Kianna's Story Market

 

                                                                    Photo by Alessio Zaccaria on Unsplash Anthony gripped the hilt of his sword as he trudged through the stench of sulfur and decay. The screams of hell had dwindled, leaving a quiet that sent shivers down his spine. His heart hammered in his chest, but his responsibility to protect the mortal realm grounded his feet. He thought of his lover, Maya, and how she pleaded for him to stay. He pressed against the grand, double doors of the throne room.  “Darling, why are you hiding?” A familiar, but distorted voice echoed. Why was she here? Was he being lured by a mimic? Was that the plot of the demon queen? He drew his sword, and he charged forward. Then, he paused. His eyes widened at the sight of his pregnant wife, Layla. She sat on the throne, breastfeeding a baby- their baby. Anthony stared.   Layla stared back, eyes a crimson and shifting with shadows. She was a twisted thing of bone and sinew. “But I-” Anthony was sp

                                                        Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash            Nessie had been eyeing the fisher for far too long as her friend- a river spirit shaped by a wisp of water- glided beside her in the late night. They were the only one who knew her secret. The river spirit chuckled as they prattled on about the affairs of humans, but one detail caught her full attention, “No, no. Trust me; it works. Humans love to take care of pregnant and baby things. I’ve even seen them adopt things they eat!“       “What about things that eat them?” Nessie’s heart beat the closer the boat drifted. A black woman with long curly dark hair wrapped in a ponytail along her back sharply surveyed the waters; Nessie sharply surveyed the gentle eyes of the woman that had hooked Nessie for the past few weeks. Tonight, she wanted to get closer and fully grasp why this human had her so enthralled.       “Oh, humans like those best of all! So just go up and act weak, they’

 

                                                                    Photo by Steinar Engeland on Unsplash Grace was no good at ranching, but she was good at making things. So, when her grandaddy passed her down the ranch and he went to his grave, she got to making robots to help her around the place. She created mechanical feeders and automatic hoof polishers and steam-powered groom bots. She was on top of everything, until the day she met the new veterinarian in town. Leah was her name, and she was beautiful and kind and they always had wonderful conversations. Finally, one day, Leah worked up the courage to ask her out. On the night of their date, Grace took Leah to her favorite Chinese restaurant. When she opened her fortune cookie, it read eerily, “Those close enough are not what they appear.” Leah blinked at her. “What’s wrong?” Grace threw it away, and replied, “Nothing.” She stuffed it in her pocket and forgot about it. After their date, they spent many nights together

      Photo by Daniel Jensen on Unsplash   The wind whisked around her like an electric mixer in a bowl. Only there was less of a mess, and more joy. Tabitha savored the patchwork of trees below the edge of her feet. The rush baking inside of her drowned out the instructor’s attempts to convey check-ins and protocols. All she could think about was the space she was going to dive in, and the weightlessness that will swallow her whole.  Once the instructor gave the okay, she dived. She dived into the spacious arms of gravity and silence. Here she could leave behind all obligations to her children and husband. Here she was not a wife or a mother, but she was Tabitha- brave, wild, and alive. There was space for her to just exist.  During her descent, she aimed for a clearing up ahead with a path snaking through the trees. Suddenly, a speck of green caught her attention. It glinted in the dying sunlight. Tabitha landed on her feet. The leaves and pine needles crunched beneath her as

                                                                              Photo by Jack Cohen on Unsplash Naya Ann slows to a pause; her chest rises and falls like a storm-ridden sea wave. Her freshly flat-ironed hair springs back into curls like hands during a worship song; she stands in her white church dress in a curious chaos of autumn leaves bright like a trail of  fire. She stands stroking her bottom lip. She thinks about how good it felt to kiss the neighborhood tomboy, Charla May; she feels like a grown woman. “Naya Ann,” she hears Aunt Irma, and she flinches. She stiffly treads down the trail of fire and approaches a large cottage with tiny, rectangular windows on the second floor. Dusty cherubs sit on the roof; they glare down as if they hate her. She reads a wooden plank that spells out in red letters “Gadford’s Charm School.” She knocks on the door and when no one answers, she tries to open the door, but when she touches the knob, a scream erupts. Naya Ann clamps