Published Stories
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18 October 2022 “‘Beyond the cracked sidewalk, and the telephone pole with layers of flyers in a rainbow of colors, and the patch of dry brown grass, there stood a ten-foot high concrete block wall, caked with dozens of coats of paint. There was a small shrine at the foot of it, with burnt out
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The night my parents reported me missing, the police came over and searched the house. Missing kids can turn up in closets where they’ve dozed off playing hide-and-seek.
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Visit my Story Archive for pieces from my past.
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Just 101 words long, this piece takes less than a minute to read. Micro fiction challenges prose writers to be as succinct as poets, who craft full narratives with powerful precise language.
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You have three days and three nights; each morning you must set me a riddle. If you outwit me, you are free to go. But if I solve your riddles, you belong to the dragon and my kingdom is free from its curse.
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Stories are told at Christmas, as they have been for centuries, when families gather and friends join us to celebrate the season. Each year, new tales emerge in a tradition begun by our ancestors and carried on by everyone who sits down in December to read a Christmas story.
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Meg looked up from her keyboard when the outer door opened and a smart young woman entered.
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I close all the windows. The wind is picking up & the dust will blow in. In the streaming sunshine, a man walks alone on the dirt road.
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Before the wildfire some years back, Grandpa George’s summer place was an ageing cabin, a relic from a time when the mountain resort was a novelty to city dwellers, a picturesque place to get away an hour’s drive from downtown.
Jennifer Frost Writes 