A Shadow Conjures the Crow's Ghost

(fiction/poetry)

Dearest mother,

The nights on the Moriah farmstead have been long, hot and unbearable. Mr. Moriah pitches cards into his dusty old cowboy hat all night long. The cards click against the wall and fall silently into his worn hat, but when missed, the slightest scrape of the floor echoes throughout the rickety house and sends the night spiraling into a manic sleepless journey. The oil lamp sends the fox's shadow waltzing across the ceiling; the crow's ghost paces back and forth beneath the window, and I fear the spider has followed us. The Black Hills are deep and treacherous mother; we will be leaving for the desert in the morning.

With a nervous pen,

B.

The Clearing

The woods quiver in anticipation of the SCOOP Poker Tournament. The water is still, cold and deep. A shrike impales her prey on the barbed wire fence and the owl blinks cautiously. The fox has been studying; the fox has been drunk with the taste of victory. Our tornado has passed, the black is clearing, and if ever there was a time for a win, it would be now.

Onward,

clyde115

Tornado Appproaching

(fiction/poetry)

Dearest Mother,

I can't believe you still adhere to that silly adage. Did you hear Mayor Sturgess sputtering in between gasps of dying breath, "...which is why playing poker is clearly a game of skill". Gasp. Cough. What a fool!! It's clearly whoever has the longest fangs or loudest snarl! Skill, heh.

Speaking of skill, did you hear I outmaneuvered the spider in the pines? She had me drawn and quartered for 6 months. Fattening me up, singing siren songs, plucking my hairs one by one. I nearly went mad, really. I find myself running with the the fox again. I know what you're thinking, I know. But he's been on the good foot as of late, and I tell you I nearly went mad from the pines. Anyways, I could use a companion as I approach the Black Hills. I will be in touch soon.

With a blackening tornado in sight,

B.