http://slow.writerscafe.org/KimberlyWeiss The original writings of author Kimberly en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775985446 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15         She was standing at the stove boiling lemons and ginger for the rice when her parents came home. She blushed, but they’d already heard the music playing on the computer and it was too late now so she sang along.       &.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/679578/         She was slow to smile. Though she was not slow to happiness, the physical expression, the smile, was slow to manifest. She was cautious with smiles. She had to make sure that it was alright to smile, if it were permitted, if others were smiling, too. I.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/679535/ THE SOMNAMBULIST          I woke. It was because of the cat. He wanted in, or out, I’m not sure which. I thought to roll over and go back to sleep but the cat was a Siamese and his cry was incessant and shrill and I thought it sounded like a siren wh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/676759/ A spin off of Carl Sanburg's poem "Fog" and inspired by almost true events. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/672807/ It was the first Saturday night of the month.  Normally I don’t pay attention to such things, the days all seem pretty much the same around here, but I know it was the first Saturday of the month because the house, which is usually so bright and clean and welcoming, took on a funere.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/665921/ An absolutely true story, swear to Crom. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/663066/ It was cold.  Todd turned on the tall, alien space heaters on the back patio and the green, glowing lights in the pool. Some people dipped their feet into the heated water. Others sat with their hands splayed out behind them, staring up into the night sky.  Craig needed to see th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/662373/ The grandfather clock struck midnight, the heavy tones echoing throughout the house, and sending a chill down Craig’s spine. It must have had the same effect on the others because they stopped talking and were still. The TV still blared but it was eerily loud and jarred on their nerves. When.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/662372/ The grandfather clock struck midnight, the heavy tones echoing throughout the house, and sending a chill down Craig’s spine. It must have had the same effect on the others because they stopped talking and were still. The TV still blared but it was eerily loud and jarred on their nerves. When.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/662366/ Todd and Fiona Matheisson lived in a gated community named Egret Landing. It was one of those planned communities in the middle of what had once been farm land, and before that the primordial swamp of the Everglades, that grew up inorganically from the countryside. A circular formation of large wh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/662363/ Craig stared out of the window. The world was enticing. It appeared to be the perfect midwinter morning with a clear blue sky and no clouds. It was chilly, but not cold. A light jacket would be enough to be warm. The northern birds were making their homes in his yard now, blue jays and cardinals, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/662361/ Fiona was giddy as she hung up the phone and the smile refused to leave her face even as her husband rolled his eyes at her.  “He’s not going to come, you know,” he said. He put his arms around his wife and kissed the top of her head. “He’s going to come up w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/662360/ December 21st. The Winter Solstice. More than that, this Winter Solstice was special. For the first time in, well, centuries, there would be a total lunar eclipse on the same night. Craig shivered. Couldn’t she see?  He gripped the phone tightly in his hand and closed his eyes. He h.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/662358/ The omens were there for anyone to see if only people would look at them. They were clear and unchanging, signs that had been passed down through the ages and across cultures, and yet people ignored them. It made Craig Klavans sick.  He stood, in his bathrobe with a glass of wine, in his .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/662356/ This is a story inspired by a bit from POPULAR DELUSIONS AND THE MADNESS OF CROWDS that I quite liked with the recent lunar eclipse as a catalyst. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/662355/ The Horn of Ceto was a pretty thing. It was a small, pale iridescent pink shell that had black markings on it that looked like a very ancient language. There was something vaguely familiar about it but Melissa couldn’t put her finger on it. She didn’t think she’d ever seen it bef.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/657704/ The glamour that had been put on Melissa was now off. It had allowed Domma to show her what she really looked like but now no one, other than those that had known her before, could see her. Melissa was used to being passed by in the street without a second glance. The glamour had been of a rather .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/657701/ The woman who stared back at Melissa from the mirror was not herself. She didn’t recognize her. Yet, there was something deeply resonate in the image. Her hair was the first thing that she noticed, though before she rarely noticed her hair, which was brown and boring. Now, though, it was har.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/657700/ Domma was with Melissa for a week before they could speak to each other. In that time they developed a language that was a little hers and a little English and Domma took a lot of baths.  Domma was not her real name. Her real name was unpronounceable by Melissa who couldn’t drop her.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/657698/ Melissa had a water sprite in her bathroom.  At least, that’s what she had deduced from an hours worth of trying to communicate with the woman in a strange mixture of English, her native language, the baby mimicking language and not a little bit of charades. A water sprite. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/657697/ It started, it all started, with one stupid mistake. A rookie mistake that people warn young girls about when they move to the city. Do not, under any circumstances, ever get involved. But, she had gotten involved, and that was the beginning.  Melissa had been having a bad day already. He.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/657694/ For a Contest. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/657692/ A Victorian horror novel. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/640608/ The tires of two bicycles crunch through the dense covering of autumn leaves ridden by a ghost and a skeleton respectively. The sun is going down and the little kids have already been around to the houses in their fairy costumes and their superhero masks to get candy.  Tomorrow is a schoo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/626630/ In the summer timeThe grass is high and dusty And the corn is green and tall. Trees swim in the lake. The crisp green scent of tomatoes The wet scent of earthThe mewling of the newborn kittensAs I skip through the garden passageTo the houseWith the large porch and the rose bush. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/625433/ Thanks to Yos - again - for coming up with this. This is very rough but I need to write. I think you'll figure out why. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/623350/ "When you realize that eternity is right here now, that it is within your possibility to experience the eternity of your own truth and being, then you grasp the following: That which you are was never born and will never die.” Joseph Campbell.  Clara was the bus going home. It was O.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/619860/ For the Unviersal Monster contest. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/619388/  The mournful scratchy strains of Summertime by Ella Fitzgerald cut through the songs of the cicadas and mourning doves. It weaved through the Spanish moss and drifted on the scent of salt air. The song was entirely suited to the way Penelope Somners felt.  She hadn’t felt .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/613231/ For the Fairy Tale Contest. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/612682/ This is an adaptation of an American tale. Written for the FairyTale contest. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/546120/ A philisophical erotica inspired by a conversation with my friend Yos. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/545460/            Right out of a Sam Spade comic, a youngish man is hunched over a desk full of papers, looking haggard. He is an entrepreneur who’s company is just about to go bust. Normally, he would be clean-shaven, his hair combed neatly, his su.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/545304/ Based on a true story. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/545302/ An essay for Sun Magazine. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/543666/ An essay on my love affair with Biology. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/486024/ How do we know our gods are gods? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/437365/ Back by popular demand. At least back by Yos's demand, which is good enough for me. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/411221/ This is a short story in response to Yos's 'Therapy Appointment #3'. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/408212/ I was reading a biography about Mother Jones and this scene in her life inspired me to write a story based on the events from her point of view. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/293821/  Amity Jones slipped off her flip-flops and tied her sneakers on. She tied her long, blond hair into a serviceable pony-tail. She shut the car door and walked to the driver’s side to wave good-bye to the young woman behind the wheel. The young woman powered her window down and glared in.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/289058/            It had rained that night. I remember that the scent of the wet earth mingled with the night blooming jasmine in a way that was intoxicating and heavy. We walked in the moonlight which had just started to emerge from the clouds once again.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KimberlyWeiss/287171/