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Tiger CreekBy Belle Byrd QuailBellMagazine.com Tiger creek Rippled with their sins Flowing with the moans Of their bleeding souls It growls with the hatred they instilled And over the rocks they tried to weed The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Childhood of a Circle By Kadavre Exquis QuailBellMagazine.com The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Quills & Quails By QB Quill QuailBellMagazine.com sparkling lights in the forest must be fairies and never fireflies the petals are new
soft, tender against your cheek stem bending to skin The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Chase By Phillippe Gamer QuailBellMagazine.com The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Dungeon By Storm DeVille QuailBellMagazine.com Shallow hand chiseled steps led ever downward, down, down, down into the labyrinthine gloom below. The stale scent of sweat tangles with fear as she felt her way down into the murky darkness below. She never knew what crept beneath the old house, had always imagined spiders and snakes, all the creepy crawlies little girls were supposed to be afraid of, but she never had been. Not really, although she had put on the expected show often enough to get her way. Her foot slipped in something slick. She managed to shine the meager light from the cheap votive candle downward, to see what she had stepped in. It was dark and looked suspiciously wet, like blood. The ceramic holder with its little glass bubble protected the tiny flame from the drafts she imagined would flow constantly down here, but to her surprise, there was no draft at all. Just stale, thick air with a heavy sense of foreboding clinging to it. She imagined she had gotten closer to the bottom, but couldn't be sure. She couldn't see that well. The hands of her watch glowed a faint sickly green, telling her that she had already lost the better part of an hour, and the steps seemed to wind on downward forever. Something cool brushed against her, then whispered, "Go back!" Then it was gone. She shuddered, wondering if she should heed the voice or continue. When the light of the candle snuffed out, she stifled a scream as she was thrust into utter darkness. And then the sounds... The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
All the Pretty Wee PoniesBy Luna Lark QuailBellMagazine.com Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, Go to sleep, wee baby. When you wake, you shall have All the pretty little ponies. Dapples and bays, blacks and grays, Go to sleep, wee baby, Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, Go to sleep, wee baby. Daddy's joy, Mama's boy. Go to the Sandman, baby. When you wake, you shall have All the pretty wee ponies. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Un-Gone By Simon Bovey QuailBellMagazine.com The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Enchanting Easter MondayDirector: Tykeya O'Neil Stylist: Lindsay Story Clothes: Diversity Thrift Photographer: Jasmine Thompson Jewelry: and the parade by Ashley Jerman Writer: Christine Stoddard Model: Kellani Mansfield QuailBellMagazine.com Mademoiselle Mansfield, maid of Easter Monday, sees no difference between miracles and fairy tales. Mademoiselle Mansfield, maid of Easter Monday, sees bees and icicles in every little egg. Mademoiselle Mansfield, maid of Easter Monday, sees dyed shells and colorful yolks on the insides of her knees. Mademoiselle Mansfield, maid of Easter Monday, sees chicks before they are chicks and hens before they are hens. Mademoiselle Mansfield, maid of Easter Monday, dreams of feathers and fledglings and fluffy nests colliding in the wind. Editor's Note: Kellani Mansfield was our March 19th Bell(e) of the Week in The Real. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Red Moon By Sirocco Research Labs QuailBellMagazine.com |