Horace, calm as always, loaded his muzzle-loader rifle, just in case, then gathered some deadfall tree branches, and built a roaring fire on the riverbank. Abby and his family huddled by the fire while Horace looked all around, watching for predators. Having only an axe, an adze, and a handsaw for tools, Horace created a lean-to shelter on the steep . . . Continue Reading
He stowed the treasure in his pants pocket and began to search the creek. He waded up and down, turned over rocks, and dug into the mud with his fingers, but he didn’t find any more marbles.
The heavy feeling in his chest that had become so familiar began to settle back over him, making him realize that it . . . Continue Reading
. . . for now, I find shallow water
and sit on a rock facing west,
a creek exhilarates my bare feet
as it . . . Continue Reading
. . . she said she read anything and everything. She also took continuing education courses at Maryville College in Cherokee culture, Appalachian Studies, and Creative Writing. Her two novels and other writing bear witness to her careful and detailed . . . Continue Reading
Kim nods as she walks back through the dark, narrow hallway. Her chest feels tight.
Marriage.
Then she relaxes.
Freedom.
No more unending silence. No more curfews. No more belts. . . Continue Reading
My father was coal dusted and bent from the mines
But he saw that I had a degree
He taught me to hold a jack rock as . . . Continue Reading
Ivy’s stomach felt queasy as Paula returned with the bottle. Ivy stared, unblinking, as Mrs. Maxwell poured boiling water over the bottle, and the air filled with steam wafting from the glass. The water spilled into the grass filling Ivy’s nose with the pungent smell of the greenery. Paula’s mother set the pot on the cement . . .Continue Reading
Emily Singleton is a multimedia artist, concentrating in painting, from Plumtree, North Carolina . . . Her artwork most often depicts personal experiences significant to life in Appalachia . . . Continue Reading
. . . on Sunday morning to church. The preacher was
half-way through his sermon, when I felt something
crawling on my back. Thinking it was a fly, I rubbed
my back and realized it was . . . Continue Reading
Then, out of the blue, she got all paranoid and barked at me to stop touching her mail, which ticked me off. She accused me of messing with stuff, but that’s ridiculous—I only . . . Continue Reading