A giant of a man stood in the doorway, hair white as snow, loosed from a leather band.
Author: joanspilman
Former teacher, writer of Appalachian Literature, short stories, and fantasy. Current publication, "This Will Never Stop" see Kirkus Reviews, Vol. LXXXXVII, NO. 22 Nov. 15, 2019. Also featured on booktrib, and Booklife. Has published a YA entitled "Sansablatt Head", and books for children under the general title of "The Waddling Dead". Received MFA from Wichita State University where she received the fellowship. Published in Southern Humanities Review, Short Story International, Carriage House Review,Willow Springs, Laurel Review and other literary magazines. Winner of George Garrett Prize for Best Prose, W.WashingtonU. Winner of Microkosmos Fiction Award, WSU. Winner of John Maier Award at Marshall University.
This Textured Darkness, #32
He’d felt well enough to plough his wife’s belly with a son.
This Textured Darkness, #31
The fever passed, only to leave him chilled and dreaming he was fighting on bloody snow.
This Textured Darkness, #30
Until three days ago,” Milo pointed to the skull, “This was a man we called the Poet.”
This Textured Darkness, #29
Milo Janket, or Milo the Lantern as he was called in Marsh Wool, stood before the throne, trying not to soil his breeches.
This Textured Darkness, #28
He’d reconnoitered Casoria during the war and remembered the layout well enough to take him to a corner tavern called The Fish Belly. He’d been disguised that night, his… Read more “This Textured Darkness, #28”
This Textured Darkness, #29
Milo Janken, or Milo the Lantern as he was called in Marsh Wool, stood before the throne, trying not to soil his breeches.
This Textured Darkness, #28
He’d caught the eye of a buxom barmaid who asked for coin.
This Textured Darkness, #27
Below him sprawled Casoria, the stuff of which legends were made.
Char Glimmer, part 2 (a Harshbarger Mills Story)
Did the nurse know who she was talking to? She’s not some floozy who fetches the morning paper in her nightgown!
