Art by Horace Pippin, Sunday Morning Breakfast, 1943, Saint Louis Art Museum

Musical Selection: Beyonce’|Black Parade

What of little girls who have no heart and no shine?

Readers: This work of fiction has explicit details about pedophilia/familial child rape, abuse, poverty, and neglect. If this is something you think you shouldn’t read, please do not continue.

What of little girls who have no heart and no shine? Who carries the pain for them when breathing isn’t easy? Where are their Gods? Where are you, God? Nowhere to be found.

Phara was ten when her daddy laid up with her for what seemed like the thousandth time. He shuffled in one night, late from work, with Seagram’s Gin fresh on his breath as he panted his way down…

Photo by Collis via Pexels

A six-word story #3

May your innocence
open their eyes.

The first and second parts of this series.

©2021 Tremaine L. Loadholt

Flash Fiction

Photo by nappy via Pexels

Hi. I’m Clover. Clover Daniels. No middle name. Who are you? Lemme guess. Mama says our family gonna be coming over soon and I’ve gotta get my act together and clean house but . . . I can spare some time to speak with you.

That’s right! I’m guessing who you are . . . Are you the guy coming to interview my daddy, Linden Tillman or something like that? I bet you are! He ain’t here right now. My daddy’s got big plans for us. We’re supposed to be moving again. This time to someplace called Hopeulikit, Georgia. …

A six-word story #2

Photo by Collis via Pexels

His black skin . . .
God to

©2021 Tremaine L. Loadholt

Part I of this series:

It changes everything

Big sky. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

He used to call me baby, that was his way, until . . . Until he had to leave. I was twelve. Twelve years old, wondering what I did wrong. No one could tell me. I wasn’t old enough to be in the middle of the conversations birthed between adults. And as a Southerner, you listen to your elders. You heed their advice.

So, I thought my light had faded — if Daddy wasn’t calling me baby anymore . . . Who else would? Who else should? Was I even still deserving of that term of endearment?

My mom had…

Reyna Noriega via Pinterest

Musical Selection: Sabrina Claudio|Belong To You

A six-word story #1

Wanted: mysterious woman
nomadic in nature.

The first batch of six-word stories in The Junction can be found here.

©2021 Tremaine L. Loadholt


Writing Tools. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

It Is Air

When you step outside and breathe in the
world around you, do you not feel alive?
Living and breathing and embracing a new
day is a tangible gift we often fail to unwrap.
I love this present. I love its presence.

It would be easy for me to simply say, “Writing is the air I breathe” or “I can’t not write,” both would be true, their cliched existence notwithstanding, but there are other reasons why. I am a person who believes in expressing herself in the most honest way possible. Oftentimes, writing is the preferable method for me.

I have…

Even if summer’s on the way, I’m still not ready

Photo by cottonbro via Unsplash

Nowadays if you’re not on one of the following dating apps; Tinder, eHarmony, Match, or Hinge (just to name a few), chances are, you’re still clinging to the traditional way of dating just as I am or I’d like to be. I did not have many miles behind me regarding the traditional way of dating prior to the Coronavirus, COVID-19 — it was the method with which I was most familiar.

If I wanted to, I could go to my local coffee shop, set up my mini workstation, order my favorite blend, and subtly eye God’s gifts that walked through…

Photo by Jan Tinneberg on Unsplash

Musical Selection: Queen|Another One Bites the Dust

An Audio Poem

An Audio Poem

Crack goes the whip and
every order or demand that
can break a camel's back —
thrown at us under a
noon day's sun and just
like that, the fun . . .
is done.

We've been asked to
pack our things, close
up shop, retire, put things
to bed and not wake up and
well, if you know us . . .
you know we're not going

Funny how money can shift
a mountain of growth
or how it can sharpen
the hardest edges especially
when the underdogs begin to
climb too high.

The Powers…

Eggs & Blue|Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

Flash Fiction

“Percy! How many eggs do I have in that Frigidaire?!”

Mama Jackie shouts from the top of her lungs to her on-again/off-again boyfriend Percy from the back of her cramped-up apartment.

“You got five eggs, Jackie.”

“Did you say five, Percy?!”

“Yes, I did. Five eggs!”

“Oh, good! That’s enough to make us some egg salad for lunch later.”

It is 07:30 am and Mama Jackie is already thinking about lunch. Breakfast hasn’t settled in their stomachs yet but this is her way — always shuffling on to the next thing. …

Tre L. Loadholt

I am more than breath & bones. I am nectar in waiting. Editor PSILY •You write like a jagged, beautiful dream. ©Martha Manning •

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