Dandelions

The bullet is a seed born of human tissue.

It grows like a weed in clumps, in clips, in high capacity magazines.

The Montana Gold 55 grain full metal jacket, a .22 caliber bullet, is an annual. Designed for small caliber high velocity firearms like the AR-15, it is wind-pollinated.

The fields of your community are germinated by seeds grown far away.

The fruit of these seeds will exceed supersonic speed at 500 yards. They fire in both semi-automatic and fully automatic use — at an outdoor concert, for instance, or 3rd period study hall.

Hear the tink as seeds hit the concrete walls of a cafeteria, a school desk, or the metal arms of the monkey bars. Hear the sighs as they settle in and plant themselves at your feet.

Dandelions

Photo Attribution:

“Dandelions” by Subash BGK is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 

Romeo Gleeting

“I told him to leave me alone. I didn’t even have a voice yet and I said it. My voice was nothing but a whistle coming from the old radiator heater along the big dusty windows. But, still, I said it. I bit my thumb at him. Every silent moment, he whispered my name. A Romeo crooning to Juliet, “You fucking pig.””

Romeo Gleeting

When She Met Him by Brianne M. Kohl

Jellyfish Review

When She Met Him

She was fifteen when she met him.

She was born, red-faced screaming into this world, when she met him.

She could hardly breathe when she met him.

She was seven, she was fifty-four, she was seventy-two when she met him.

She was a wife and a mother of four – almost thirty-seven years old, unable to sleep, a little overweight, unable to pinpoint the exact moment when those deep wrinkles appeared on her face but he brushed a gentle finger over her furrows and told her she was beautiful when she met him.

She was on the playground, hanging upside down on the monkey bars when she met him.

She was a Playboy Bunny, a photographer, a secretary at a talent agency when she met him.

She was desperately looking for a mentor when she met him.

She was a hostess in the restaurant he co-owned, a kitschy…

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Flash Fiction: Saint Florian’s Sanctuary by Brianne M. Kohl

JMWW

I wish I had a flashlight but that would be against the rules.

The long gravel drive is over run by tree roots, riddled with dips and bumps. It winds deep into the woods. We find the abandoned church with the broken sign out front. It reads, “Saint Florian’s Slovak Catholic Church. We_come.”

I take your hand and tell you everything is wonderful, you’re wonderful and so pretty in the moonlight.

We call the game “Make Out Patrol” or M.O.P’ing for short. Some of the guys call it “Slut Hunting” but I’ve never called it that.

I would never call it that.

I pull you through the woods, beyond the crumbling headstones. We have to hurry. The guys will find us soon. I think, for a moment, maybe against a headstone? I’ve done it before but I reconsider when I see the look on your face.

Besides, when the guys…

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Saint Florian’s Sanctuary published at JMWW

I wish I had a flashlight but that would be against the rules.

The long gravel drive is over run by tree roots, riddled with dips and bumps. It winds deep into the woods. We find the abandoned church with the broken sign out front. It reads, “Saint Florian’s Slovak Catholic Church. We_come.”

I take your hand and tell you everything is wonderful, you’re wonderful and so pretty in the moonlight.

We call the game “Make Out Patrol” or M.O.P’ing for short. Some of the guys call it “Slut Hunting” but I’ve never called it that.

I would never call it that…

Saint Florian’s Sanctuary published at JMWW

Related Reading:

A Change In Latitude Wins Wigleaf Mythic Picnic Prize in Fiction

Wigleafwinner

Thank you to Scott Garson, editor at Wigleaf for publishing A Change in Latitude and to Mythic Picnic for his kind patronage. This means a lot to me.

Congratulations to all of the finalists and my fellow shortlisters! If you enjoyed my story, please go back and read theirs, as well. This is an amazing class of writers. I’m proud to be a member.