Stone Soup Magazine
— A diary reopened, rewritten, for that reason, A page I could not flip from, a chapter from that page. The soft folds of paper were damp, and smudged was the...
— I told myself I’d left it all behind, My cup of life filled up with laughter, lace, But I, far from cured, and far from refined. I swore no hand...
— Not even willing to recall yesterday, every mind strains to remember a bland moment, when forced to cope with times now stuck, the morrow would not let it slip away,...
— I stepped off the bus, savoring the taste of my toothpaste. I’ve been getting better at brushing my teeth and hair recently, since starting my meds. Obviously, it was expensive,...
— For most of my childhood, my grandmother's bright red Camry smelled faintly of J. perfume, old leather and sometimes McDonald's fries that we had eaten hours earlier but somehow could...
— I hauled a moon-knife from my leather waist belt and chopped up the last strands of weeds from the dry, crispy earth. It’s really supposed to be called a sickle,...
— There once was a vase with a flower, rosy and plump, like peaches, sweet and soft, slim like a sprout of elegant green, with a graceful figure. She lived in...
— I had no official business near the couch, which is why my head was held high, like an austere national security inspector. I was not a busybody. I bowed to...
— A child locked in a room with a menacing broom confronts grief after his mother's death, while his father and sister struggle to reach him.