Poems, Songs, Stories

Fiction Friday: “Translation” (a collaboration)

It’s not like I remember it, this planet. The blues and greens that painted me as a child have been replaced with browns and grays, the color of dry bones. Crouched here among these windowed walls, roofless with decay, I long for my youth. What winter could devastate me then, having known only a few silent snows, spectral with belonging?

Gullfoss by Desmond Talkington
Poems, Songs, Stories

Flash Fiction: “Gullfoss”


"Arliss stood on a rocky precipice above the abyss, the gelid white falls roaring beside him. He took a deep breath and coughed, the frigid air irritating his lungs. The weather was unseasonably cold – barely above freezing, in mid-September – and in direct correlation, he believed, to the disastrous event of that afternoon."