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stephentotheplate

Where poetry and stories collide.

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Challenges

Little Lucy crouched down in front of the animal, hand extended for it to sniff. It froze. Nose twitching, it inched closer. Curiosity, igniting bright, clear, eyes. She smiled at the little fox. It retreated. Her smile wavered. "I remember.... Continue Reading →

The library was silent when I entered. I walked past the long vacated tables. A smattering of books still graced the now antique, finely carved tables. Sustained, somehow after all these years. Relics of another life. I touched the top... Continue Reading →

Fairytales (prose)

I think most people want the fairytale. The locked eyes across the room. The steamy love scenes. The reasonable arguments over misunderstandings. I think most people want their whole relationship to feel like the beginning. A honeymoon phase that never... Continue Reading →

I could summon the hordes with a snap of my fingers, My feet, Rooted, planted to the ground I am connect. I could create floods, Hurled bolts of lightening across a placid sky. But I can't recreate the feeling of... Continue Reading →

Feelings (Microfiction)

This imagine invokes feelings. What exactly I feel, I'm not sure. I just know I like the opaqueness of the sky. The foggy-mistiness of the foreground. This imagine invokes feelings. Not quite sure what they are but, I like them.... Continue Reading →

Really?? (Microfiction)

"Sonya, Sonya!" Margaret whispered. "Whaaatt!" Margaret said in an exaggerated tone. "She cutting that cake with a butter knife!" Margaret slowly shook her head in shame "Its like she learned nothing." Welcome to week 170 of Three Line Tales! A... Continue Reading →

About Me (microfiction)

"Sarah just imagine if we could walk into a store and there were books of other people's lives. Not like biographies but like, actual people, who are currently living and like their lives appeared on the pages in real time?!"... Continue Reading →

the warm summer's sun has begun to cool. soon foliage will turn from richest forest green, to bright shades of burnt orange, honeyed shades of amber. i mourn the soon coming cold, but take solace in the thought of fireplaces... Continue Reading →

"I was five and he was six We rode on horses made of sticks He wore black and I wore white He would always win the fight" The radio crooned as the detectives walked the scene. There was nothing a... Continue Reading →

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