Fairy Tale Poem by Margaret Amonette
Photos by Bayly Ogden
QuailBellMagazine.com
Editor's Note: This is the first-ever Quail Bell Photo Tale taken with a cell phone camera.
How dreadfully boring, this day
quite a day, quite a day for play
listen, the forrest beckons ~ follow me, young dandy
follow me with a feather on your hat
Here are the waters my father showed me as a girl
he told me to return one year,
he told me to bring you my dear
See your reflection as you stand on a rock
pay no attention to the ticking clock
Run! Run away! forget my caress
the heavenly father has come & he wants to play chess
The sky falls dark and cold air surrounds us
go back to the wall, run back to the wall
Remain there for eternity, dear
think nothing of modernity, dear
avoid the forest yet never forget me
i’ll love you forever
chained to my wall
When the Law Come By Elwin Cotman
QuailBellMagazine.com Editor's Note: These are four tales excerpted from Elwin Cotman's short story, "When the Law Come," first published in The Dirty Napkin. The full story now appears in his book, The Jack Daniels Sessions EP.
“Well, I’ll tell the story if you don’t mine settin a spell. I know I don’t mine gittin a chance to stretch these ole bones. Jest as long as you don’t innerupt me, o’ say some nonsense. C’mon, I’ll tell you bout that ole gen’ral stow. Wut? You heard that one already? Well, son, you gone hear it agin. I remember that stow. Those that been there allus miss it, and those that ain’t been there miss it, though they ain’t never seen o’ heard bout it…”
The Law Comes to Mister Cousins’ General Store
The law came to Mister Cousins’ gen’ral stow like a whisper through the wheat. Most folk slept quietly in they beds as it snuck cross the cornfields and stole up to that li’l shack that sat halfway between Birmin’ham and the land o’ shadows. Only two folks wuz up: Not-Penelope, who never slept, but wuz even then cookin in her pantry, fingertips stained violet from the beets she wuz cuttin. And Remus wuz awake. By now Remus wuz ancient, but jest as hardy as he ever wuz.
“Jim?” Like the sharpest axe, his voice cut the still spring night. “Jim?” Runnin out his cabin, Remus called fo’ his friend, but couldn’t see him nowhar. The crescent moon hung overhead, a bone-white sliver peekin out through the dark. Grabbin his wheat sickle, Remus stood on that road and faced down the law. Like the Reaper hisself, he slashed at wut cain’t be cut, stabbed at wut caint die. He battled it with his big, rough hands that had wrestled lion-men and Louisiana mudsharks, and far fiercer things. Remus gave all he had, but the law came, and the law won.
When it left, couldn’t nobody remember whether the gen’ral stow had stood at all. Folk drove by in they cars, and stopped. There they sat fo’ minutes, sometimes hours, rackin they brains tryin’a remember why this patch o’ overgrowed grass seemed so familiar. Fin’ly, they allus gave up and continued on they way.
today I danced with a shadow Poem by Josephine Stone
Photography by Christine Stoddard
QuailBellMagazine.com today I danced with a shadow,
taking the lead to and fro.
today I danced with a shadow,
when I moved high it moved low.
today I danced with a shadow,
from my doorstep to the church.
today I danced with a shadow,
it joined me high on my perch.
today I danced with a shadow,
it pulling the lace of my dress.
today I danced with a shadow,
as the sun went down it grew less.
today I danced with a shadow,
'til the night sky touched the earth.
today I danced with a shadow,
that showed me what a day's worth.
Kulachniy Brothers By Christopher Sloce
QuailBellMagazine.com
The football field was empty when they got there, and high up the sun looked like a bruised orange. Vance and Charles, both 13 years old, came to the field on bikes painted in bright metallic colors, rusting slowly. It was chilly. A track surrounded a field of faded markings and dying grass. Everywhere in the bleachers trash, bags of popcorn, lying on the steps. At the bottom of each step was a blue and yellow stripe, the school colors. Painted on the brick weight room was a mural of a scowling muscular ram. When they arrived, the boys hopped a fence to get in the field. Charles had a hooked nose and dirty blonde hair. Vance’s hair was shaggy and tousled and his face was long. He sat down. Charles looked at him.
“Your legs giving out already?”
“No, I’m just resting.”
“Resting, you not get eight hours last night?”
“I’m rested up and I’m just preparing myself mentally.”
“Okay, whatever.”
“This is the way he said to do it, right?”
“I think this is the way he said to do it.” Charles scratched his crotch. “We picked the place, and after we’ve picked the place all there is to do is wait on him.”
“When is Rodney showing up?” Vance said. “I’m getting anxious.”
“His bike is dog shit. Did you talk to Ripley yesterday?”
The Charcoal Fairy Photo by John Scott
Prose by Christine Stoddard
QuailBellMagazine.com She patted her toe on the root of the stump. The bark's glassiness surprised her. Folding her wings and closing her eyes, she descended into the deep wooden tumbler. Cool air hovered inside of the dead tree, hinting at lurking ghosts. She only exhaled after having stood there a full minute. Not a single spider or cobweb had tickled her. For a moment at least, she was safe from the fox. It had been nearly a quarter hour since she had heard its tell-tale yelp. However, she would soon discover that she was not safe from man and the power of his flame. By the end of the night, thanks to a sprinting forest fire, she would become The Charcoal Fairy.
The Fact Club By Josephine Stone
QuailBellMagazine.com
"I don't think I'm interested," I said, my hand resting on the bark of the tree's trunk.
It was getting dark and it smelled like it was going to rain, the earth moist in anticipation like freshly cut grass and broken soil.
"I'll bet you are," she said, smiling.
Her eyes turned to half moon shapes and her lips looked wet. They always looked wet.
Tara finally pulled her right hand from the breast of her jacket to reveal a small, gray kitten.
My eyes grew huge with recognition at my pick of the litter. My grandmother's cat Sandy had kittens earlier in the month and I was set to take Small Gray home in two more weeks. That's what I had been calling him. Small Gray.
"Now how interested are you?" she asked, half laughing.
I started to shake. I knew where this was going. Small Gray was looking down at me from the branch Tara was perched on.
"How 'bout you just cut it out and come back down here?" I said, trying to keep my voice from quivering.
"Yeah? Or what?" she asked, dragging out the last syllable for a couple of seconds.
Moonstomp By Maggie Winters
QuailBellMagazine.com
Crocodile's Lesson By Angela Messier
QuailBellMagazine.com
Once upon a time, a Crocodile lived a peaceful life deep in the heart of the Amazon. His days were filled with swimming, sunbathing, and eating. All his friends in the river looked up to him as a leader. He was brave and strong and cared about the well being of the rest of the river animals.
Crocodile had a best friend. His friend’s name was Piranha. They became close when they were young and all the other young animals were scared of them. Now Crocodile and Piranha were grown up, and most of the other animals knew them and were not scared anymore. Everyone around the riverbank was friends.
One day, Crocodile was lying on the riverbank enjoying the sun when Sunfish swam up to the shore. “Good morning, Sunfish,” greeted Crocodile.
Sunfish nodded to Crocodile. “Good morning.” He stopped and swam in a circle before continuing. “Crocodile, I was wondering if you’ve seen Piranha lately.”
Crocodile shook his head. “Not in a while. He said he was taking a vacation, swimming to a different river bend. Why? Is something wrong?”
“Maybe,” Sunfish said. “I thought I saw Piranha this morning with Tree Frog. Tree Frog was trying to rest on a rock but Piranha – or someone who looked like him – kept jumping up and snapping at him. I thought I heard Piranha saying mean things to Tree Frog, and calling him names. I know that doesn’t sound like Piranha, but it certainly looked like him.”
Crocodile thought it was strange behavior for Piranha, and it was also strange that he would return from vacation without telling him. “If I see him, I will talk to him, Sunfish. Thank you for telling me this. It certainly does not sound like Piranha, but I trust you. Perhaps there is a misunderstanding. They could have been playing a game.”
“Maybe,” Sunfish replied, but he did not look convinced. After smiling at Crocodile, he swam away and left Crocodile to his thoughts.
Raconteur By Christine Stoddard
QuailBellMagazine.com
Just Singin' By Josephine Stone
QuailBellMagazine.com
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