Nov 09
fiction 3 comments challenge: Club
22donam's picture

This guy asked me to join his club

"Mate, this guy just asked me yesterday if I wanted to join his club."

"Woah, what'd ya say?"

"Well obviously I asked him what it was about, you know?"

"Don't tell me it was some kinda cult or somethin' freaky like that."

"Geez no, he said it was a book club."

"Oh yeah? Sounds chill."

"And then I asked him if you could come, cause I thought you would love to go."

"Aww that's sweet."

"But then this jerk is like "No way your friend's got issues" 





"Haha oml, thanks for that"

"No problem mate, anyone that's got beef with you has got beef with me"
Oct 19

The Jump

The Jump
My feet crunched the snow as my thick boots led me toward the hill. It was mid-winter, a warmer day than most, and the tramping was making my forehead sweat. My friend Clementine was ahead of me, my short legs and puffy snowsuit weighing me down-and slowing me down. Finally, I reached the top of the hill. I sat down, not caring if my butt got wet or not. Mindlessly, my mittens picked up a ball of snow and packed it evenly. This was the best packing snow of the winter. It was the perfect mixture of wet and fluffy, a combination rare at least to Vermont. Judson, another friend, was thinking the same thing.
Dec 05

Ten Days of Winter, 1892

Editor's note: In the 11+ years of this site, I have shared only a couple of things on the belief that this is your site, not mine. But I am sharking this because, well, becaue I thought you might like to read/listen to it and, also, to see that some stories take a long time to develop. I'd love some feedback -- this is your chance! :) 

I wrote this piece of fiction for Winter Tales 2017 and it was presented by Vermont Stage in its shows Dec. 6-10, 2017 at FlynnSpace. (It also was going to be presented at a similar winter story show in East Montpelier on Dec. 16.)

Audio download:
Feb 13

The House

NOTE: This is part of the Sprout1 Challenge. This piece was written by an anonymous writer during Vermont Writes Day, and we loved how it started us thinking. How about you? If you would like to extend this story, please click the SPROUT button below and continue it. If you find lots of sprouts, and we hope you will over time, and you like where someone else has taken this, sprout that post. Have fun. And we thank whoever posted this on on Friday, Feb. 10, 2017. (We have made a few edits, by the way.)
Feb 13

The Pendant

NOTE: This is part of the Sprout1 Challenge. This piece was written by an anonymous writer during Vermont Writes Day, and we loved how it started us thinking. How about you? If you would like to extend this story, please click the SPROUT button below and continue it. If you find lots of sprouts, and we hope you will over time, and you like where someone else has taken this, sprout that post. Have fun. And we thank whoever posted this on on Friday, Feb. 10, 2017. (We have made a few edits, by the way.)

The old iron bell jangles as I step into the familiar shop. I wave to the owner, a kindly old gentleman, who smiles at me as he always does and says hello. He seems to appreciate my visits, even though I don't often buy anything. 

I make my way through a maze of old bookshelves and chairs, paintings, vases and other miscellaneous objects. I know almost all of it by memory and can tell whenever the store has sold something. 
Sep 18
hadlee2005's picture

Bucket list

If I could do one thing on my bucket list I would travel the world. I would want to travel the world so I could see lots of cool places and make awesome memories. I would go places I could hike, swim, and be outside because I enjoy spending time outside. I would want to go places with cool animals like camels or elephants because elephants are my favorite. I would spend all day hanging out with animals outside without any worries. If I could bring all of my family with me I would because they deserve so much and I would want them to be able to enjoy themselves. Family trips are one of my favorite things to do so being able to travel all over the world and explore new places together would be super fun. A few specific places I would wanna visit would be Hawaii, because i've always wanted to go swimming in Hawaii and it's also super pretty in Hawaii. Indiana, just because I have a lot of family there and I haven't seen them in a while so I would wanna see them.
Sep 18
E. Lauer's picture

Bucket List

    I would like to go to Greece and South Korea. I want to go to Greece because I like reading about the Greek gods and I’d like to see the temples and other historical places. Also Greek culture is very neat and I wonder if their food tastes good. I would like to go to South Korea because I really like Oriental Asian culture and their food looks very tasty. I also want to go there because I really enjoy watching Korean shows and listening to Korean Pop music. I would love to go with my sister because she also really likes those things and we would probably have fun. We would probably try to learn Greece and Korean before we left. We would also have to be older so we could both save up money to go.
Sep 18
okane's picture

Bucket List

I have many different things on my bucket list for what I dream of doing. One of them is something I have wanted to do for so long, and that would be to travel around Europe for a year. My family and I travel a lot and have been to many different places. Being able to travel with my family is great, it gives us time to spend together a well as going on adventures with each other. The feeling I get when I travel is unmatched, when I am in the airport it doesn't seem real until the plane lands in a whole new place. I hope on going shortly after college when I have enough money. My top choice of where I want to go is Greece specifically Santorini which is a very small island south of the main land in the Aegean Sea. It is so beautiful and I feel like I would have such a great time there. I want to learn more about the history of Santorini. Santorini was devastated  by a volcanic eruption  in the 16th century that caused the rugged landscape.
Sep 17
Yellow Sweater's picture


I have always loved the smell of hard-won warmth: dusty blankets, savory stew, all the various fragrances that can be distilled in a pot of boiling water. One day in late September I was out gathering plums in the rain, when I smelled a campfire burning through the petrichor. I walked through the mist until I could feel its heat. Warming a pair of well-worn hands over the flames, sat an old man with a long beard and a mysterious grey cloak. He was peering into the fire with a strange intensity, I stood there for several minutes before he looked up. 

He smiled kindly, “Come sit.” He gestured to the bare wet earth across from him. I was cold and I couldn’t resist the lovely smell of heat, so I joined him without saying a word. We sat in silence for a while, breathing in the warm air. 

“What do you have in your bag?” 

“Plums.” I responded, holding up the canvas sack so he could see the purple fruit stains.
Sep 16
Yellow Sweater's picture

The Big Blue

It's September; I am looking for a coat. The dry grass trembles stiffly in the wind, mist sharpening the brown into a shimmering copper. The rain smells like cake, like a warm inside. I pick my way through a back closet. The rough felt of well worn wool brushes against my face. It's itchy in an intimate way. The kind of itchy that reminds you of the comfortable and the uncomfortable, the difficult charm of history. My fingers find a piece of thick blue fabric, feeling the warm weight. I wrap it around my shoulders; it takes the form of a coat, an old, itchy, lovely, dusty, blue coat. All bundled up, I step out into the rain.     

I walk down the street. The pavement is like a piece of fruit disolving. Relieved it no longer has to hold itself tight, it smells like wet berries and fallen plums. We are all rotting, relaxing, and our juices are seeping into the dry earth. 
Sep 14
Yellow Sweater's picture

The Sun Was Hot and the Night Was Full of Strawberries

The sun was hot. It burned my skin and made my insides buzz. The drink in my hand decorated the heat, like rouge on red cheeks. I wore a bathing suit that revealed the flat brown of my belly. I could see my curves. I was aware of my body: the many faceted dance my mouth muscles performed, the way my feet flexed in response to the ocean's movement. I could sense that my eyes were twinkling and my brows were vivaciously stretched. I noticed these things in a lazy careless way; I knew my every movement was perfect. 
Sep 11
fiction 0 comments challenge: Maze
queen_bee's picture


I run. I feel as though the hedge is closing in. I can almost feel it brushing my sides, as I turn sharply to the left. I feel like collapsing when I finally see it- the exit. I draw in my breath and sprint forward, my head throbbing. I fling myself out of the maze, and I hear my mother's voice.
"Eve. Eve! Why did you go in there?"
I stand up, the world swaying slightly and say softly, "Josh called me a wimp for not wanting to go in, so... I- I wanted to prove him wrong."  
Mother looks away from me to glare at my brother, Josh. "I can't beleve you!" She fumes. "No dessert for a month!"
Josh turns away from us, looking annoyed.
"Well you're out now." mother says kindly to me. "And you never have to go back in." 
Sep 09
Yellow Sweater's picture

Books and Katanas

(My friend and I have been playing this game where we make up writing prompts for each other, then write a story about whatever we are sent. My prompt last night was: "Amazon sends you a free gift with your package, but instead of something lame like toilet paper, its a katana." I have been having lots of fun with my these prompts. Not only do they get me writing about new topics, they get me writing in new styles as well.)

I was very excited to get my box of tightly packed books. I had been treating myself to periodic brain care packages since Quarantine began to seep into my bones. I had surrendered to lethargy and I figured I would make the most of it: Homer, Machiavelli, Proust… They were all stacked up so nicely in their box, the epitome of order, of potential. I could feel the heft of all those weighty words as I dragged the square cardboard container into my living room.
Sep 07
fiction 0 comments challenge: Virus

talking to an imaginary enemy

"Hello," I say, loudly so that they can hear me through my mask. They turn, to reveal a face of silence, one of which seems is uncapable of emotions.
"Hello," they say, louder then me. They put out their hand to shake- not gloved, not clean. Fingernails caked in dirt, hands speckled with a dry red substanste that seems to be blood. I squirt hand sanatizer on my hand before reaching out to them.
"I'm Ever," I state clearly. They look up at me, and give a blank stare. "I know you. You're Rona."
"Correct," they say.
"You've ruined lives," I say angrily, flames curling in my somach.
"I have, yes."
"Please, make it end," I plead, crossing my fingers behind my back. But only empty laugher arrives from their mouth.
"I never wanted this. I can not solve it. I will simply leave the burden on the humans shoulders and leave, for there is nothing I can do. It wasn't an accident, persay, but it was not intended to go quite this way."
Sep 03
Yellow Sweater's picture

Love, on a Page

In a smoky late night cafe, I wrote about love. I was full of the moon; I was full of romance. My head was spinning with a fabricated memory: feet kicking up dust in the midnight square. I wrote about the perfect arc her red dress traced as it swung around my knees. I wrote about her husky breath. But I avoided her eyes, her words, her. Because I was writing about the notion of romance, not the actual thing.  

The freshly wiped steal tabletop glimmered sullenly in the intimate half light of wanting to keep the electricity bill cheap. The song of the outside was oddly muted, sequestered in the hearts of those nursing memories and drinks. In the dingy room, there was space enough for my pen to stroke the velvety texture of night. 
Sep 01
ZoeBee's picture

The hands of time

I've seen the hands of time. Wisend gnarled old fingers, long and slender, in shades of murky grey. The hands grope around the edges of my nightmares, prod the clay of my subconscious, shatter the frames of my memory. The hands of time hold, held, will hold, my brain in its palm. I've become it's plaything. Days blend into nights, seconds turn to hours in the blink of an eon. The hangs do not know why they hold me, that much I can tell. Perhaps they were lonley, stuck in the maze of space all alone. Maybe they're malicious, peeling back the scabs of old wounds ever so tenderly, and pouring centuries of contemplation into foaming brine. I will not know until they release me, whenever that is. For now I'm stuck, staring at the hands of time.
Aug 31
Yellow Sweater's picture

Faith, Untranslated

The shade grew with the sun. Under the big thick leaves, the shade became solid. The line between insistent energy and gentle dark turned bold. I lay with her on the grass, exhausted. Dry tears hung in my eyes like long evaporated dew. She held my hand, squeezing it tight. I don’t want to look at the sun. I don’t want to move into the shade. I want to be free.

She still wore a sweater, despite the heat. It was cold that morning. But now, the afternoon was burning. We had lingered until the hours and clouds had dissipated. I asked her If she were hot. She said yes, but she didn't take off her sweater. It was purple, light, made from a jersey fabric; not entirely a burden. It was less heavy than the head I lay on her chest. 

“Get up!” She commanded. I lifted my head startled. “We are going to the ocean.” I rose to my feet, following her.    
Aug 29

Carry me to the stars

A melody murmurs on soft summer air,
wind caressing her midnight black hair.
Deep brown eyes reflect a vast star-lit sky,
bright amber ashes, crackling from a fire long meant to die.
Longing fingers pluck at her love-worn bango strings,
carrying beauty aloft as if on wings.
A tender voice emanates from carefree lips,
harmonizing lightly as it soars and dips.
The gentle rhythm weaves through you,
drowsy consciousness slipping on verse two.
Aug 28
Yellow Sweater's picture

Blank Stationary

We met in a stationary shop. He was toying with an exceptionally fine pen. I thought he had nice hands. They were strong, yet oddly delicate. I could see his thoughts twirling with the pen. Behind his absent minded motion, were half shaped words still spinning. I watched him for awhile, from behind a shelf. I flipped through a composition book; but my eyes were firmly elsewhere, hovering somewhere behind his ear. And I realized, rather objectively, that I was hopelessly in love. It was strange to be in love with someone I had only just laid eyes on. But it was undeniable, I was all tangled up in his twirling. 
Aug 27

A Veil Wearing Thin

There’s a silver lining to every devastation, or rather, a transparent lining that masks the remains of the forests in our world today. The Amazon with smoke billowing, reaching for the sky in a futile escape is a scene we’ve pushed far from our minds. And at the root of this voluntary ignorance, is the See Clean Project. It’s not so nice when we think about what we have allowed ourselves to lose. To see to outdated pictures, that reminds us how it really is underneath. This is not new news. I know just as much as the next person what we chose to hide. But we’re living with it, it’s what we’re doing. Seeing as it is in human nature to wish for the best it can be, it makes sense that we may even pretend it is. But, forgive me, as I point out how desensitized we have become. This is not some preachy, “make a change” campaign you are reading. I am showing you, and myself, what we have become. I present to us, the hard truth. This is not a problem we can brush under the rug forever.