Topic Post – Week 1, January

If you need a little writing fire, come on over to Brigit’s Flame and we’ll try to light you up.

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Utopia: Inception

Midnight once more; the untended fire sinks low;
The lamp stares down upon the book unread;
The papers on my desk have nothing to show:
I have not learned the things I wished to know,
The things I wished to say remain unsaid.

Again the dead pause, the need for a new start;
The vanishing of every name and form
That seemed the very contours of the heart;
And all the working mystery of art
A queenless hive deserted by the swarm.

Then suddenly, unbidden, the theme returns
That visited my youth; over the vast
Pacific with the white wake at their sterns,
The ships of Quiros on their great concerns
Ride in upon the present from the past.

The Inception Of The Poem by James McAuley

Though the entertainment world seems married to futures of doom – of razing the human race via plague, invasion, and natural…

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Career Change – Flash Fiction

Brigit’s Flame Fall Mini-Contest competing entry
Challenge – Flash fiction of 100 words or less – creeepy/spoooky/scaaary tale
Title – Career Change
WC: 97
Warnings – duh-nuh

I’ve always wanted to be a marine biologist.
Even as the boat plunged and soared violently through the storm, I clung tightly to the ropes. Thumbs up to my colleagues. Jacques Cousteau dreams secure in my breast.

Alone. Floating among wavelets rhythmically slapping rubber. I struggled to flip the raft upright, but not to recall why I love the ocean.

The distant whumping helicopter brought tears and laughter. Relief and validation surged like the tide.

Something large bumped my thigh. I’m praying whale. Porpoise. Big fish? Wrong fin!

I should have been a teacher.

Gossamer – Flash Fiction

Brigit’s Flame Fall Mini-Contest JFF entry
Challenge – Flash fiction of 100 words or less – creeepy/spoooky / scaaary tale
Title – Gossamer
WC: 100 exactly
Warnings – quite possibly only scary in my head.


Observing an errant thread arch and stretch on a breeze I do not feel -wafting between forehead and cheek. Slivers of light trace the quavering curve up and down its wispy line. I recall a trinket from childhood. A pen with a window on a quaint city street behind a bubble of water. A trolley slipped up and down that street as the pen tipped back and forth.

Mesmerizing strand, longing to be tucked behind the ear, undulating to my pulse.

Cocooned so tightly in her gossamer web I cannot scream – the freedom of this errant filament taunts me.