What are Ozlandish Writings?

From July 2010 to December 2014 we ran OZLAND PICTURE STORIES as described below. Sadly though the number of writers reduced over the years and we decided to call it a day. We leave these as a record of the good times we had.

Are "You" ready to challenge your writing skills? Then participate in our OZLAND Picture Stories writing series at The Ozland Art Gallery.

Each month a new picture will be picked, from our OZLAND Artist of the Month collection, with different themes. Your goal is to write a 500-1000 word... poem... essay... or story about the picture picked. This is a chance for you to challenge your writing skills each month. Story can be written in ANY genre... sci fi... romance... ghost... fantasy... fiction... non-fiction... biography... mystery... historical... whatever your writing genre... feel free to experiment. Send your writing inworld to Sven Pertelson as a notecard to have it included on the web site. We meet at the The Ozland Art Gallery each Wednesday at Noon and 6pm SLT to read the latest submissions on voice. More Information

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Ed is dead at Morgan's saloon - Amythe Moonlight

Ed is dead at Morgan's saloon
I heard them shout  in various shades of panic
Is it true? I asked  you. Yes you said .Ed is dead

The cards lie strewn on the table The glasses spilled
and Mabel the barmaid is huddled behind the bar in fear
It's clear they are all shocked. A tear forms in your eye
What a way to die
In a bunch on the dirty boards
A full house in one hand and a triumphant smile
It leaves a taste of disgust on your lips
Blood under his hips stains the floor
A bottle rattles slowly across and out of the door
to smash on the sidewalk
The wind whistles through the silence like a paper cut
and pale faced men in loose jackets with shuttered looks
glance around with no sound not daring to catch an eye
The sky is grey and music plays
haunting in its melody
The jangling sound stark against the heavy atmosphere
it is clear no-one wants to move -  each fearful breath laden with horror
each emotion etched on weathered faces with traces
of salt streaked trails on some and then the gun
still smoking turns slowly as the room holds it's breath
embracing death
If I could i would tell you more -  you said
Ed is dead
too young, too soon
at Morgan's saloon

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