Water Play

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Short Story (Approx. 3300)

The first layer of the gloves was a captured piece of the powerful North Wind. The second layer was made from an ever-burning fire taken from the depths of Mount Lasteps, said to be the path to the deepest hell. The third layer was water from the upward sweeping Heaven Falls. The forth and final layer was earth from the base of the Mother Tree, packed so tight it would never crumble. Around the outside and up each finger ran strips of black leather embedded into the earth. The strips fastened at the wrist and then continued on, fastening once again mid-forearm.

Inside the glove, the water would drip into the fire, turn to steam and rise, smack into the cool earth, turn into liquid again for a time before working its way down to drip once more into the ever-present fire. Stuck between the chill air of the North Wind and the constant dripping from the Heaven Falls, the fire would often shiver to little more than an ember before roaring back to life.

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Love Match

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Short Story (Approx. 2800)

She was one of those shy girls, you know the type. The one in her group of friends who has to be cajoled into going out, who sits by herself, pretending to have fun, but who really can’t understand how this is supposed to be the epitome of youthful exuberance.

Not Eros’ type at all.

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Thawing Off

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Short Story (Approx. 3600)

Bradd leaned against the shelf as if he owned it, fingers lightly playing with one of feathers sticking out of the vase. Long fingers, both deft and steady when he bothered to work.

Cerci could tell he was watching out of the corner of his eye. Watching her as she measured out the hage nuts and ground them. Watching as she laid out fickle thorns and carefully cut their heads off, letting their dangerous innards smear across the waxy leaf before putting the entire leaf into the pot.

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Heart’s Harvest

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Short Story (Approx. 2400)

He painted her lips first. Gently, the brush dipping into the crevices. Her breath hot on his hand. Her mouth trembling slightly.

“It’s an honor,” he whispered. Routine words. He’d said them so many times before, but now they caught in his throat as she gave him a humorless smile.

“You don’t have to pretend, Wes,” she said. “You don’t have to say anything.”

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Snow Man

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Short Story (Approx. 1900)

She first shaped him like a man out of boredom, packing down the snow so she could mold it better. The round balls she’d started with slowly turned into hips and thighs below a long torso. His fingers were difficult, the digits constantly wanting to fall apart, but she managed to convince them to stay on when she threatened to melt them if they didn’t cooperate.

When she stepped back, she laughed at how clumsy the snowman looked. Not even as good as the strawman she had built to walk her gardens during summer. So she laughed again, deciding to have some fun.

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Got Mail!

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Short Story (Approx. 2500)

He checked the mail late after coming home from work. A box with DO NOT SHAKE written in bright red on every side sat in the back behind the crap news clippers and singular bill.

Jay pulled it out and turned it over, searching for a return address or a logo…or anything. Nothing but the bright handwritten notices and his own address upon the front. He shrugged and put it to his ear, then shook his head at his own worry. A bomb would be heavier. The box felt as if it were empty. Continue reading →