Stories (151/0)
Munson's Microfiction: My Tears Need A Minute
A New Unofficial Challenge Has Arrived 🥳 I'm so thrilled to announce my first unofficial challenge sponsorship via Vocal! As of yesterday, 2 May 2024, my Vocal catalogue proudly contains 150 pieces. For me, that's an unimaginable milestone. I've penned 118 pieces since 7 February 2024, and in large part other Vocal writers have encouraged and supported me into posting all sorts of writing, from poetry to horror to fae tales to confessions. The ride so far has been breathtaking!
By Christy Munsonabout 13 hours ago in Fiction
Ostriches of Autumn
_____________________ She's a young bird with an old soul. Sings the old ways. Crooning for the lonely. With her long o's and her bittersweet odes. She's got laments to keep herself pining, like a momma bird twitching, picking up sticks and newborn scars.
By Christy Munsona day ago in Fiction
Rain
Rain pelts your windows, smudging panes, making what's familiar look a masquerade. Single-minded droplets streak single file toward your soggy soil, but they'll find no answers here. Nothing's planted. What grows here was kin, and our time here has reached its end.
By Christy Munson3 days ago in Fiction
Starting Line
____________________ You wince, conceding this one race. My first victory in 20 outings against you. I'd celebrate with a victory lap, punching arms overhead with happy fists, dancing my best Rocky Balboa up the crunchy hills like grassy Philly stairs, but I'm too winded.
By Christy Munson4 days ago in Fiction
Until We Meet Again
____________________________ Sunset strokes its golden fingers across the misty isle, sweet an soft as fae fingers meltin intae sommery hand-spun vanilla ice cream on a blà th grianach day. As a fae, A cannot be caucht doin such a thin, runnin ma fingers intae frosty cauld desserts. But thon's no the point. Whit's important is sundoon's gone golden i the hichlands! The low poke o gray an dreary is trapped beneath layers o blissful sunlicht. Dae ye know whit this means? Ryan moment's nere at hand. True love will find the bonnie lass! An forevermore, she'll recount the day for its perfect. Gather round. Quiet now an listen i. Discover whit unfolds wi a gentle nudge from the fae, bi which A mean me. Gin awthing goes tae plan, A'll graduate tae fou fledgit fae godmother bi mornin!
By Christy Munson5 days ago in Fiction