Momentary Magic

I'm considering changing the title of my zine from Hearth & Heart to Momentary Magic.

This is an example of the type of story that appears in Hearth & Heart.  I would appreciate some honest feed back to the following questions.

1.  What are your favorite genres?  (for example:  weird, fantasy, mystery, horror, suspense, etc.)
2.  Who are your favorite authors?
3.  In which genre would you place Stories To Be Carried?
4.  Would you read more stories like Stories To Be Carried?

Please feel free to respond in the comments below.

Stories To Be Carried

528 words

I saw a woman on a dusty road one day. The sun shone hot, and there was the smell of berries and pine trees in the air and the drone of insects, and no other sound was there but for my own breathing as I labored to climb the steep hill we were both on. She was walking down the hill, and she had strapped to her back an enormous basket. And as I approached her, I could see the basket was hanging with the open end downward.
She greeted me, and I her, and then I asked her about the basket.
"It was for the stories I gathered," was her answer.
"But it's upside down. You've lost your stories, " I said with deep concern.
"Well, they weren't really mine, you know," she said leaning in and placing a hand upon my arm as if to reassure me that it was quite alright.
And then her eyes left my face and looked off into a distance which I could not perceive, and she spoke.
"There was a time gone by, when I would collect all the stories I would come across. And whether they spoke of beauty and joy, or they spoke of tragedy and pain, it was all one and the same to me, for each story would wring my heart until it felt like it would burst within my breast.
"And because I gave them my attention, and allowed them to touch my heart, they would cling to me, until I had to find a basket large enough to hold them all.
"And still I went my way in the world, gathering more stories, until my basket became heavy with them."
She paused and looked at me. She made a deep satisfied sigh, and her face resembled that of a child, though she seemed ancient.
I looked back at her eagerly, and I waited for her to continue.
"One day, they just became too heavy to carry. So I simply turned the basket over, and allowed them to escape."
"But didn't they want to stay with you?" I questioned.
"They were old stories. They had grown sleepy. I don't know if they even noticed being loosed."
I pondered this a moment and she continued.
"Now when I meet a story, I can look it in the face, acknowledge it, get to know it even, before I continue on my journey. It's nice to be able to say to a story, "I see you" and then be able to part ways rather than picking it up and carrying it with me."
After a moment of silence, she sighed happily and spoke again.
"I've enjoyed our talk, but I must be on my way," she said gesturing to her path which led down the hill.
I turned to watch her go, and could see other women in the distance making their way up the hill, and all were carrying baskets of varying shapes and sizes.
I knew what I must do. I reached behind me and removed my own basket. Then turning it over, I watched the stories tumble out like colored marbles.

Copyright Rita Tortorello 2014 May 30
This story appeared in Hearth & Heart Volume 1 2015 Summer Edition

Thank you for reading and for your feedback.