http://slow.writerscafe.org/vision2 The original writings of author Kristi Brooks en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776009769 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 She told me it had been the rain. The sky had opened upand Zeus had seenfit to dump water overher in thick ribbons. I shivered as shetold of how she could notmove as the rain froze into panes of icethat sliced through her fleshand pierced her moral center. I wondered how.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/321545/ I once rode a train down a longtunnel.   The black coalescing outsidemy window into a solid reflection thatleaked in through the seals and ran downthe walls searching for answers In darker moments I worry theworld has caught on.  Somedaythe god.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/320003/  The stool tipped as Roger leaned forward and grasped the bathroom counter, pulling his entire body onto its slick Formica surface.  He’d scraped his leg down by the river, and his mom would freak out if she saw how bad it looked.Shouldn’t have listened to that stupid Jimmy.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/280572/ Roger Fulright has led a simple life in Oklahoma, but he�s always known he sat on the verge of something larger. Now, he�s about to find out how far the world beyond his own stretches. On a planet far different from ours, strange creatures kno http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/280569/ This is one of my favorite pieces. It was published in Absolute last year and it actually won some award, but that's not why it's my favorite. It's a tribute to a girl I once knew as well as I knew myself, and that is something I am very proud of. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/265122/  I tried to put you back together—picking up the scattered bits andmashing them down with Elmer’sglue and clear Scotch tape. You always did love collages. Now there is a spectrum of yourlife, a story that unfolds aswe look at the sum of yourparts.&n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/255803/ I'm not sure where this story is going. I'm not sure where it came from. All I know is that somehow it has managed to exist. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/247946/  The moon is smiling at melike the Cheshire cat in Alice’supside down wonderland of dreamsthat meshed together to form so muchof the world as we saw it then—through the looking glass. I was not exaggerating, the moonis smiling at me, its sidewayscrescent sli.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/223742/   Language through Lips Smooth lips, jiving lips,words that flow like chocolateand make me feel my skin.They make me tingle. Sad lips, pouting lips,choppy words that sound more like hiccupsspilling from a child’s lips.They make my eyes water. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/213403/  String Theories(Approximately 2,350 words)                There is a scientific theory known as String Theory that claims on a plane of existence smaller than the one where atoms dwell there is a universe in whi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/206431/ I've been working more and more in the experimental format. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/206422/  The Dead I Keep in a Box At home I keep the dead in a box.It’s more of a purse really, an antiqueof my grandmother’s,filled funeral pamphlets.She’s in there, too—my card catalogue for souls. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/206405/  Glass Bottles Wind echoes across the hollow.It makes an odd humming sound,long forgotten or misplaced chords,like someone blowing acrossan empty bottle’s top,the rounded glass surface turned to crystalby the sun’s harsh rays. I was once just as full,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/206396/ Every family has one. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/206390/  10th & MacArthur Crackling neon calls,flashing its constant messageLive Nu e Girls.(the d has burned out) Above this neon girlsdance across the windows.kicking their legs in perfectrhythm. They remind meof the Fancy’s IIsign near my house at10th .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/206382/  Sixteen When I got back from Oregon there was no hiding fromthe twin blue stripes on the EPT.  It was a line tying himto me, me to him.  I decided not to address it.  It wouldgo away.  I was not meant to be something’s mother. At sixteen I re.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/206326/ Mirrors have always intrigued me. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/206314/ Not really sure... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/206310/ My life in high school http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/206305/ A look at the oddity that is American culture in all its glory. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/206263/ This is a recreation of my first real date with my current husband...And no, the ink was not in the form of a name. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/206255/ Hot, Oklahoma summers...teenage lust...I guess that's about all of it. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/206253/ A brief brush with the memory of what was when it clashes into the reality of what is. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/vision2/206222/