Denese Wright

“I Know What I Am” by Denese Wright

Submitted to Contest #272

Walls of the mineshaft, on the verge of crumbling, tremble in a final warning to all miners. Foreman Jeffrey McDermott yells to his men who are all still inside. His voice echoes down throughout the dusty shaft, “Hurry up lads, the walls are buckling, leave the picks and hammers, and be careful with the charges!”“One last look,” whispers the man furthest behind, his name is Reginald.His last minute search for anything simmering in the rock ends in a find not of the kind he'd hoped for. At the foot of a heap of rubble lies a thick bundle of p...

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“Finding My Yellow Stars” by Denese Wright

Submitted to Contest #271

In the aftermath of a hurricane I think the loneliest place to be is inside a library, not the emptiest, the loneliest. Before disaster struck I’d usually count on one hand all the students inside. Soon the many charging stations led to a great migration. Herds arrived to recharge their phones and other devices so they could read and also study, yay! No, they hadn’t been studying or reading. There were no group studies, no reading groups or reading buddies, not even a stray stumbling into my dimension. It was a younger crowd. They played ga...

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“Show Me the Body” by Denese Wright

Before today I have always imagined being on a yacht like this, sunbathing without a care in the world as the pinnacle of success. Am I in control of my destiny? It’s hard to think of anything that could break this euphoria, but am I really in control of my destiny? At my age, ha, this isn’t my boat. I haven’t worked for any of this, but I imagine one day this exquisite boat could me mine, or ours, as in mine and Wayne’s. One wonders, thus far the mileage on my life is all of thirty two years, still very low. What will it take for this ...

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“The Hand of God” by Denese Wright

Submitted to Contest #267

Last time I sailed on night watch serenity inspired me to draw the moonscape, and I called it The Hand of God. He subsequently taught me a lesson that ‘fear- inspiring’ is what you can’t see multiplied a thousand times by what you can. A crescent moon is high on a cloudless, starry night. I could look down and sail across the universe. This is how I’d wanted to go to heaven, in a boat sailing across the ocean, but  night fishing along the marshlands south of the island, I encountered devilishly glowing eyes in the reeds close to shore ...

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“Ghosts in the Market-A Tribute to Jamaican Poet Louise Bennett-Coverly” by Denese Wright

I’ve always hated going to market. It didn’t take long for me to fully understand why my mother always sent me when I had finally come of age to venture out alone. The first lesson learned was never go to market in the morning when the sun is high, go when dawn is breaking. If you don’t you’ll get leftovers, rejects, the smallest potatoes and carrots, the flawed tomatoes and marble-sized onions, and for the same price of the choicest if you never learned how to haggle. After a while you make friends and patronize your preferred people more t...

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“His Name Was Eric” by Denese Wright

Reading text messages from a stranger can arouse levels of curiosity you’ve never dreamed of. This was a first for me and I liked it. “So why did you move from New York?” I asked. It took him a while to reply. I assumed he hopped offline for something important and I waited, patiently. I checked the phone every now and again. His reply three hours later, “I heard a rumor that here women are exceptionally beautiful and I needed to know,” he said.  I couldn’t see his face or hear him speak, however, I imagined the charm and conviction...

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“Geese, Grease & Fire” by Denese Wright

Submitted to Contest #229

When Christmas approaches it greets you with a warm December kiss. Outside, fall is whispered away in the wind. Nights stretch out. Golden fires burn brighter, hotter and longer, and waltz inside the many fireplaces. Old fire wood remembers this passionate heat and burns longer, so why would anyone want to douse such a flame? Good question.  The family is doing something different this year. Everyone is expected home for Christmas. G.G Wallace’s birthday is twelve days before but this year there will be two parties for the price of one...

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“Imbalance: The Price of Vanity” by Denese Wright

Submitted to Contest #225

Caroline suggests the unthinkable, knowing O’Carey would rather sell a kidney. Regrettably there is a foreclosure notice on the bedside table, and they have nowhere else to go except out into the desert to reminisce on former days of financial glory living high off the hog in Phoenix. O’Carey rubs his face remembering the promise he made to himself to never sell his valuable coins, but Caroline doesn’t appreciate any coin unless it is one she can spend. He sighs, “It won’t change anything…then what?” he asks. Caroline rubs his back. It’s a h...

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“My Nine Lives” by Denese Wright

This is the time when I roll over and snuggle in on my stomach, but I need to find the source of my irritation first. Gliding my hand over silky smooth satin sheets, I search for a blaring siren demanding compliance, but I can’t find it. Finally, I slide my index finger across the screen, again. My eyes are refusing to open because sleep is gluing them together. Not today, please, it’s Saturday.  In frustration I grab the phone and tuck it underneath the pillow. This should muffle the annoying sound next time around, but by now I ...

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“The Nurse's Station” by Denese Wright

He hopped into the room shirtless and with a swollen foot, still clutching a half-empty bottle of Heineken beer. I was at work and he was on vacation. He said his name was Ruben Van den Berg, and he sat on the bed, putting the swollen foot up beside him. He looked at me, smiled, and asked, “Be honest, how many of these did you ever see come in here?” “Lots and lots, I’ve lost count, that is, if you are referring to tourists,” He tilted his head back to drain the bottle, and with an eyebrow raised he examined me from head to toe through th...

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“Unwritten Rules” by Denese Wright

Tunnel vision: it’s hard not to see a foaming rabid dog, but I heard he said that’s what he is. Surprisingly I still land the next punch with a towel landing on my head. I punched so hard the bag squealed. It sounds even better than it feels. It gives me a rush. I use it to wipe away all the sweat pouring from my brow, clouding my vision, and throw the towel back over the top of my head, it means ‘thank you Jeremy,’ and he knows. High and in a hurry, muscles burn. I rip them apart. Sweat oozes out of my body like fat out of frying meat. I ...

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“Angela's Ghost” by Denese Wright

He shaves arrow heads carved from bone to a narrow razor sharp point and has meticulously perfected it. He dips each one in home-made ricin one at a time, and bundles the arrows in a leather sheath which he slings around his shoulder. Camouflaged in combat gear, he pinches an eye, takes aim and draws the bowstring. In a release the arrow slices the air to find its mark just inches away from the jugular. The elk runs away. The job is complete. The following day its remains are recovered untouched and skinned. This hunter only wants skin but b...

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“A first Day Birthday” by Denese Wright

I wore what I had, warped leather shoes and miss-matched socks. This was me looking forward to getting baked. By baked I mean lathered in a batter of flour, eggs and water on the first day of school. It is how my friends normally greeted me on my birthday in early September. This time I hoped for a belated celebration due to the circumstances and so I carried my books in my hands, well, the ones not soaked and dried. I walked alongside my friends into the school yard and into the gym. Inside the gym we were, honestly, still outside.  W...

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“An Ocean of Stars” by Denese Wright

I believed presentation had meaning, in my mind I opened a coffin, taking comfort in the message being conveyed: end is beginning.  The lid creaked. He lied in repose and clothed. His skin, a kind of pinkish peach, appeared inherently human. Now I’m disturbed to an almost unbearable degree. Are we the last of our kind?  Tonight, under a canopy of clouds, I stare into the void. There, an ocean merges with a midnight sky. Is there really a line out there called the horizon, one separating higher intelligence from us? Before t...

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“Old Masters” by Denese Wright

Submitted to Contest #212

There’s nothing as symbolic to me as an urn: a body made of clay, a white hot fire, and ash, but I’ve only made one in my lifetime. My right knee hurts. I also have arthritis in both hands. There are wrinkles on my face and all too. Guess what, I’m still here kicking this wheel. All I can hear in an empty garage is the sound of harmony. It is the sound of physics, chemistry, geology and biology working together. It is the sound of an old horse-drawn carriage wheel in need of some axle grease. A motor sits idle in the corner and it’s getting...

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