Tag: short story

Solstice Series: Winter Submissions Open

Solstice Series: Submit your winter entries of poetry, flash fiction, and mini essay for free.

A Meeting of Minds

They sit around the table, ten women, their years stretched between fifty-five and eighty-three. They take a mug of tea and a shortbread biscuit between their stiff fingers and they wait a while.

A Story Festival

On a small patch of green beside the library in this close community on the hill, once a year we tell stories in a marquee while the sun blazes, the rain beats and the wind howls.

Between April and May

Coyote hunts the streets like a stray dog, her claws clicking along the asphalt. Among the urban diaspora, her lean shanks and rusty coat look primordial or alien. Her teeth flash among headlights like slashes of white paint on a dark canvas and her…

Someone Lived Here

Solstice Series Selection Summer 2018

Someone lived here once. Someone, long forgotten, subdued this ground, stacking stone and wood and straw in rectangular constructions — a dwelling-place, with stable or cowshed. Someone beat back the yearly incursion of brambles and saplings to keep a vegetable garden or a chicken…

The Task Eternal

frozen seed heads in snow drift

“The children need meat, Eli,” said Bess. They had circled the wagons on the east side of the mountain, so they could catch the sun first thing in the morning. The winter had been cruel this year. They had to bury three of their…

Save Our Trees

My city is one of the greenest in the country, known as ‘the outdoor city’ its pockets of green spaces and its close proximity to open countryside give it its semi rural feel. Sheffield straddles post industrialism with nature easily, perhaps because it has always mixed the two. Factories back onto the river. Parks and gardens over-look the busy town centre. And suburban streets are lined with trees, providing the name ‘the leafy suburbs’. But these streets have had a fight on their hands lately. One which they seem to be losing.

Learning from Snails

short story by Ute Carson My father was killed in World War II shortly before my birth. My mother remarried when I was four. An aunt stayed with me while the newlyweds went on their honeymoon. As soon as their coach departed I ran…

Blue John Cavern

Deep, deep below the ground among the hills. Up through the haunted Winnat’s Pass and down, follow the land like a spill of wine. The green meets the blue as the hills touch the sky and sheep roam wherever they like. Here is the mouth of a cave. Enter the stone and step down into the earth and feel the linger of Romans who discovered this opening 2000 years before.

Draw Me A Dream

He parked his car in the multi-story, got out and breathed the cold air in. The rain swayed in through the upper open plan area like a slow swarm of midges. The sky was the colour of a 4B pencil.

Guerrillas

“The soil’s not very good.” he said. She crouched down next to him and shone her torch onto the area where his hands delved into the earth like he was baking bread. It was just past midnight and the street was the black of an iced over lake.

Submission Guidelines Revised

If you’ve been thinking about sending us a query for your work, please be aware that we just revised our submission guidelines: