The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
From the World of Elephantine By Saoirse Haran QuailBellMagazine.com I rewrite this, again and again with each copy, as the Giant eludes me despite his size. He is a cleverer creature than I. As I stand up, the sky here grazes my head. If we grow too tall, taller than I am now, taller than the bases of the mountains (as high as the sky reaches), then your head and shoulders are above it and you see only the darker world there. The silent forested peaks under the green shine of the stars swimming like fennel flowers in the ever-black. Down here, the misty forest stretches on and back, stopping only for the Mist-River, Gioll, on its way to hell and less hateful springs, pale, virgin and silven. I reach down to the earth, pulling away a mossy handful, leaving a shallow gouge. Beneath us, lies the Midgard, home of men. The wall betwixt us is thin and I widen the hole and breach it. The earth is gone and I see only as open space full of clouds, white and feathery, not like the magic-mists that ensnare our hills. And then I see them: people, in cars, houses, aeroplanes. They stare up at me. I imagine what they must see, a great pair of eyes, set in old gnarled flesh, gazing up behind the sun, from a break in the heavens. How small they are, and how distant from the roof of their world. How large I must be, to have scraped my skull against the sky for more than any reckoning of time. Then I hear them call: "Iotunn!" "Goliath!" "Ettin!" "Giant." The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Living the LifeBy Kristin Fouquet QuailBellMagazine.com The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Lesbian Tea PartyBy Christine Stoddard QuailBellMagazine.com Prim Carolyn never claimed 'bellehood' in this beauty imbued neighborhood where all the pretty girls steal away to lewdly kiss their select cutie boys in deep gardens after school. She, the bull (with hair that tufts out like horns, and cool lips, and nostrils unsuitable for ringing) prefers to remain unknown, despite her penchant for quietly singing to herself, as she walks to the corner store, where she always steps in, nearly chiming, "Back for more of that Earl Gray!" And the shopkeeper pushes up his eyeglasses and sniffs, "Oh, you're back again today, Carolyn?" Five minutes later, Carolyn is brewing tea in the shade of her cramped little kitchen, still singing. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Beach MirageBy Belle Byrd QuailBellMagazine.com She kissed me yesterday in the breast of a palm tree a hurricane swirling through her breath as the lagoon lapped the salmon shore You are a shipwreck, she whispered No, I am shipwrecked, I corrected No, you are a shipwreck Then a gull cried and dove straight for a coconut lying by my nymph's sandy toes The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Shadows By Tessa Sawyers QuailBellMagazine.com They always say that you can't judge a person until you walk a mile in their shoes. They say that you can't truly know some one until you become their shadow. I wish that the semi-intelligent human that came up with that saying never existed. That is correct; I am stooping low enough to state that I want someone to be erased from the world. This bitterness inhabits my very essence. Why? How did a girl like me become so invested in bitterness? What reason did I have? On a chilly evening in March, I was sitting alone in my room with my normal, haunting music playing over the small speakers. The guitars crooned their melodies and the drums beat quietly. For the first time in my life, my mind started contemplating the future. I knew that time was creeping up on me like a cat does to a mouse, but I couldn't run as a mouse would. There were no holes to escape to, and no crevices to take refuge in. I had two years left in high school and I had accomplished nothing in life. In the next few weeks, I delved steadily into the levels of depression. I thought about my parents, and how the divorce that occurred when I was eight, had to be a result of my bad behaviors. I reflected on the fact that my mother had fallen into the traps of alcohol, and other substance abuse. The way my dog looked when a truck had struck him in the street, the way that the electricity was shut off when mother was in a state, the looks that dad gave me when I went to visit him, the way that boys in school didn't give me a second glance, and the way that my friends were slowly drifting away were all signs that the world was falling apart. It was all a product of my failure. It was entirely my fault. |