There’s a whisper coming from the fallen leaves and in my mind, the image of a woman scatters into millions of red and brown rusty pieces. They follow the wind, they form smooth, colourful typhoons, they’re blowing dreams away.
The summer moans through the rustle of forgotten days; days when the woman in my mind needed no reminder of our existence’s meaning, when the leaves around her were still green and proudly hanging from branches alongside beautiful birds and wise night owls.
But brown is a colour she has kept in her heart way longer, and the moans of the…
Sad April rain floods our street, storm-grey rivers absorb in silence
The soft pitter-patter of the drops, and the delicate sounds
Of the black, wondrous creature that steps lightly her paws
On the brick-paved path — sylphlike, her soulful eyes
Reflect the lightning, silver strikes her emerald windows
To a soul most mysterious, a soul I will never forget.
The way she walks, a signature, tracing what she won’t forget, when her most honest, treasured thoughts drowned in silence, and their ghosts, cursed to haunt forever, fly through windows, through the bodies of all those who try to own her…
I watch the raindrops as they slide down my window. Shiny, little droplets racing, parting, reuniting at the edges of the black frame. They remind me of us and the way we ran free that Spring. I remember the way the most independent, solitary people that set foot on Earth found each other and filled the air with magic.
I still feel this way, you know?
I have placed my piano keyboard in front of the window. It has a wooden base, like a miniature grand piano, only thinner and square. It has a protective wooden lid over the keys…
Noah Battler was a loner.
He had a tiny bed with fluffy pillows and sheets so white they almost shimmered under the moonlight — the only light allowed in the room; when the sun rose, he shut the heavy curtains.
Noah Battler had a large window he opened slightly so the sounds of the river could sneak in, barely audible as he stayed there, laying in his tiny bed, in his empty room, under the large window, letting it and the moonlight soothe his coldness like he did a thousand nights before.
There was no one to change that. …
What can bring us more happiness than a new writing prompt?
Dermott Hayes, our new prompt editor, and I are here, impatiently waiting to welcome your submissions. Our prompts will now be running through each month, the theme will be announced in our monthly newsletters, and your beautiful submissions will be published every Wednesday.
The prompt for April will be:
During this difficult time, we all seek distraction. What’s yours?
We are looking for:
Flash fiction (up to 1000 words) and Poetry (our usual standards apply).
How to submit
Through this form:
Submissions close: April 26, 2021
We can’t wait!
For the northern hemisphere, warmer weather, brighter sunshine, the peeking out of budding leaves and flowers and all that good spring stuff is happening — along with reduced lockdowns, better vaccinations and more well people, we do hope!
As this is our first newsletter of 2021, we would like to thank you for being with us for another year, and for waiting for our return after our long but much-needed break. We are now announcing our official return and we hope that, together, we can bring back our beloved community (which we missed endlessly!), …
Welcome to Lit Up — The Land of Little Tales!
Here you can read and submit short stories, flash fiction, poetry — in brief, your own legend.
We have a passion for untold stories, and we are always happy to welcome new writers. These are the submission guidelines.
Lit Up’s primary focus is that of fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction structured in the format of storytelling. We have regular writing-related articles by our editorial staff and by select invitation of other writers. The publication is not accepting nonfiction personal articles and opinion pieces at this time.
As the ‘Land of…
Once upon a lifetime (or what feels like a lifetime) ago, I decided to make a huge change in my life. Having spent years and years trying to get into a certain University in London to study Interior Architecture only to realise that the job itself did not satisfy me, and just before the edge of depression caused by disappointment and uncertainty hit me, life brought the magical Annecy in my list of options.
I won’t bore you with all the little details, but Annecy was the stepping stone for me, for all the beautiful things that come later in…