One Page Stories

“Vesuvian”, I’ve picked the gladiators fate. Rattling bones fly out of my ebony hands, landing an uneven cross. “Death”, I proclaim to the sweat and horror-filled eyes. Creeping wind gust picks up the flaps of my tent revealing a lustful green oasis behind. “Three drops of blood”, I demand

The first hour of the waking is when I lose my understanding of this plain plane to occupy before my return to dreaming. The realm where constant change stems from its ignorance of made-up human rules, where the sky can be walked on and swum in, where no records are

There’s violence to my thoughts in which they overtake each other. One would hope for a fair game governed by rules of the mind. Alas, it’s a brawl won by Nature’s fittest. The victor is not whom you’d imagine a representation of strength and intelligence. The

Smoke-filled field burrows soldiers’ deep trialed fear to their marrows. Clanking across the battlefield unbeknownst, unclear are the remnants of the revolution. It comes, the change to each side in victory and defeat. Trapped outside the set mindset in a hollow tree the thought grows until it blossoms to the

909-XXX-9911 I never write at night to a shameful end as that’s when the world spirals. Little tipsy, a little of. Emotions exasperated by the tiresome day. I wonder why I don’t write at night then, when the drama surrounds me and you? Am I cautious to avoid

When your bone chill and arm hair goes up. I can’t stop them for more than a second. More than that and again I get going. Like an endless curse, I brought on myself the shakes come as shiver to every limb and bone from my core through the

If clouds were sharp-ridged mountains and mountains puffy clouds, those who expect you to be hard as a rock go straight through, making you dissipate and them needing the soft embrace hit a granite stone wall. If water was as hot as fire and fire could freeze like water, life

While he trembles behind the wall of his cowardice the world spins and events turn. Out of the bad comes the healthy good. Respite inside the mental box secluded thoughts which were destined to be disastrous. Embers catching fire turned to ash swept by the wind inside the one-door one-peephole

"A slip of a tongue is not a slip if it happens constantly." "The elderly and kids alike never take things seriously." "Listen in and you will be in ecstasy from the wisdom shared by whom you would not dare speak to in language theirs.

Tea sea shallowed the shore scrubbing it with salt distancing in the past what was is now atore. Prism of each wave sickled with disease common to men spectrum of color lost to sole gray. Stones reduced to pebbles their roughness burgled make for terrible guards no better than the