The Abstract Art Gallery
A writing gallery created by writers from around the world. From poetry to song lyrics, from essays to entire novels and short stories.
…he stands with the ease of one who spends his work days standing in classrooms. Because a resident of the capital, he’s one of the few who can keep doing his day job at least part-time. He shrugged into his plaid sports jacket as he left school this noon, having met with four classes before yielding to a substitute, and arrived just as the session was gaveled to…
By Don Noel
Read More…was the bravest they had.
He was hiding in a cave and trembling like a child…
He was well familiar with the adage, “Courage is…
By Alexander Zoltai
Read MoreWorkplace Politics often find their own resolution.
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…heads turned toward the suddenly thrust forefinger pointing at the ceiling. The wide-eyed face with slightly gaping mouth alerted the gathering a conclusion existed. The period of mentation lasted only momentarily before Camilla…
By Robert L. Scarry
Read MoreAnimals and dating drama
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…a thin film of snow covering the meadow and every inch on the farm. Almost everyone was outside playing in the snow. The calves were, spending some of their last moments on the farm, rolling around in the snow covered hill. The temperature was just right for these activities. Soon these youngins would be…
By Alex Almeida
Read More… lived the wrong life—gave up what he should have kept—gained a curse he couldn’t control…
He’d roamed the Boreal Forest for seven years, destroying nearly everything in sight—literally destroying nearly everything he came upon, with his eyesight—evoking flames merely by looking at something when the execration of the curse was upon…
By Alexander Zoltai
Read MoreA boy grapples with his mother's abandonment through lies.
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…sitting with my older sister Nancy, we catch snatches of conversation. Dreamer. Unfit mother.
Images rise to my mind: Dark wit, contracting temper, triggered by a loose dish or something…
By Yash Seyedbagheri
Read More…had become dehydrated. Trees poured out saffron. Brittle straws clung to mother earth, there was a stream of orange lawn. The soil was made of sand. It caved in and became hollow. A hole in the soil where I slept in awakening. I felt nothing first. Then a hunger rose. I ate my hunger, I walked in a dream. Dream of life. There was silence in my heart. It whispered an autumnal dirge, there was a war. And I was a wounded…
By Mehreen Ahmed
Read More…most ordinary folk, the day was not special—fluffy clouds, warmth, and a regular routine.
For the Centaur and the Dragon, the day was Epochal—never had a day like this dawned.
The Centaur’s name was Nautal, the Dragon’s…
By Alexander Zoltai
Read MoreVisiting the 1931 theater each summer, reminds me of the rigid in-place modis operandi, of certain managers regarding this historical landmark.
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…the white clapboard Art Deco Theater, patrons drifted into small groups on a warm summer's evening.
People ignored other…
By Antoni Ooto
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