For gift, he wrote a story in hand for her to see: a story of love, a story of lusts, intimacies of romance. He wrote his spirit. He wrote his heart, his essence as an art. Complete, at table in center-heart and inner chamber of their home, he gave for her to […]
All Posts By: Byron McCoy
Short Story
RECOGNITION
He recognized the romance signs, accents of spirit in sensual’s color and adorn: layered dreaminess of cloth in fold upon itself, smooth skin of fruit in matching hue in rest upon; her wear of shirt, long sleeved and fitting, in sensual’s hue of same—striking in contrast to fair of skin at shirt’s collar and […]
Journal Pages
ANSWERED PRAYER
Maybe some day another will read, check-in and follow up. It will be sign of another’s interest, sign of another’s care: their value we exist. If not, trouble not: our life is not their worry. Neither is it ours. Our life is not our own; it’s for the purpose that we serve. […]
Journal Pages
OVER IT
Maybe some day another will read, check-in and follow up. It will be sign of another’s interest, sign of another’s care: their value we exist. If not, trouble not: our life is not their worry. Neither is it ours. Our life is not our own; it’s for the purpose that we serve. […]
Short Story
DEAD SPACE
Is this the hill you want to die on? No. It’s not worth the fight, not worth the fires. And so it happens, one cedes the little acts intended as signs of love; actions and efforts met in critique, in criticism, but never recognized in compliment. One’s actions are repelled. […]
Short Story
STORY LIVED
She wrote from heart of the inner chamber, catching story as it came. Night gown of romance hue became dawn dress, brightened and sheened in return and rise of sun, in matching of the walls and sharp contrast of her fair, fine winter skin. Immersed in the story, she stayed within, eyes and […]
Short Story
CLOUD-TINT
Cold front blew. Winter arrived. Small, fine snow scratched to window glass. Press of wind in strike of bursts and blow sounded deep in bass and echoed in a feeling through the walls of the home. He looked through window, night still full, sound his strongest sense. He lit a candle on […]
Short Story
GHOST ALONE
Do you ever think back to past encounters and wonder why it is that you remember? Was there reason for their presence, intention in encounter and a happening? Why are some remembered—from only a few, brief and seeming inconsequential life-seeings—while others, known and relatively close to for years, pass from mind and spirit? […]