“Do not come to me smelling of offal,” Elymas shouted. “Wash yourself!”
Author: joanspilman
Former teacher, writer of Appalachian Literature, short stories, and fantasy. Current publication, "This Will Never Stop" see Kirkus Reviews, Vol. LXXXXVII, NO. 22 Nov. 15, 2019. Also featured on booktrib, and Booklife. Has published a YA entitled "Sansablatt Head", and books for children under the general title of "The Waddling Dead". Received MFA from Wichita State University where she received the fellowship. Published in Southern Humanities Review, Short Story International, Carriage House Review,Willow Springs, Laurel Review and other literary magazines. Winner of George Garrett Prize for Best Prose, W.WashingtonU. Winner of Microkosmos Fiction Award, WSU. Winner of John Maier Award at Marshall University.
Paintings by Allan.
Guest Blog: Paintings by Allan
Flight, Chapter Forty Two
“What was the prophecy?” demanded Elymas.
“Euli said that I would walk the Shining Road,” the boy replied.
Flight, Chapter Forty One
In Sartone’s day, he’d favored green, now Elymas wore a deep red, darker than the Sacred Servants.
Flight, Chapter Forty
Amil, the fattest of the lot, had been sweating profusely, large damp spots under each arm and a river running down his temples.
Flight, Chapter Thirty Nine
Quinn had a rusk sack fill with the best his poor village could offer. So proud of him they were.
Flight, Chapter Thirty Eight
Oren knew from experience that two of his ribs were broken and his fingers had been stomped.
Flight, Chapter Thirty Seven
Soon, Mirella would be all he knew of a mother, and she barely remembered her own.
That’s Not Love
Agnes has had some bad news. She feels gutted, as though all of her soft parts are in the scrap pan, waiting for the dog.
Flight, Chapter Thirty Six
“The King steps closer to death every day. Some are big steps, others small. The tips of his fingers are black now.”
