. They suck like mosquitoes and breed like rabbits.

 

For Audrey,

We wear blue dresses and wave as cars pass by.

We know we can’t say goodbye.

You’re gone.

We’re here.

We miss you.

 

Shattered Souls

My fingers bleed as I try to pick up the fragments on the floor. I can’t find them all before the nurses come for me.

Tyrean Martinson daydreams, writes, and reads in the Pacific Northwest. She can be found online at: http://tyreanswritingspot.blogspot.com/

 

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