Blog Archives

Frozen, For Now, by Don Tassone

31/1/2025

Editor's Choice

An allegory for our troubled times.

The snowstorm was fierce, and it left a heavy, frozen blanket over the land. Anything low-lying was buried, and everything else was plastered white.

But it wasn’t just the snow. It was the ferocity of the blast. This storm was disorienting. It hit with a vengeance, and every living thing that was exposed knew this storm was different and wondered if the pummeling would ever subside.

But in time it did subside, and the sun’s loving rays returned, and every living thing found its roots again and grew stronger and more resilient for the tough weather still ahead.

What Next, by David Milner

31/1/2025

Wealth that will feather its way to his great-great grandchildren, he feels that he has earned his place among the gods.
“Hi, Jane.”
“Oh, Dan, what a …”
“Pleasant surprise?”
“Your calling…”
“That’s right, Jane.”
“Tony is in Buenos Aires.”
“Yes. I sent him there.”

Hoping to disguise her discomfort, Jane responds “He’s so pleased with his promotion, Dan.”

“I like him to spend time with the young mistress he keeps there.”

Jane had recently celebrated her fortieth birthday.

“Jane, you still listening?”

The world is damned, and we are blind, Jane wonders…
Dan smiles and considers his latest conquest.

Sky, by Sara McClayton

31/1/2025

The sky fell on the first day of summer. For weeks we collected the fragments. Small sheets of blue scattered the ground. We found splinters of sun in the crumbled forest. We thought the remnants would slide together like pieces of a puzzle, and my friends and I could climb the water tower to stitch the heavens. Instead, the blue shards shattered, and each cloud shred like cotton candy. The sun dissolved in amber rivulets. Now the stars press close as that face in a dream, the one you sense but cannot touch. Our hands cannot rip through the night.

Flight, by Tim Dadswell

31/1/2025

On a narrow eighth floor ledge, his sweaty body stuck to the painted facade.
His lover’s cowed responses to her angry father drifted through an air vent.
He inhaled and inched sideways. At the corner, he stretched one leg onto the next ledge.
After a successful manoeuvre, he exhaled.
A wide section of masonry cracked and collapsed.
His valiant struggle to recover his footing failed.
In a courtyard below, his skull leaked a pool of blood.
His brain made one final connection - the sensation of a bare wrist, and the smartwatch he left on her nightstand.

It's the Rule, by Sherri Bale

31/1/2025

“Diet Pepsi, no ice,” I said.

“OK, but I’ll have to charge you 10 cents extra.”

“Because its Pepsi, not Coke?”

“No, because we charge more for soda without ice,” the hostess said.

Was it because she would have to use more soda to fill the cup?

“No, it's because of the labor involved in taking the ice out of the glass.”

“Don’t put ice in the glass in the first place.”

“We must put the ice in first, then the soda. It’s the rule.”

“I’ll just have tea, then. No milk or sugar.”

“That will be 20 cents extra.”

Learning the Hard Way, by Christa Loughrey

31/1/2025

Jo fancied himself as a nature detective.

Following a series of paw prints in the mud, he discovered where a fox had made its lair.

He carefully tracked little piles of spraint as far as the shoreline, and was rewarded by the sight of an otter disappearing below the water.

He came across a pile of white droppings under a spreading oak tree and heard rustling up above. He peered up to see what might be roosting there.

Wiping the warm, caustic mess out of his eye, Jo realised he still had a lot to learn.

Dream, by Ramamoorthy Natarajan

31/1/2025

Tom, in his forties, recently realized he didn’t enjoy his job. Although introverted, he often provided practical advice to friends and colleagues without much thought. One day, it struck him—he could pivot his career toward psychology. A decade later, as a successful psychologist, he reflected on how different his life might have been if someone had helped him uncover his passion and strengths earlier. Fast forward another ten years, he is leading Passion Identifier, a nonprofit guiding millions toward their true calling. Suddenly, a loud noise jolted him awake—it was all just a dream.

The Haircut and the CIA, by Robert Baum

31/1/2025

1957—I sat in the chair in Uncle Larry’s backyard. Clippers buzzed. “Just about finished my bomb shelter,” he said waving at the hole nearby. “Good for when the Russians drop the big one on us.”

I replied, “The chances of the Reds’ missiles ever getting through is pretty slight.”

“The commies know they only need to get a few through.”

Just then a dark car out on the highway slowed down.
His voice turned dark. “They’re CIA looking for me. Still mad about Korea. It wasn’t my fault. They know that.”

Six months later: Shock treatments almost kill him.

Turn Up For The Book, by Allison Symes

31/1/2025

Steve peered around the library row end. Someone had waved. Nobody there.

He returned to his book left on a nearby shelf but felt someone tap his shoulder. He turned. Nobody there.

Steve went to the soft chairs by reception and resumed reading until someone coughed.

In the chair opposite was an old man. ‘You’re reading my book.’

‘It was…’

‘I wrote it.’

‘Oh. It’s a fabulous story. I’ll borrow it when I leave. Pity you can’t sign it.’

‘Indeed,’ said the old man and vanished.

Steve looked at the title again. It read Ghosts by I.M. Spirit.

Cloud, by Marylou DiPietro

31/1/2025

What if Linda had not been staring out the window when Margaret Gladding reached across the aisle, slipped her math test off her desk, drew clouds in the empty space above her name, then slipped it back? She still remembers the expanse of shame and humiliation she felt when Sister ́Mary Aloysius came by to pick up the test. She remembers the way Margaret smiled as Sister snatched the paper up, and how her inability to say, “Margaret drew the clouds,” made her feel, as if it happened yesterday, rather than 65 years ago.

Living Museum, by Robert Martin

31/1/2025

The theater lights came up, revealing the audience--white-haired women and bald-pated men. I passed one of the few young people and asked,

“Did you like The Cripple of Inishmaan?”
“Oh, I just had to see Daniel Radcliffe in person. I loved him as Harry Potter!”
“It’s too bad there aren’t more young folks like you. I’m afraid that pretty soon, the audience for theaters will be gone”.
“Oh, my friends will see it, too. It’s required for their Irish culture class.”

Artifacts. Theater and I were both artifacts. We would both be on display at the next performance.

The River in Spate, by Sivan Pillai

31/1/2025

The river is in spate with several whirlpools in the fast-flowing muddy water.
Floating objects disappear into the whirlpools, but I know how to remain safe.
Now that they are building a big dam upstream, there will soon be no more floods or whirlpools. As every house has bathrooms, the bathing ghat has become desolate, and water weeds have started growing in the stagnant water. The fishermen will have to go to the sea for their catch.
Let me play with whirlpools.
It may be my last chance to challenge the river's raw power with my life.

The Duke, by David Sydney

31/1/2025

“Otto, would you tell the Duke his ass is ready.”
“What?”
“His ass, Otto… Or, if you want, just say I saddled his donkey for him.”
Ralph was the stable hand and Otto the Duke's servant. It was a time of petty dukedoms. The Duke was especially petty and impoverished. He couldn't afford a horse.
So, he had the miserable donkey that resisted Ralph all morning.
“Ready, huh? Are you going with him on the visit to his cousin, Duke Clarence?”
“Nah. I want to see Clarence about as much as I want to see the Duke on his ass.”

Hepzibah's Hope, by Dawn Knox

31/1/2025

Hepzibah runs past the new grave on her way to the cotton field.
She neither mourns nor rejoices Master Reynolds’ death.
When smallpox visited the plantation, she’d inoculated those slaves who’d wanted protection in the way she’d learnt from her mother, and Master Reynolds had punished her.
Yet, slaves, into whose cuts she’d introduced material from the dead boy’s spots, still lived, while Master Reynolds had died of the disease.
Had Hepzibah been foolish?
She and the slaves had survived to suffer more.
While Master is at rest.
But at least Hepzibah has hope.
One day she might be free.

Cat Shopping, by Robert P. Bishop

31/1/2025

“I want a cat,” Rachel said at breakfast.
“You never own a cat,” said Howard. “They just rent themselves for free food and a warm place to sleep.”
“I want something to love,” Rachel said.
“You have me.”
“I want something to love.”
Howard got on his hands and knees next to Rachel, arched his back, rubbed against her leg and said, “Meow.”
“You do that again and I’m taking you to the Happy Valley Spay and Neuter Clinic,” Rachel said.
“Whoa,” said Howard. “Let’s go cat shopping.”
Rachel stroked his head. “I knew you would see it my way.”

The Dreamer, by Bill Cox

31/1/2025

Six Magpies sit perched in the branches of a bare Willow tree, clustered together in black and white camaraderie. As I approach, one by one, they fly off, until only one remains. It stays in the tree as I pass underneath.

What, I wonder, sets it apart from the others? Defiance? Stupidity? A daydreamer, perhaps, lost in a labyrinth of thought?

I pull the bow-string back, teaching it a final lesson, that life is a gift for the vigilant and dreamers are just food. I cook it over the campfire, watching, as the glow of London’s ashes lights the horizon.

Catching Up: Exercise Through Osmosis, by Louise Arnott

31/1/2025

Pamela nibbled on a chocolate as a loud rhythmic beat played through her phone. After several minutes a woman’s voice said, “you’re done.”

After being subjected to the thumping for the third time, Tanner asked, “What are you doing?”

Pamela touched ‘resume’ for the fourth time, and pointed at her screen. For ten minutes, a woman led an energetic workout and Pam ate two chocolates.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“Dr. Fitz gave me the app and said to use it every day for a month, then come back and see her. I’m somewhat behind.

“Not with your chocolate consumption.”

The Hunter, by Adam Miguel

31/1/2025

How many days had he been on his trail now? Three? Four? Time didn’t tick to the normal rhythms in here; nature it seemed had no use for watches and clocks.

The Hunter stops and bends a weary knee toward the scattered turf. He clutches a handful of twigs and khaki moss in his calloused palm, raises it up, and breathes deeply through stinging nostrils desperate to catch a scent. This is the best part, when his senses synchronise with the wild and all else falls away.

SNAP!

He freezes like there’s ice in his bones.

‘So, you found me.’

Information, by Jaye Frisina

31/1/2025

Mrs. Gill touched the defunct phone on her kitchen wall, worn as the wallpaper around it. Dialing 411 used to get her Information. On Tuesdays, Miss Maisy might answer, giving her the number she needed and more. They spoke about family, the latest diets, and recipes that had nothing to do with diets. Now, all the information was on the phone in her pocket. But not her apron pocket, because this phone could explode if it got too close to a burner. This was the sort of information her daughter gave her. Not how to find Miss Maisy, her friend.

A Child's Confusion, by Julie Turland

31/1/2025

“Grandad, why won’t you play?”

His football bouncing on the floor, Mark presses for an answer. Grandad played for Arsenal. He was their top player and won the FA Cup.

“Show me the tricks you learnt because when I am older, I want to be Arsenal’s key man. Dad supports West Ham. What does he know? Grandad, you’re the best. Please come and play.”

“Hush now, child. He is not well. Let him rest,” mum shoos him away.

One month later, dressed in black, he watches the coffin draped in Arsenal’s flag pass by.

“Grandad, why have you gone away?”

Daylight Robbery, by Anne Manning

31/1/2025

Janet was 86. Other than a recent hip replacement, her health was perfect. The gun in front of her shook slightly, then steadied. "Hands", she thought, "that aren't as strong as they seem".

"Give me your money, NOW!"

A moment's hesitation before the purse was emptied and cash handed over.

"Now, turn around and keep walking".

Later, back in her ground floor flat, Janet rubbed her hip and held up a 50 pound note. There it was again, a slight tremor in her hands. "I'll have to find a new hobby" she thought, before switching on the nine o'clock news.

Connoisseur, by S. Anand

31/1/2025

Here it comes.... Allegretto in the key of A minor, my sir. The subliminal second movement. Like black swans entering a white lake, a funereal procession, the solemn eyes of the conductor at the helm. Cellos and violins follow along, taciturn, holding hands delicately. I perch on the conductor's baton, gently rocking from side to side. Who said I lost my hearing dear sir, this composition courses in my blood, just like in its composer's. Only just let me keep the baton in sight and melt in this music; while you higher beings strive to keep out all the noise.

In the Waiting Room, by Lynn Kozlowski

31/1/2025

His voice is resonant. She bends her head toward him. He sounds words from The Geographic deeply and with a hint of music. I recognize his voice. He is the unseen voice of public TV.
Also the ‘classical’ voice on the public Radio. He is old. She is old and with bad eyes. He reads on, impressing us all in our overhearing. He performs the lines with animation and emphasis. It is easy to follow along. She nods and smiles. Her hair is cancer thin. He is fat, gray, and sounds so professional in his reading aloud mostly for her.

Untold Stories, by Shreepathy Pandalai

31/1/2025

It had been a long time since Glorus had put pen to paper—twelve years, in fact.

But the stories never stopped rolling. They played out in his mind but refused to take center stage on his tongue or in his hands.

Today, Glorus felt a rush—a desperation, in fact—to write a short story.

But all the nurses would give him were those cursed intravenous shots.

Twelve years is a long time to act the role of a comatose patient.

All escapes don't need a getaway, do they?

Mother Nature's Mistakes, by Andy Hebb

31/1/2025

Mother Nature did her best but some body parts don't pull their weight, instead resorting to drama and pain. My appendix and wisdom teeth spring to mind. Anything you'd like to add?

It's not just her mistakes, she could have given us more of the useful things;
Longer feet for more stability.
Larger hands to carry things.
Longer fingers for gripping.

There's bound to be an official list already drawn up by the experts so I'll search online...'natures biggest boobs' will do to start...and then 'extra inches help'.

Let's see what comes up.

Oh!

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