Writing Re-Enlightenment

Color Blind (Eco-Fiction That Covers Extinctions, Sesame Street, Apocalypse, Sekhmet, Angels, Dead Girls, My Real-life Brother’s Bands, & Cats — All in Under 1,700 Delicious Words)

Posted in Uncategorized by Caralyn Davis on January 15, 2015

The Panamanian golden frogs died first. Extinct but for a few stray specimens stored with hermetic zeal in zoo laboratories. Scientists fretted, as did some intrepid reporters from National Geographic, Smithsonian, and the New Yorker. The Panamanians were devastated. They considered the golden frog their national emblem and put its likeness on their key chains and coffee mugs. No one else cared. After all, the golden frogs were frogs, not puppies, and other things were golden: daffodils, tomato blossoms, the sun, Big Bird. …

 

Read the complete story here:

http://www.eclectica.org/v19n1/davis.html

 

PS  -Do some apocalyptic dancing with Noot d’Noot here and Purkinje Shift here.

Salivate: A Short Fiction of Alcoholic Weaning (Actually While Details Are Fictional, That Part Is True but My Parents Are Still Alive, so You Know, It’s 100% Fiction for the Foreseeable Future)

Posted in Uncategorized by Caralyn Davis on October 5, 2014

Sunday: Day 1/Week 1

I drink every day, have for years. At the age of twenty-nine, it’s my one committed activity. Wine is my thing, or gin and tonic if I go to a nightclub. I can’t just stop. I try to picture myself: one day with alcohol, the next without it forever. The image won’t coalesce. I can’t afford rehab, and Alcoholics Anonymous smacks of group activities, which are beyond me since the great Girl Scouts debacle of my youth. My options are: (1) revel Mardi Gras-style or (2) create a strategy using my own brand of steps to plod toward an alcohol-free existence.

I’m starting today. Sunday is the nominal day of rest, so I’m going to stop drinking on Sundays. When I feel OK with that, I’ll add in Mondays, then Tuesdays, and so on and so forth until I’m clear seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year. Doing Monday next will give me forward momentum. A white lie. I can’t face Friday and Saturday. Christ, I hyperventilate at the thought of a weekend without alcohol. The corked maw of sobriety is frightening enough. I’ll begin with the easiest days and work my way up. …

Read the rest of this short story here: http://www.thegreatsmokiesreview.org/2014/stories/salivate/