Valiant Scribe
A literary hub giving voice to the voiceless by retelling the human experience

Not the green-grey sludge snaking to the river’s edge. Not the sun’s overdone orb baking the snake to a dry bed of dust. Not the hands of...

(Dianna Good Sky and Rosalie Fish mentioned with permission) Who am I, I asked myself, to write about something I know nothing about? Who...

It is hot, hotter than it was ever meant to be. The air chewable, our thoughts limp as the beanstalks in the garden. Night a stultifying...