Blog Archives

Time for Myself, by Sandra James

24/1/2020

“I’m just going to the hardware store to get something. I’ll only be an hour.”

Only an hour! It’s not 'only' an hour, it’s one hour of blessed peace, one hour to do something for me.

I could read some of my library book, write more of my novel, pen a poem, draw a picture, take a bubble bath, go for a walk, play Mahjong, dream a while…

Is that his car in the driveway? How could an hour go so quickly?

Oh well, at least I had time to write a list, all ready for next time.

Knock Knock, by Marjan Sierhuis

24/1/2020

There was a knock on the front door. His lower lip began to tremble, and he shifted from one foot to another. As his fiancé encircled his waist with her arms, he took a deep breath. Who knew that meeting his future in-laws for the very first time would fill him with such dread.

Miscarriage of Justice, by Gordon Lawrie

24/1/2020

The judge stared disdainfully at Rabbie Burns, standing in the dock.

"Burns, you're charged with cruelty to animals, namely one poor, innocent haggis. How do you plead?"

"N-not guilty M'lud. But –"

"Silence!"

The Procurator Fiscal* began to present the Crown's case: photographs of a disembowelled haggis; mobile phone footage of a club dinner; and the Address to the Haggis in Burns' own hand.

The judge looked down at Burns. "Well, Burns?"

"But it was Veganuary, M'lud! It was a vegan haggis!"

"Nonsense! Even vegan haggises have two short legs and two long ones. Guilty! Five years! Take him down!"

*The prosecution lawyer in Scotland.

The Alcoholic Husband, by Mark Tulin

24/1/2020

Ida was happy before marrying Bill. She was innocent, fun-loving, and thought that the world was her oyster.

Then Ida got married to a man who promised her the moon and stars. She fell for it, and he soon became a burden.

“Life sucks!” she said. “I have to follow this damn man all over town to keep him out of trouble. He’s never sober. He cheats on me with every tramp in town.”

For forty years, Ida took care of Bill despite the hardship.

When Bill died of cirrhosis of the liver, all Ida felt was guilt.

Reunion, by Don Tassone

24/1/2020

“Excuse me,” the old man said to the woman walking up the steps to her townhouse. “Do you know if there used to be a river here?”

“Yes,” she said. “It ran right through here.”

“What happened to it?”

“They built a dam. It’s a lake now.”

He’d come back to see the river. As a boy, he’d spent many lazy days there, fishing, swimming, skipping stones. Over the years, he thought of it often. It gave him peace.

“It’s a lovely lake,” she said.

He imagined the river standing still, waiting, waiting for him. Then he went to it.

Pilgrimage, by Cindy Patrick

24/1/2020

The arrival. We walk up to the gates. The crowd is growing, masses are streaming in as we enter a lineup. All kinds of accents and languages are being spoken. Families include the very old and the very young. My brother and I try to make this journey annually. It brings us back to our roots, our childhood and the grandparents that taught us about this magical place. We are excitedly humbled and overwhelmed with nostalgia and gratitude. An investment into imagination and fun. We are so fortunate to still have each other and share the same passion for Disneyland.

Snakes Alive, by Ed N. White

24/1/2020

Part of growing up is to stop doing stupid things. When I was a kid, I’d go to the fields with friends to catch snakes. Green snakes and striped snakes, nothing dangerous. Sometimes, we’d lay cardboard on the ground and come back a few days later to find them nestled underneath.

When caught, we’d tuck our tee shirts in our jeans and drop them in the neck opening where they would lie contentedly at our waists. We kept them for days as pets and to scare girls, then set them free.

Today, I’m easily startled by a coiled garden hose.

The Attic, by Julie Achilles

24/1/2020

The attic held lots of surprises, forgotten treasures, some broken, some not.

In the far corner stood an old chest, I was almost afraid to open it.

The lid seemed heavy but opened with effort and its contents at last revealed, an old blanket.

I held it as it unfolded, dust danced around me and I remembered as I once pulled it up to her chin in her first grown-up bed.

She has left now but always there are memories.

Presentation - Plan B, by Russell Conover

24/1/2020

Jim was all ready to go for his big presentation on writing. He practiced all night and was confident going in. But then several keys on the keyboard for his display screen stopped working. He panicked. How would he ever deliver his presentation now?

He frantically tried to fix the keys, but no luck. He realized he'd have to go without his visual aid. Far from ideal, but stuff happens.

Fortunately, Jim was a skilled orator, and he wowed the crowd anyway. They were laughing and actively paying attention the entire 90 minutes. Who needs visuals when you're this awesome?

Together, by Alphonso White

24/1/2020

Her lips glued to mine. Our hair, intertwined.

Cheek to cheek, fingers to toes. Deep breaths out my mouth, into her nose.

Knuckle for knuckle, our hands are a perfect match. I have an itch, and it's her back that I scratch.

Looking back at me in the mirror, is her beautiful face. Every stitch, every staple, perfectly placed.

I knew if she let me in I'd fit like a glove. Now we're one, the physical embodiment of love.

Her skin on my skin, it's meant to be. Am I the one who’s wearing her? Or, is she wearing me?

A Token of Gratitude, by Sivan Pillai

24/1/2020

The lights were covered with swarms of flying insects, leaving the deserted street in semi-darkness. A lonely figure stood at the bus stop. It was John, who did odd jobs in our township.

“Came to buy medicines for mother,” he explained, “and tomorrow is her 60th birthday.” He was in a pathetic condition.

“A token of my gratitude. A silk saree to each employee”, our boss had declared earlier in the day, thrilled at the company’s performance.

As he was alighting, I handed over the saree to John. “Your birthday gift to her.”

Singing Solo, by Lisa Miller

18/1/2020

Soured Suitor splits, surprises Sweetheart. Still social, she sends selfies, stating: Savanah/Single/Sexy.

SelectSmile Social Site shows seekers skipping Savanah’s sourfaced snapshot. Still, stalkers scroll, selecting Savanah showing stylish, skimpy swimsuits. Soon, some suitor’s share scandalous shots showing skin.

SelectSmile suggests setup. Savanah screens Samuel. So screwed, “Sam’s someone’s spouse! Seriously?”

Stephen, Savanah’s second selection, spoiling Savanah. She’s silly, swaying, singing sickly, syrupy songs. Soon, Stephen selects substitute sweethearts, sweet Sally, so-called sexy Suzy. Savanah says Steven’s scarily sketchy. Sadly, She’s seemingly scarily scorned.

Soon, Savanah sings solos, sweet sound, superb singer-songwriter. Secretly, she’s seeing six suitors, staying single. Spectacular.

Redeemed Slayer, by Rod Drake

17/1/2020

I kill monsters. It’s a living, or for the creatures I hunt, a dying. I slay all kinds of them, from savage minotaurs to deformed giants to run-of-the-mill boogie men. Anything terrorizing the countryside, killing people, eating children, the usual monster rampage is my call to lob off their head (or heads, depending).

It’s rewarding, but a lonely life, always traveling to the next burg which is in desperate need of me. And to think, after a little surgery, no one recognizes me as the monster that I once was, now reformed with a new and useful purpose.

Her Driving Test, by Kim Favors

17/1/2020

Understanding what the signs meant was the part Lynda hated.

—Slow Speed, Bump Ahead
—Be Prepared to Stop
Lynda wished she’d done better on these two.

—Yield
—One Way
Having no choice can be frustrating.

—No U Turn
Sometimes there’s no turning back.

—Turn on Headlights
It’s important to see what’s ahead. The earlier the better.

Friend Jennifer was waiting when Lynda arrived home. “Congratulations. I knew you’d get your license.” Lynda only nodded.

“So, when I go for mine, what’s the best way to prepare?”

Lynda smiled wryly. “If you take driving lessons beforehand, don’t date your instructor.”

To the Lighthouse, by Ian Fletcher

17/1/2020

In our 60s, this may be one of our last class reunions.

The evening draws to an end.

People are inebriated, becoming sentimental, but no one seems to have found any answers.

There’s Harold, drinking shandy. How we would taunt him for his faith back in the day! We had no need for such a crutch, his church, his Christ.

Yet everyone here, bar him, seems unmoored, merely floundering onward, towards what?

I envy his certainty, standing like a lighthouse amidst a stormy sea.

Seeming to sense my existential despair, he turns.

He holds my gaze with righteous, forgiving eyes.

I've Had This Nightmare Before, by Derek McMillan

17/1/2020

I've had this nightmare before. I'm teaching a class. It is not going well. A pupil comes with a message that my car was being broken into. I rush out. It takes ages to find the car. I've forgotten where I left it. The car is fine. I'm not. I've lost my class.

I wander the corridors. The panic rises. I see the caretaker. He gives a smile I don't like and opens a door for me. He almost pushes me in. I realise two things. I am locked in a cupboard for the weekend. This is not a nightmare.

Remainders, by Cate Lloyd

17/1/2020

Every day, Roy politely ordered a cappuccino. Because he was always alone, Ruth delivered it to his table overlooking the carpark, staying for a chat, if it wasn’t too busy.

Over time, she told him about her grandmother, Margaret, a centenarian with flamboyant style and shrewd eyes.

Her defiant tendency to lock the front door against her carers.

The stroke that had reduced her vocabulary to three words: okay, alright, beautiful.

Roy listened with milky eyes. ‘At the end,’ he said, ‘my mother only used three words, too.’

Ruth looked kindly interested enough for him to reveal, ‘not good enough.’

The Rendezvous, by Sivan Pillai

17/1/2020

The elderly man sauntered through the gate, nodded at the guard and, on reaching the road, turned around. Stretching his body to its full height he saluted the prison complex.

A scuffle with the man who bothered his wife, the flash of a knife and twenty-five years in jail!

Though the shriveled woman faltering towards him had little resemblance to the one he had left behind, the smile on her face left him in no doubt. Even as he stood dreaming of a peaceful life ahead, she collapsed, tears rolling down her lifeless cheeks.

Woke, by Don Tassone

17/1/2020

At first, the fires seemed routine. There had always been wildfires, just as there had always been storms, floods and droughts.

But then the fires multiplied and grew ferocious, monstrous, ravenous, consuming millions of acres of forests. Storms became cyclones, floods washed away cities and droughts laid the land bare.

Adding to the nightmare, many of the victims of these disasters were killed in their sleep. Strangely, they slept through them. Some were even seen sleepwalking into the flames.

Until at last everyone woke up and grasped they were the cause of their affliction and the world began to change.

Bundle of Joy, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

17/1/2020

First whining. Then, gasps for air. The sounds were persistent.

Bertha veered into the dumpster wherein she tossed the day’s garbage. Something was causing a nearby bag to move in jerks.

Bertha had a rough day. Now this? Back in her apartment uneasiness set in. Would’ve someone inside that bag needed help?

She put on gloves to confront the situation. When she ripped the bag to form an opening, two frightened eyes stared back at her. A puppy let out its front paws one by one.

She welcomed the dog into her living space.

The original owner was not found.

Half a Kilogram, by Marjan Sierhuis

17/1/2020

She reduced her calorie intake. She ingested foods high in soluble and insoluble fiber. She doubled her servings of green leafy vegetables. She reduced her consumption of sugary drinks. She ate a variety of nuts and seeds. She increased her water intake. She worked out thirty minutes in the gym. She climbed one flight of stairs, and then took the dog for a walk.

After fourteen days and a weight loss of only half a kilogram, she asked herself, “What gives?”

She came to this foregone conclusion: she was eating her food too fast.

Tweeting, by Yola M. Caecenary

17/1/2020

A not-so social media friend asked me what I was doing. Tweeting was a straightforward answer I gave.

“I don’t hear any, ” he said after a period of silence.

“Hear what?”

“Your chirps.”

I stuttered with no reason and tried to explain to him the concept, in the most modest way I knew. He seemed to understand. Time placidly ticking until he came with a statement which jaw-dropping me.

“If that allows us to tweet like birds without having to be loud, it ought to be able to make us flying without fleeing.”

I short ceased tweeting and muted.

The Nice Boy at the Party, by Gordon Lawrie

17/1/2020

Charlotte awoke, face-down. The bed was strange, the room was strange, she felt more than a little strange, too. She looked at her watch: almost eleven.

Memories of the previous night were hazy. She'd met a nice boy at the party. Perhaps he'd been kind and put her to bed. Charlotte could see her coat on a chair by the window.

She got up and found the bathroom. She slipped her jeans and knickers down. It was then, as she sat, she spotted his one mistake: her knickers were inside out. Suddenly, Charlotte's life would never be the same again.

Out of the Game, by Milo Anderson

17/1/2020

I got my beloved silver road racer ready to move.

Things hadn’t been going so well for me lately and she was about all I had left. Still, I was feeling hopeful as I cruised along the most expensive streets in town, past rows of bright, green houses.

I thought I’d be able to turn a corner soon and things would be good again, for a while.

But it wasn’t to be. As I stopped in front of that big, red hotel at the end of the road I knew I was flat broke. I’d lost another game of Monopoly.

You Can Count On It, by Sandra James

17/1/2020

He loved to annoy her, push all her buttons until she cracked.

Then that infuriating smirk. “Don’t get upset,” he would say sarcastically. “No need to get angry; count to ten, then pause and let yourself relax.”

Usually she would stomp off followed by the echoes of his laughter but today she decided to take his advice.

She picked up the baseball bat. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

She paused and reflected on her handiwork. Yes, he was right, she felt very relaxed.

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