Romantic short story

The Last Man Kneeling

THE LAST MAN KNEELING The man in the painting was nameless, but he knew three things for certain: 1. […]

Theo had been staring at the same sentence so long the letters bled together. Lineage in Postmodern Black Poetics. He

A charming village rested beneath a veil of morning mist, where an ancient oak tree stood proudly. Its branches twisted

We’re alone out here. No one is coming to save us. All the nights we stare up at the stars.

“Woohoo! We are going on a vacation!!” we sang. My family was the type of family to always have a