MistakenMagic

Primary tabs

TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryThe boy who stands upon the hill Parson Thru1911 years 3 months ago
StoryBlown away. Highhat2811 years 3 months ago
StoryA picture of you. ScoZen2411 years 3 months ago
StoryNature of the Beast Silver Spun Sand1711 years 3 months ago
StoryThe Gift Beeme311 years 3 months ago
Storyearly sun over Hope Valley JupiterMoon611 years 3 months ago
StoryChristmas Dreams jolono3211 years 3 months ago
StoryPlaces to go Parson Thru811 years 3 months ago
StoryChapter Five: Matthew maggyvaneijk511 years 3 months ago
StoryLady M Silver Spun Sand1011 years 3 months ago
StoryHome Sweet Home iDrew611 years 3 months ago
StoryMerry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence Silver Spun Sand1011 years 3 months ago
StoryHey Joe... Silver Spun Sand1311 years 3 months ago
StoryIthaca MistakenMagic1411 years 4 months ago
StoryYou have to Laugh...Don't You? Silver Spun Sand1611 years 5 months ago
StoryMother Nature's Plan skinner_jennifer3811 years 5 months ago
StoryFate II shoe711 years 5 months ago
StoryHolding On To Nothing jolono2911 years 5 months ago
StorySpirit of Africa Parson Thru511 years 5 months ago
StoryThe great irony Parson Thru1411 years 5 months ago
StoryCherries Are Not the Only Fruit Silver Spun Sand1711 years 5 months ago
StoryPolenta lenchenelf511 years 5 months ago
StoryGames People Play MistakenMagic2511 years 5 months ago
StoryBreathing to the music of a New York street piano maggyvaneijk2511 years 6 months ago
StoryNotes on a Long-Haul Flight MistakenMagic1911 years 6 months ago

My stories

Bad Writing Prize (Inspiration Point)

It was a wet and windy night, though not necessarily in that order...

There Will Be No Other End of the World

And now, what is left after the end of the world? The dark smell of brown sugar in an empty kitchen, my cousins playing cricket in the park...
Poem of the week

Wind Chimes in North America

Prayers return to my lips like a reluctant lover. Now I talk to God the way one talks to a coma patient...
Cherry

Lindsay

I don’t know why, Lindsay, but last night, smoking in the stone cloisters of the quadrangle, I thought of you.
Cherry

Always Summer

I read John Le Carré below the beams of a converted farmhouse, under the arm of rural France. Light filtered in through the slats of painted wooden shutters,

Pages