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Short Story: God of the Glen

Ryleigh found herself in a part of the woods she had never seen before.

She had been skipping along the creek chasing a bullfrog who was winning the race when she’d tripped on her untied shoelace. Brushing the dirt and leaves from her already scabbed knees, she noticed a hole about her size in brambles that formed a perimeter around the creek.

The frog long gone, and having gotten bored with the game anyways, she ducked through the portal and followed it into the woods.

As she moved deeper into the passage, it got progressively darker as the thorns weaved between each other, nearly blocking out the sun. She never got scared, or at least admitted it to herself, because she could see the light at the end of the tunnel ahead of her. Even though it was a constant beacon, it felt like it never grew closer until she found herself stumbling out into the cool afternoon sunlight filtering through a thousand leaves above her.

Poem: Bottled Recollections

Tossing beer cans into the canal
Not worrying about the consequences
As young and reckless as we were
Watching the water rush by
Talking about our adventures
Women who we had been with
Times we should have died
Since we last talked

Short Story: Looking for Something

A hand with painted nails caresses the wall in the dark before finding the light switch. Fluorescent lights flicker on, casting the entire room in the whitest of white lights. No shadows tread under their radiance.

With swaying hips, her presence fills the sparse room that smells of sweet perfumes and sin.

At the far end of the space, antique furniture made by an artisan’s loving hand, arranged in a semicircle. There was a trunk of deep mahogany with crushed velvet lining, an ornately carved wardrobe made of solid walnut, a painted vanity splayed with beauty products, and a perfectly polished full-length mirror.

The keepers of her treasures awaited their mistress to explore their depths.