Brittle is a poem describing mental breakdown, despair, and ultimately rebirth.

This is an autobiographical account of a childhood tragedy. Originally, posted here in Apr 08, it was the result of sessions with my therapist, where I couldn't speak of what had happened. He suggested that as a writer, use that as my voice. It worked and I was able to move past a lot of the bitterness I felt at the moment I wrote it over a year ago. Now, my story is to be shared with other male survivors of abuse and I wanted to correct any errors that I overlooked while preserving my truth and the power of the story.

Short, almost a flash. It's a snapshot of one woman's life.

A slice of my life from yesterday afternoon based on a haiku I posted earlier here: "The crack." The conversation between my brother and me struck me deeply. We're very different and only share DNA from the same mom and dad.... At least that's what I thought til yesterday's brief, but powerful conversation.

Part memoir, part opinion, part editorial; this is just something I've come to believe and finally wrote it ias a tribute to my late grandmother.

Metaphorical. I was thinking about my own tragic incident when I could only see through the cracks of my open eyelids and the bright light beyond, giving me hope. Then I thought about the firefighters/police officers on 9/12 (the day AFTER) trapped beneath twisted metal, their only hope in the shafts of light pouring through cracks above, and their hope of rescue.

Foray into a story using "text" speak. Not sure if it's short enough to qualify as a flash.

A revision of a short I've worked on for a while. The story and characters are fictional, but the problem is not. Oliver is based on a man I once worked with this problem. Ms King is based on a counselor at a mental health and drug abuse clinic. He kept a mugshot of himself in his office to jolt addicts he worked with and show them that recovery was possible.