Kathleen March

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2020

Stories (366)

366 Stories

7870 karma pts

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“After Hours” by Kathleen March

Submitted to Contest #91

It was one of those Santiago nights, meaning it was after ten and people were getting up from the supper table. Some would even have washed up the dishes already. Others, a few, would have set out for their favorite mingling spots, armed with sturdy umbrellas. The umbrellas had to be sturdy because when it rained, it could really pour, and then even more terms in the ancient Galician language would appear on the stones, in the puddles, on backpacks and roses, in the thoughts of the ones strolling valiantly through the wet sheets hanging from...

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“Black Walnut” by Kathleen March

Submitted to Contest #90

There is, I am, a Black Walnut tree. in a small town in an eastern state, one whose name you don't need to know. I suspect I have been largely forgotten, but I am not quite correct in that suspicion because there is still one more who might remember. One other being who once leaned against my rough bark and clutched my fruit and leaves in her hands, breathing in. When the one who still remembers was still with me, she could still reach my branches and leaves. Now I am far too old and too tall for her to do that. Otherwise, she would still ...

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“Neither Lowly Nor Humble” by Kathleen March

Submitted to Contest #90

I hope you are ready to hear the story of an endangered species. I hope so, because it's my story and I really want to tell it. People need to know about me. Furbish’s lousewort - in Latin, Pedicularis furbishiae, here to tell my story. I may not be beautiful, but I am Maine’s only endangered plant. Other plants may be threatened, but I am the one who is teetering on the edge. Please don’t tell me you don’t care or that I’m just a weed and not a very pretty one. Do not tell me I don’t matter, because I do. To prove it, please allow me to...

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“What’s in a Word?” by Kathleen March

Submitted to Contest #89

Looking back now, I think I’ve taken two leaps of faith in my life. One of them may have been a good decision, but it also could have been a huge mistake. It is still not clear to me whether life would have been better had I not taken that dive into the abyss that lay before me back then. It’s not something I’m in the mood to discuss, though, so we’ll move on to the other time I risked everything. It wasn’t immediately clear that I’d done the right thing, but years later, it is obvious that it was the correct decision. Here’s what I did: ...

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“The End.” by Kathleen March

Submitted to Contest #89

It’s not unusual for stories to start at the end, you know. It’s fairly common, in fact, for detective novels to begin after a crime has been committed. Yes, I know it’s not the real end of the story, because that comes when the crime is solved, right? Still, the discovery of the crime aka murder does trigger the image of a life that is over. The whole novel then consists of the tracking down of the elements leading to the tragic event. Going backward in time. How did that horrible event come to pass? I have to say, starting at the end bri...

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“The Names of the Game” by Kathleen March

Submitted to Contest #88

Just to make things clear: I do not tell the truth. Not now, anyway. I am unable to. If you run into me somewhere, just be aware of this: I will lie to you.  Don't take it personally, please. I wasn’t always a liar, you know. Well, maybe you don't know, but I'm telling you lying's not my style, so you'll probably believe me. Probably. Most people are incapable of admitting they are megalomaniacs. When somebody does, they are special. You might learn something from their stories. What I'm telling you now is that I am a liar. I don...

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“If Imps Ruled the World” by Kathleen March

Submitted to Contest #87

Once there was a writer named Rafael Dieste, who was born in Rianxo in 1899. It's all right if you don't know or care where Rianxo is, but believe me, it's a nice little fishing village on the eastern Atlantic shore. Several really important writers were born there, so there must be something in the water.Dieste, whose mother was from Uruguay but with family from Brazil and Portugal, ran into some serious difficulties when the civil war began in 1936, but he managed to survive. What is relevant here, however, is one of his books, Dos arquivo...

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“The Names of the Rose” by Kathleen March

Submitted to Contest #86

No le toquéis ya más, que así es la rosa(Don't touch it any more; that's what the rose is like.)Juan Ramón JiménezA Rose is a Rose is a Rose.Gertrude SteinThe lily has a smooth stalk,Will never hurt your hand;But the rose upon her briarIs lady of the land.Christina Georgina RosettiJe vois la vie en rose.(The world is rose-colored to me.)Édith PiafI am always being given horrendous assignments in this job. Maybe I should quit and get a different one, a better one, one that wouldn’t send me into mad mood swings all the time. Just when I had re...

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“Spring’s Light” by Kathleen March

Submitted to Contest #86

The other day I happened to be home, inside my house and probably caught up in some art project, when I began thinking that something rather odd was occurring. Something had moved, or gotten louder. Something had gotten bigger, or had shrunk. Somebody across the street had finally taken their holiday lights down. I didn't have a clue, really. The only thing I sensed was that it just wasn’t the same as the previous week. Of that I was more than sure, however. Something out there was different.Still, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, ...

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“The Spinners” by Kathleen March

Submitted to Contest #85

Prologue This is a story that takes place in the same building. It isn’t a terribly ancient building, only about four hundred years old, but you should know that the story has several parts and a lot of years in between them. You know, sometimes it’s the place that counts, sometimes it's the people. Other times, it’s what the people do. Maybe less often it’s the ideas they had which are so important. You never know. In the case of this building, it does have a name and became famous enough to merit being turned into a museum. A small, ti...

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“San Pedro” by Kathleen March

Submitted to Contest #85

INTRODUCTIONI have to write a paper for my Communications 201 class. The first part of the paper is supposed to be about someone who is fighting to change their city neighborhood for the better. The second part is about a person who is trying to keep the neighborhood from changing.Nothing in the professor's instructions indicates whether the paper should study two separate neighborhoods or whether it could be the same one, and residents are clashing over the proposals. "Just write what you know," his instructions tell me, but that'...

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“The Things About This City...” by Kathleen March

Submitted to Contest #85

“That’s the thing about this city…” Meaning, this city isn’t particularly evil, or glorious, by nature. It is unforgettable, but hold on a moment, you need to find the right way to avoid forgetting it. This is extremely important because you have to avoid the forgetting. Trust me. This city does not take to being forgotten. Do not get me wrong. If you have come here and stayed for a while, this city can become whatever you want it to be. Not every metropolitan area can offer that, but this offering, this rewarding the time spent in this ...

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“Rain Date” by Kathleen March

Submitted to Contest #84

Today is yesterday and will be tomorrow. Who said that? Macbeth, methinks. Or Vonnegut, maybe. I cannot tell them apart. It is not my fault. What beckons, confuses. This pool of blue. These azure pools. They would be alluring, were they not everlasting. Overshadowing. This cloud of gray. These drifting flocks and flecks of silver. They grimace at me, all the same, all blurred together. Perhaps they have no other nature, these clouds. They are all that has been up there for day after day. (If they cover the nights, I'll never know.) Thi...

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“Celestia” by Kathleen March

Submitted to Contest #83

The little moura popped her small head out of the water and shook the drops off the top of it with an energetic toss of her hair, or fur, or scales. (Mouras aren’t easy to describe.) It was slightly chilly because, after all, it was late November. Good thing it wasn't frigid, although, if truth be told, she didn't mind the cool flow of the underground streams to the places where they emerged. Those waters were her home, and every gurgle, every ripple, was hers to play with. She was happy. The waters were where she felt the happiest.This litt...

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“Santiago, Not the Moor-Slayer” by Kathleen March

Submitted to Contest #83

So, as legend goes, Santiago o Maior, whom I think is called Saint James the Elder in English, was beheaded in his homeland. That was very far away, beyond the Mediterranean for sure. He was then put in a stone boat that either floated on its own or was steered by someone, across many miles. It's not. exactly clear how a stone boat could even float, let alone whether it could make it up to Padrón on the western shore of the province of Coruña.If you think this is a made-up story, tell that to the Church, which insists Saint James made the lo...

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Author bio

Kathleen March Educator and reader. Lover of words, animals, nature. Artist and translator. I am not on Reedsy to collect points. I am here to read and be read. Sorry I haven’t been as communicative lately. Life is complex. I will try to catch up. If you want me to comment on your work, I am happy to do so. I will be honest! After all, I taught literature forever. Please don't turn this into a numbers game. Write your heart out.