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Alytha T. Minns added a blog post
Where does the wind go when it blows? To where does it retreat once it's whipped through canopies and incited dervish like dancing in falling leaves? Does it settle amongst the dusts of time or atop the waters of space like a shimmering fog awaiti...
16 minutes ago
That is an excellent photo Cita. Nature complimenting nature.
55 minutes ago
This piece resonates very strongly. Nice work.
55 minutes ago
Superb characterisation. Strong in all parts here.
58 minutes ago
A strong visual piece. Well constructed.
1 hour ago
Joe Phelan and Deborah Mackto joined The 6S Social Network
1 hour ago
Mariah added a blog post
It was trash day on that rural stretch of highway, for at every intersection of a county road bags were piled high. The sun hung low in the mid-morning sky, casting long shadows over those ziggurats of trash and every couple of miles or so a stray...
2 hours ago
Deborah Mackto updated their profile
2 hours ago
Mariah Hi, Everyone! I think of you all often, and I DO drop by to read, but life has kept me from writing. Hope the muse strikes and life allows.
2 hours ago
Marvelous six Cita with a whole story inside.
2 hours ago
I like your storytelling aspect. Great earthy voicing MC.
3 hours ago
Ooopsss, I unknowingly wandered on to private ground. The only thing I was trying to say is that Infidleity can sometimes be as absurd as this piece as it is hurtful and cutting. Is emotiional infidelity wrong? Does a lap dance (both male and fema...
3 hours ago
Awe inspiring and breath taking. This really makes you stop and think.
3 hours ago
They might've done someone in.
3 hours ago
M C Funk added a blog post
You see this fresh scar on my wrist—the way it glows pink like a set of lips, even in these cat-piss fluorescents? Now, don’t get any ideas ‘bout me telling you just yet who put it there—I leave you to spin y’own conclusions—but it was right there...
3 hours ago
How very poignant. So realistic though.
3 hours ago
Aw . . . nicely done. Guess I'm a sucker for a good story, too!
3 hours ago
Bev Goodman added a blog post
Why do I still shudder and want to flee at the sight of a spider walking across my ceiling? I’m bigger than any old hair spider, stronger than them, and can crush the blighters with one mighty blow of my fist. It’s almost as if my brain isn’t conn...
3 hours ago
quin browne he listened to her tell friends of her spur of the moment wedding to the guy she met last week,glad he kept the receipt for the diamond ring
5 hours ago
this hit home. i cared for my father until he passed four years ago...currently, i am in place to care for a woman i call aunt... both of them proud, intelligent people laid low by dementia, alzheimer's or parkinsons. not a place i ever saw myself...
5 hours ago

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quin browne

JOHN WISWELL~SURGERY 2 Replies

Started by quin browne. Last reply by quin browne 1 day ago.

Allie

Gloom Cupboard -- Prose #110 now on news stands 1 Reply

Started by Allie. Last reply by Mulled Vine Nov 18.

Jeanette Cheezum

Who knows where this will lead? 17 Replies

Started by Jeanette Cheezum. Last reply by Jeanette Cheezum Nov 17.

quin browne

DISENTHRALLED 7 Replies

Started by quin browne. Last reply by Jean=Paul Richard Nov 16.

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Blog Posts

Alytha T. Minns

Air

Where does the wind go when it blows? To where does it retreat once it's whipped through canopies and incited dervish like dancing in falling leaves? Does it settle amongst the dusts of time or atop the waters of space like a shimmering fog awaiting dawn? Perhaps it originates from the first exhalations of the newly born and evaporates with the final exhalations of the newly dead. Yes, I see it now, these are the only sacred breaths, all others are incidental. Incidental, yes, trivial no: if a h… Continue

Posted by Alytha T. Minns on November 20, 2009 at 4:59pm

Cita

The Pacifist

It was only after things calmed down that Charlie got hysterical, and then it was hysterical laughter as she said, “Did Julia SHOOT him? Nooooo! She HIT him with the gun! HIT him! With a gun!”

I had to tell her to shut up, that I don’t think I’ve ever been in the same room with a gun before, except maybe in a museum.

I was raised by pacifists, for crying out loud, and think it decidedly unfair for Charlie to make fun of me for not shooting Cody Jack.

How would I have known if it were even loa… Continue

Posted by Cita on November 20, 2009 at 4:26pm

Cita

Posing Nude



I saw a poster once, advertising some sort of backcountry adventure, of a waterfall spilling over a cliff, a nude woman posed beneath it, her back to the camera.

Her hair hangs down, just the curves of her buttocks showing, and the barest curve of one breast.

Its all softness surrounded by rock, outward… Continue

Posted by Cita on November 20, 2009 at 3:50pm — 2 Comments

Mariah

Trash Day

It was trash day on that rural stretch of highway, for at every intersection of a county road bags were piled high. The sun hung low in the mid-morning sky, casting long shadows over those ziggurats of trash and every couple of miles or so a stray dog or gaggle of ravens was shoulder deep in Hefty and Glad. The tall-snow capped mountains fell away in the rear view and ahead lay nothing but stone plateaus and endless blue sky.

She drove past a long-forgotten billboard that read simply "BIG" in p… Continue

Posted by Mariah on November 20, 2009 at 3:04pm — 2 Comments

M C Funk

Two Lies (V) - Pink Scars

You see this fresh scar on my wrist—the way it glows pink like a set of lips, even in these cat-piss fluorescents? Now, don’t get any ideas ‘bout me telling you just yet who put it there—I leave you to spin y’own conclusions—but it was right there Tia had her lips when she told me about Beanie Hollins getting girls hooked on the spike and spiriting them off to Georgia. Tia Keen told me ‘bout Social Security Cards vanishing from pocketbooks and of locksmiths who don’t ask questions. She told me a… Continue

Posted by M C Funk on November 20, 2009 at 1:46pm — 3 Comments

Bev Goodman

Mind Boggled

Why do I still shudder and want to flee at the sight of a spider walking across my ceiling?
I’m bigger than any old hair spider, stronger than them, and can crush the blighters with one mighty blow of my fist.
It’s almost as if my brain isn’t connected to the rest of me, when I beg and plead for it not to be afraid.
Again and again, I’ve tried telling my brain to toughen up, but to no avail, and I still quake at the sight of this eight-legged creature.
Can a mind have a mind of it’s own?
I’m pre… Continue

Posted by Bev Goodman on November 20, 2009 at 1:41pm

Cita

Big Brother

She's been angry at him her whole life, really, and life hasn't done anything to make her less angry at her older brother.

For one thing, he was born first, born male, born with an identical twin to share the womb, his room, and his opinions so that she always got out voted, right from the very beginning.

It didn't help matters that she kept getting a shitty deal... a husband dead too young, no children, a stymied writing career, a director she craved working with turned away from her door on… Continue

Posted by Cita on November 20, 2009 at 12:41pm — 1 Comment

Jim Eigo

A Sucker for a Story (a jimmysong)

“Horsebird,” says Jimmy and points, and the old man’s eyes follow the boy’s little finger. “Oh, that’s Pegasus,” he says, “a special case. His mother was a monster. Pegasus rode so high in the mountains he saw the gods, and when his life was over his body turned into lots of stars and went up to the sky.” Aloysius O’Leahy can almost hear the gears whir in the little boy’s head, his eyes a big green brushfire on the open plain of his face; clearly the kid’s a sucker for a story. “To this day on c… Continue

Posted by Jim Eigo on November 20, 2009 at 11:22am — 1 Comment

Jean=Paul Richard

I felt so lonely

“I felt so lonely at the book club meeting”, she muttered when she returned. The words went through me like a knife. Were we right to continue socializing and participating in events even though she was not communicating clearly any more? Did the social interaction help or did it just cause more anxiety and frustration? Should we expect her neighbors to be understanding and accommodating, or was it too uncomfortable for them to try talking to her? It was uncomfortable; they were avoiding her.

Posted by Jean=Paul Richard on November 20, 2009 at 10:45am — 2 Comments

Shannon E. Kennedy

Play Date for Dad

The screech from my fathers velcro fastened, new balance sneakers scuffling across a well waxed gymnasium floor catches the attention of everyone in line. As they turn in discontent his blank, detached expression is replaced with a wide eyed smile as he announces, "Good to see you too."


His back is hunched and rigid. To mentally balance the strong left pull of his Parkinson’s, he drags his cane on the right.


It is election day and the local elementary school gymnasium is overflowing with sen… Continue

Posted by Shannon E. Kennedy on November 20, 2009 at 10:02am — 1 Comment

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Discover New Writers

Today's Featured Six

The Lifting Wind

by Kirk Rao

I often remember leaving the military—driving off the base for the last time and taking off on an open highway out of Kansas, my hands on the broad steering wheel of my first car (an old Ford that I was able to buy and continue preserving while I was in the service), the sunlight hazing the long hood of the car into a blinding gold, a bright morning amid the last spring before the new millennium, and the windows rolled down to let the warmth whip through the musty cab. This warmth was carried by the same indigenous wind that had echoed the vast flatness of the Midwest when powdered visible by straight lines of sideways snow, that barrage of tiny shards of ice that stung like glass while we waited on the flight line for bloated tankers and roaring bombers to be launched and recovered. Now, as that warm wind barreled through the open windows of my speeding car, I felt it lifting me out of a four-year bond, four years, but I was still young and still drawing and learning piano and, even after the car, still had savings—I would need it for New York City. I was leaving behind, leaving below, those tired and defeated families trudging through the cheap isles of chain stores, and joining those free thinkers, whom I imagined shouting proudly and defiantly as they stood on the gueridon tables of private cafes, where I perchance would meet the one who would love me as much as I would love her, that is, if I would not otherwise meet her in the passions of my new job, this job being one I could get, now that I had the GI Bill and could finally return to school four years after the first time everything went wrong. In this way did I think of everything I would have, while that shining, resilient car I used to have flew further and further away until the lifting wind grew weaker and was finally gone. But its aging memory remains strong.

6S

Kirk Rao has a BA in English from Hunter College, where he's pursuing a career as a public school teacher. His publication credits include artwork in Cerise Press and Prick of the Spindle.

"Precious" by Tessa Scoffs

 
 

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