Category Archives: Melinda Selmys

Drabble: Who’s Afraid of the Little Red Hood? – by Melinda Selmys

by specklit

Red Riding Hood grew up mean. She’d go down to the meadow, picking flowers. When the wolves came she smiled and lured them to grandma’s house. She killed them slow. You could hear the howling late into the night. Next morning, a bloodied daisy-chain hung above her door.

Last night, she came into the bar, sank her hatchet in the table, demanded ale. I loved the way the satin lining curled against her thigh. “Mind if I join you?”

She made room, but not conversation. We drank. She took me home.

This morning, a bloodied daisy-chain hangs above her bed.

Author’s Note: One of the characters in a novel I’m working on has a Little Red Riding Hood phobia.


Drabble: A Very Long Bereavement – by Melinda Selmys

by specklit

The star was born far enough away that there was no chance it would ever be seen by human eyes. A slowly coalescing ball of gas at the heart of a distant nebula. It was just a baby, in star terms, when the girl in Birmingham reached out to it with her mind and captured its celestial affections. A flash like a sunburst. Bonding. All the aching, burning love that ignites the great lights of the universe. But she was gone in a twinkle of star-time and the newborn star cooled, dimmed, grieving. Inconsolable, it wept for a billion years.

Author’s Note: I have a thing for impossible, timeless and unrequited love.


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