A big thank you to Ink in Thirds editor, Grace Black, for having included my short fiction, A Confetto of Moths, in Vol. 6 Issue 2 of such a wonderful magazine.
Packed full of fantastic prose and poetry, please take a look. You won’t be disappointed.
HERE: A Confetto of Moths
Thank you for reading
Richard
https://ko-fi.com/richardmankers
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Thank you for reading
Richard
I’m delighted to have been featured in the latest issue of Viridine Literary Magazine. The Savage Coast, a micro literary fiction, is now available as one of many great reads in Issue 2. Out now!
Here’s a peep at the cover:
I hope you enjoy the read.
Richard
A very big than you to Gabriela Marie Milton at Literary Revelations Press for publishing my latest micro-fiction, Like Bubbles. It’s only a nice short read, so I hope you enjoy.
Like Bubbles available: HERE
Please do take a look at the other wonderful books, posts, and submission opportunities available on their site: HERE
As always, thank you for reading
Richard
A big thank you to editor Manuela Timofte for publishing my latest dark Micro-Fiction, Between States.
Please do take a few minutes to have a look at all the wonderful poetry and prose on offer. Gobblers is a real gem of a site.
Read: HERE!
Thank you for reading
Richard
Richard M. Ankers
The butterfly moon is not a moon per se, rather, a moment in time. A release of magic upon the sky. Those few minutes where a bejewelled night begs for more and those who watch her weep.
It begins with the moon.
She rises high, like a breaching whale who forgot to turn back at the waves. The gentle, titanium giantess flies, flies, sweeps into the sky to float as effortlessly as a child’s forgotten balloon. There she hangs. There she gathers the energies of the universe, brightens, lightens, burns milk-white. This is seen. She is always seen.
They appear as coloured raindrops falling up, not down. A few at first, the shoal gather pace. Vermillion and emerald, sapphire and citrine, wings flap and feelers feel. The moon gleams all the whiter.
They swim rather than fly. The moths and butterflies, for the two are inseparable on nights such as these, flitter and flap their way towards an obsidian sky the stars have vacated. They have bowed down to their celestial mistress, as have the spinning galaxies themselves. This night is aflame in the vivid colours of nature. Oh, what a joy for the milk-white queen.
The little ones circle her as a tide of fairy lights. They bob up and down as if blown by some unfelt solar wind around their cosmic Christmas tree. So pretty. So exquisite. The moon is, of course, the crowning jewel upon its topmost heights. This is what it has waited for, our moon. One moment in forever to truly enjoy the view.
She weeps silver tears at their passing. She fills the oceans, rivers, lakes, ponds, and the liquid souls of those who watch in awe through open curtains. Alas, it does not last, but the best things never do.
They do not fly down, but take one last farewell lap and head off into eternity. The moon waves each one goodbye.
As do we.
Never forget the little ones, they’re just as important as you or I.
Thank you for reading
Richard
The whispers curled around his ears, like ivy around a tree trunk. They clung there, tightening in ever-increasing desperation, whispering non-stop, persuading. Even the rabid north wind couldn’t dissuade them, cool them, freeze the words on their lips, though it chilled Robert to the bone.
Living with ghosts. Don’t we all? Yet for some, they writhe more than others. He was born to them, for the last of his family gave her life to secure his. Didn’t she? Ghosts surrounded him from then on. Some were welcoming visitors. Others less so. No one saw them but Robert. No one heard them, nor him.
He realised the whispers were his own when the mirror failed to mist. It was bitter that day, and all those beyond the window exhaled ghosts. Robert, however, had no ghost to exhale, no spectre to coddle, no banshee at which to scream. He was merely a whitening shadow, who whispered to the stars and the moon.
He’d never been a baby. Not to his memory, anyway. Neither had he been a child, nor lover, nor husband, nor parent, nor endlessly aging old man. But he was, and that was something. Wasn’t he? He told himself this as the whispers became louder and his family, at last, said, Hello.
An End.
Thank you for reading
Richard
A big thank you to Gobblers and Masticadores and its editor, Manuela Timofte, for publishing my latest post, The Inlet.
The Inlet is a micro-fiction about the environment and the secret places nature has to offer, both subjects close to my heart.
Please do take the time to have a look at the other wonderful works that Gobblers and Masticadores has to offer.
HERE: The Inlet
Thank you for reading
Richard
Richard M. Ankers
We flourished beside the pool like two happy frogs waiting to take a joyous dip. Lotus flowers floated there atop the becalmed water, like the reflections of perfectly captured stars. A dragonfly, apparently unaware of the twilight, zipped about like an army helicopter, downing as many enemies as his mandibles-for-bullets could bite. A breaching moon threatened one horizon as a submerging sun teased the other. A swan’s neck rose from the reeds like an elegant white snake and then dipped away. The universe hung on her next breath, as did I.
“I love this pool. Don’t you?” she breathed. But my mouth did that thing where some old hag had stitched up my lips, so I just nodded. “There’s something about how it captures everything, from those tiny, stray dandelion seeds to entire eternities. That’s what I think, anyway.” Again, I nodded. “You don’t say much for a man so keen for a date.” I smiled and shrugged. “Meh! Probably for the best. You wouldn’t want to spoil the moment.” As if on queue, she leaned in. I didn’t have to move anything but my lips.
Years later, and the television presenter claimed the police to have found them. All of them. Those dive-bombing children, so obese as to flatten the bullrushes, who had disturbed the pond one last time. They’d stamped on the frogs and stolen the swan’s eggs before they’d even hatched. The presenter looked disgusted, but he was smiling on the inside at the dramatic news story now attached to his name. They were to close the whole area off to ‘re-establish the ecosystem.’ I wanted to cry. It wasn’t that I was an eco-warrior or anything, just that I’d kissed eternity there once, and now I’d never see those stars again.
The End
Thank you for reading
Richard
Richard M. Ankers. Author: The Eternals Series and Britannia Unleashed
The sky collapsed in evening shades. Every second spawned a greater darkness. Every hour weighed upon the soul. Leaden and unwilling to relent, the clouds engulfed us. This was how purgatory descended.
The ivy crept across the floor more from necessity than design, looking to strangle the world one lump of grit at a time. We didn’t see it, of course, but we felt every inch of unleashed tendril. This was how purgatory attacked.
We found each other in paired hands, squeezing. There were no sounds. Death came easily to us over and over again. Had ever a reality been conquered so easily? We still believed it a dream, of course. Somewhere deep in limbo’s fog, an entity whistled from boredom. Unless it was me? This was how purgatory won.
Thank you for reading
Richard
Richard M. Ankers - Storybook 
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