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Larry Schliessmann's Writings

Short Story
Live oak
Jul.12.2011
SCRIBD
The corpses we left hanging in trees along the coastline most likely have rotted by now, or winged carrion eaters obliterated the remains of lives perhaps otherwise forgotten. We had tried to climb and cut them down, but the enemy’s weapon fire drove us away. I believed we were lucky to escape unscathed, if you call owning nothing more than the clothing you wore...
Poem
Brown Spider
Jun.25.2009
None shall knowof the zephyr’s passageor the secret storyits passing foretells,it drifts through ancient raftersrustling webs among the eavesawakening a lazy brown spiderat the center of her tattered web,legs flexingfluid spinningshe dances in preparationfor the coming generation. This homespun globe spiralsinto the sunwith a lamb upon a spitonce tender flesh...
Article
May.17.2009
I'm nothing more than a woman of sand, left by a careless child too near the water. The Handmaid's Tale Matgaret Atwood  
Short Story
May.15.2009
Ezine The Outpost (JamestownColony.com/TheOutpost/
A Scratch on TimeWilson Koch The Hydrologist drilled through moon rock in his search for buried ice, felt an odd impact a microsecond before he heard an implosion that seemed to backfire up the laser-borer. That he had heard the noise at all, told him something catastrophic had occurred within the hermetic environment of his suit. He'd never heard of such a thing...
Short Story
The caretaking owl
May.09.2009
Eclectic Literary Forum
I heard a crunch underfoot as I climbed the brick steps to the church. A surreptitious glance exposed the source: brittle white bone. I bent and lifted a piece to examine it closely. Bird, I decided. The remnant crumbled in my hand. I dusted my palms and tried not to consider it an omen. I do not particularly care for churches. I stood on the small landing before...
Short Story
Sunset in western North Carolina
May.08.2009
unpublished
I wanted to call across time while the music played a lonely haunting cry through the mouths of long wooden pipes. Their hollow whistling notes seemed to beckon to love lost, like forlorn hearts. Their chiming echoes calling, "Seeker, can't you hear me?" The musician was not visible. The tune heard across a gulf I could not bridge another way. Reaching...