Blog Archives

Show and Tell, by Dawn Knox

24/1/2025

Editor's Choice

Billy sobbed as he explained to Dad it was Show and Tell tomorrow at school.
“And?”
“Everyone laughs at me because we’re poor. They say no one’s interested in anything I’ve got.”
Dad swallowed back tears. “Don’t be ashamed of being poor, son. I’ll find you something impressive to take in tomorrow.”
“Did they like Wilbur?” Dad asked Billy the following afternoon.
He shook his head. “No, and Wilbur didn’t like them. I won’t be going to school for a while, either.”
“They expelled you?”
Billy patted the dragon’s head. “No, but they’ve only just got Wilbur’s fire under control.”

5 Comments

No Other Way, by Louise Arnott

24/1/2025

5 Comments

Leaning on her cane, Ester made a beeline for Mabel Johnston’s granddaughter’s wicket.

“Hello, dear. I hate to bother you,” She pushed a handwritten note through the slot. “Oh, I suppose you can’t read cursive. Large bills, please. I don’t want to make trouble.”

Janey swallowed a nervous twitter. “Are you robbing our bank, Mrs. Barker?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t.”

“Remember your training. Push the emergency button. I’ll wait by the door for Officer Stanfield to arrest me. Judge Mason will incarcerate me, giving me a roof over my head, three meals a day and medical care for my remaining days.”

5 Comments

Tipping Point, by Sue Clayton

24/1/2025

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‘Fight the White’ read one placard. ‘White Ain’t Right’ read another.

“Colour is forbidden,” Gabriel tried to quell the growing crowd. “White is traditional.”

“We’re sick and tired of all looking the same. We demand individuality. We need colour," the crowd roared.

“I’ll take your demands to the higher authority see what He says," Gabriel promised.

“He’s agreed to allow some colour, but you can only apply it to your tips.” A roar of approval met the Arch Angel Gabriel.

The lesser Angels began imagining what colour they would dye the pointed tips of their pure white wings.

3 Comments

Secret Santa, by Bill Cox

24/1/2025

4 Comments

When Liz got home, she remembered the gift in her bag, the one from the office secret Santa. She removed the wrapping paper, opened the box, popped her hand inside. As she pulled out the contents, she couldn’t believe her eyes. It was a gun!

Just then, her phone rang. Still dumbfounded, Liz clicked answer.

“I see you’ve opened your present,” a voice sneered. “It’s not just a gun, it’s a murder weapon! Got your grubby fingerprints all over it too! Just in time for the Police to arrive.”

Liz realised then the blue flashing lights outside weren’t Xmas decorations…

4 Comments

A Bit Off, by Ted MacLeod

24/1/2025

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Annie wasn’t feeling herself today. Just a bit off. She couldn’t put her finger on it. The coffee she made didn’t taste the usual strength.
On the deck she views the eastern sky. Beyond was a farmer’s field and forest groves covered by frost except where the sun was burning the frost creating moisture pockets on the landscape. ‘Aww. I missed the sunrise.’ Annie realized. Not much activity, it being very early in the spring. She was used to deer, geese and other birds. She would accept the fate of having a melancholy moment in her morning. Sometimes that happens.

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Only in America, by William P Adams

24/1/2025

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In the summer of 2037, during the first year of Donald Trump Junior’s presidency, the McGillicuddy’s took a family vacation road trip in their new Baron Diesel SUV. With petroleum running like brown water down a sluice box, eight miles to the gallon was the new normal as they motored through the Black Hills of South Dakota toward Mount Trumpmore.

Upon arrival, Mr. and Mrs. McG and their twin girls, Melania and Usha, gazed up in wonder at the newest addition to the rebranded monument, the orange pompadoured likeness of 45/47 looming above and to the right of George Washington.

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Psych, by Bridget Goldschmidt

24/1/2025

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The summer my dad went crazy, he decided to kill his boss. He came to tell my mom — by then his ex-wife — brandishing a hunting knife and a crumpled list of grievances.

My sister and I ran to hide behind Mom’s bed. We heard her say calmly that murder wasn’t a great idea. When he left, she called the cops to stop him.

Long after, the boss died of natural causes. I showed the obituary to my now medicated dad, who said, “He was actually a good guy.” In that moment, childhood trauma smacked right up against potential party anecdote.

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Temperature Tantrum, by Lillibit Ray

24/1/2025

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She is stuck, struck lame in oppressive heat, sweltering bondage of hundred and fifteen degrees at midday. Her mind at melting point, liquified thoughts drip from eye, ear, nose, boiling body beginning to dry out. Temperature still climbing rungs of heavy air, invisible weight under which she falls to her knees. Scents of manzanita, chinquapin, bay tree as if they are burning up around her, exposing her faults, unearthing her failures, her wilted body collapses into integumentary heap cooking in sunlight until night falls, when the air cools and from cocoon of seared skin she emerges a flashing firefly.

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Signals in Noise, by Lynn Kozlowski

24/1/2025

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Two co-workers were lunching in Chinatown. It was noisy. Loud chatter and dishes clattering. Sue leaned in and started telling what she saw Mr. Marcus doing. Betty held her hand up and said, “Wait. Who is Mr. Marcum? Is he new?” Sue said, “MARCUS, NOT MARCUM. Yes, he is new. He is the new assistant in the main office.” Betty said, “I do not know who you mean. What does he look like?” Sue said, “He wears a three-piece suit most days.” Betty asked, “Does he have a debonair air?” And Sue answered, “He hardly has any hair at all.”

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Fog, by Jaye Frisina

24/1/2025

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She hovers in our kitchen, her perfume smelling stronger than the morning coffee. I hurry through, holding my breath. No point in a kiss.

At work, I rub my temples, waiting for my migraine pill to start working. This has gone on for weeks. I consider buying some fans for the apartment.

She used to open perfume bottles for me to sniff when shopping, so we’d know if I was allergic. Maybe she’d come shopping for fans now. I grab my phone to ask, and there’s a text. It says: We need to talk.

My lungs fill.
The fog clears.

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A Load of Bull, by Rebekah Lawrence

24/1/2025

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The email definitely said the roller derby was here today, but that looks unlikely.

I take in the bison grazing quietly behind the fence, the rough dirt track – and the sign on the gate. I wonder who put that up! It read “No Roller Skating”; a surreal coincidence?

Bemused and disappointed, I return home. So much for treating myself.

Friends, banners and balloons greeted me.

“Hope you didn’t mind the trip.” Bessie giggled, “We had to get rid of you so we could get everything ready.”

A bus pulled up.

“All aboard for the roller derby.” She smirked. “Happy birthday!”

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A New Don Rises in One Mid-West Household..., by Gordon Lawrie

24/1/2025

3 Comments

An elderly, overweight man sits at the kitchen table, furiously writing announcements before signing each one. His head sports a red cap bearing a home-made inscription.

His wife passes by. “What are you doing, honey? You’re SOOOO busy.”

“I’m making Executive Orders. I’m executing all our garden weeds, mice, spiders, flies and house-moths. I’ve also re-named the garden shed ‘Our Special Room.’ Taking it back from China.”

“How strong! You’re just like Don! And your cap – what do those initials stand for?”

“Making Us Great, Stupid,” he explains.

“Am I stupid?”

“Not you, darling. Everyone else. That’s why we’re great.”

3 Comments

On the Other Side, by Brad Kabosky

24/1/2025

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“I just want you not to end up like others in our family.”

Not knowing how to answer his mother, the woman was a stranger to him. “I know,” he sighed, “I promised never to let it happen again.”

“I hope so. We all make mistakes, some with much bigger consequences.”

“I know, mom… Look--”

“Time’s up,” the man interrupted, “Hang up and walk towards the exit.”

He nodded, “I have to go, mom.”

“OK, I love you, hun.”

He set the phone and walked towards the exit; she’d have to wait a little longer to do that herself.

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Mispronounce, by Tanya MacIntosh

24/1/2025

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Mom pronounces "narcissistic" as "narcisstic." She always omits syllables or adds them. She’s talking about her stepdaughter again who, at 66, cries or throws tantrums to get her way.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” Mom says, then hangs up to chase down her 93-year-old boyfriend who thinks he’s missed the school bus again.

Quiet after the click.

Exhale.

I unfurl my fist, releasing the crumpled, creased corner of the acceptance letter. Beyond smoothing. I don’t when she’ll be ready to have good news shared with her again, when I’ll hear her proud and tired, “Bravado,” from across the country.

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Getting On With It, by Allison Symes

24/1/2025

1 Comment

‘Sherelle, the New Year parties are over. It’s time for daily life. Get on with it.’

The fairy godmother sighed. ‘Yes, back to the boring office paperwork. You should have seen the claim forms for Cinderella’s missing shoe. I’m still in correspondence with the shoe maker. As for the rats…’

‘I understand one wanted to remain a coachman and the others are suing you for invasion of privacy. They were happy as rats.’

‘Any thoughts on handling that?’

‘Bribe them - loads of cheese. Problem goes away. So do they.’

‘Thanks, Wanda. I’ll get on with it then.’

1 Comment

A Day Like Any Other, by Don Tassone

24/1/2025

8 Comments

Once again, Justin refreshed his newsfeed. Same old stories.

He tapped on Facebook and started watching video clips. Edgy movie scenes, girls flirting, animals in the wild. He scrolled through them until, after an hour, he’d had enough.

Justin went down to the kitchen and grabbed a bag of chips and a can of soda. Then he went back up to his room, where he got on TikTok, played video games and took a nap.

The aroma of chicken and the rumble of his stomach woke him up. Heading downstairs, texting on the way, Justin wondered what day it was.

8 Comments

The Breakfast Table, by Mary Hallam

24/1/2025

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Gregory glanced across the table. Norma was eating her fussy little breakfast with a fussy little napkin patting her lips. She’d already packed his fussy little sandwiches for him. He’d decided to leave her today. He’d send her a text to tell her.

Norma lifted her eyes. Newspapers, toothpicks and other detritus surrounded his breakfast plate. He let out a loud belch. She’d decided to leave him today. She’d placed a message in his lunch box to tell him.

Norma left the house but didn’t take her phone with her.

When Gregory left the house he didn’t take his sandwiches.

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Up Up and Away, by Cheryl Dahlstrand

24/1/2025

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A special moment occurred in the days that last a thousand years.

The little boy approached Nora, expectant and smiling.
“Recognize me?” he wondered shyly.

She gazed at him. “You look like someone I once knew.”

“Mother, you do know me.”

Nora’s eyes widened. “Of course, now I see: you’re my son. How did - “

“Remember what the angel shared? Why, I’m seven years old here- my very best self.”

“And I’m- “Nora began.

“Forty years old,” he interjected. “I know because that’s how old you were when I was seven. We live now as our best selves, always.”

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Cornered, by Glenn Francis Faelnar

24/1/2025

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Kristy stood in the corner of the room, paralyzed with fear, as the eye-less monster inched closer to her. Tears overflowed from her eyes. She shuddered when the monster took a deep breath, hoping to get a whiff of her scent. She bit her lip to stifle her scream.

The door to her salvation was on the other side of the room so she made a run for it. But the monster had long arms and claws at the tip of its paws. She managed to get her foot out the door before she was pulled back in.

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The Last Portrait, by Sivan Pillai

24/1/2025

3 Comments

"Finish the portrait today," the emperor commands impatiently.
I drive all thoughts away, concentrate on the face of the man sitting before me, and start drawing with a hand that shivers often.
The final product stares at me—the mesmerizing face of the princess, my secret love.
I fling away the brush and paint to the floor in disgust as the angry emperor claps his hands twice loudly.
They throw me into the dungeon.
The smiling face on the wall, drawn with charcoal, makes me the happiest man when a soldier's sword swishes down to my neck.

3 Comments

Birdwatching, by Simon Steven

24/1/2025

1 Comment

‘Look at the little blighter. Every day he pulls worms out of my lawn like there’s no tomorrow.’

‘Sarah, come and watch. Put your phone down. Come and watch this bird.’

‘Just one second, Grandad.’

‘Oh, I don’t believe it. Sarah, quick. He’s got the biggest worm I’ve ever seen. He’s dragging it by the tail. Look at the little blighter.’

Sarah yawns, puts down her phone and strolls over to the kitchen window.

‘Grandad, here. I think you need to put your glasses on.’

Grandad reluctantly obliges. Squinting through his spectacles, he watches a snake gobble down the blackbird.

1 Comment

Reflections In The Park, by Eunice Armitage

24/1/2025

1 Comment

Today, I took Ruffles, my Shar-Pei, to the dog park. His baggy skin, like coiled copper rope, and drooping jowls give him the air of an aging aristocrat—he belongs in a red velvet waistcoat with a gold fob watch.

While he gambolled, I realised the adage is true: people and their dogs do look alike. The greyhound owner was wiry and skittish. The rottweiler’s man clearly hit the gym, and the husky’s woman couldn’t stop talking.

‘Not me’ I thought, chuckling. Then, pulling my jacket over my belly and wiping my saggy chins, Ruffles and I waddled home together.

1 Comment

Just One More, by Virginia Ashberry

24/1/2025

1 Comment

He pokes in the ashtray unit on top of the street garbage can, picks out the longest butt, then stumbles to the step at a vacant store.

He sits unsteadily, then wisely rips the filter off to avoid viruses.

He lights the one inch of cigarette remaining, dragging smoke in deep… then, an all too familiar coughing fit overrides this brief welcome inhalation.

He stands up shakily, stumbles three steps to the curb, grabs onto a street pole that stands luckily close at hand, bends and spits out prodigious volumes of bloody phlegm.

He sighs… “please, just one more day…”

1 Comment

Night Train, by Tony Covatta

24/1/2025

4 Comments

After leaving school, Jason worked for a national tour company. He loved leading tours, saw places and things he’d only dreamed about back home. He liked his old couples, pairs of schoolmarms, grandmothers and granddaughters, doting families, herding their luggage, ushering them off, onto buses, planes, trains, chatting, joking, telling tales he absorbed over the years. At overnight stops he dated the lonely waitresses and chambermaids.
Time glided by. Only overnights on trains disturbed him. Glimpsing the warming lights of the houses and towns silently passed in the dark, he wondered: “When will I have a home of my own?”

4 Comments

Watchman, by Ken Poyner

24/1/2025

1 Comment

He is paid to walk the brief downtown district most nights, checking on locked doors and suspended lighting. Most of the buildings have shops below residences, the quiet of closing time at ground, the tapping of domesticity above. He wrangles door handles democratically, hoping all are secure so he does not have to fumble for the shopkeeper’s number, call, then wait for the annoyed proprietor’s arrival. Lights that need attention he can merely note and post. He prepares to turn and cross the street. From the second-story of his mark, he hears Henry again beating his wife. All is well.

1 Comment

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