Blog Archives

Empty Pages, by Alyce Clark

25/2/2022

Aged fingers turn empty pages... An expensive collection of unused photo albums.

There’s the one that she bought for the wedding that didn’t happen and the one for her children that were never born. The older books, covered in dust, are strewn about the floor. These hold childhood, high school and college memories.

Upon graduation, photos, memory making (and scrapbooking), cease. Busy making a living, she never got around to making a life.

Sitting in her favorite rocking chair, her faithful companion- a hot cup of chamomile tea, ever beside her. She sips and regretfully imagines what could have been.

Doctor's Orders, by Simeon Care

25/2/2022

My doctor wears a mask—a frightening thing, like the skull of a long-beaked bird floating above robes of darkest black; with cavernous eyes shrouded beneath a low-brimmed hat. Word around the village is he’s quite good. He’s even managed to save one or two people.

He says this illness is a plague, something sent down from Heaven to punish us. I wonder how much of a paradise Heaven can be if that’s the case. I don’t say that to him, though. He is a doctor after all, and I want to get better.

For that, I must be good.

About Face, by Rob Wolf

25/2/2022

Ivan lay in his bed staring into the looming darkness. He counted his shallow breaths as they transported his thoughts across the miles to his home, where calamity and chaos had recently broken out. He calculated what it would take for him to return there, to fight. He knew it was foolhardy, there were better ways to solve disagreements. He also knew that this was not a time for reasoning. One question haunted him; “If I don’t do this, how will I face my grandchildren?” He rose and tapped in the URL for the airline, one breath at a time.

Catch a Falling Star, by Rebekah Lawrence

25/2/2022

I see Meryl, Leonardo, Daniel; all the stars are out tonight. I can’t believe I’m here beside them, nominated for Best Newcomer.

Flash guns go off, people call my name, shout questions.

I feel alive and sick and out-of-place as I smile and wave, throwing back witty replies.

One foot in front of the other, I start to ascend the stairs. My dress gets caught as I lift my foot; trapped underneath as I put the foot down. I contort wildly, trying not to tear the dress, tumbling back down the stairs.

The headline the next day? Falling Star Debuts.

Russian Knotweed, by Gordon Lawrie

25/2/2022

There’s a new, invasive species in my garden: Russian Knotweed. My neighbours have been pestered with it, but I thought I’d managed to keep it at bay.

Russian Knotweed spreads mainly through a network of underground rhizomes, so that you’re never quite sure if you’re safe. The first inkling you learn otherwise is when you realise that the lawn is strangely ‘spongey’ and the land underneath is unstable.

Eventually, though, Russian Knotweed will burrow into every structure, even my home. Once there, it can’t be shifted because it’s too powerful.

No one seems to be able to help. Can you?

Signs of Spring, by Brian Maycock

25/2/2022

Spring is staging an intervention.

Flowers have appeared on verges as I try and exercise for more than twenty minutes without cramping up. I would have missed this detail before life narrowed into what was within reach.

Spring explains, “It’s time to look ahead."

I still want to retreat. The trains are too busy, the shops packed.

“I’m scared, frankly, Spring,” I admit.

The flowers move in the breeze: understanding. I guess it can’t be easy emerging into the world when you’re as fragile as they.

“I’ll try,” I say, a little more at ease.

A Waste of Good Hair, by Peggy Gerber

25/2/2022

Maggie woke up the morning of her interview with a pounding heart. She had become a writer because she was an introvert, she wasn’t cut out for podcasts, especially not video podcasts. She sighed as she recalled her publisher’s words, “Maggie, you won’t sell any books if nobody knows who you are.”

Maggie got up, drank a cup of calming tea, and practiced some yoga and meditation. Afterwards she repeated to herself like a mantra, “ You can do anything for one hour.”

Then the text: Host is sick. Interview postponed.

And she was having such a good hair day.

The Quest, by John Cooper

25/2/2022

Over the years he had collected them all save one. The rarest and in many ways most beautiful. It had not seen in decades and was considered by many ‘experts’ to be just a myth.

He had spent years researching the stories of those who claimed to have seen it, but now even he had concluded that this might have all been a futile waste of time, that he should simply accept that it might no longer existed and move on with his life.

This morning’s letter however, had changed all that.

Paying Attention, by Sandra James

25/2/2022

‘Err… what’s that?’

‘I was talking to Bessie.’

Sally sighed. Brian only listened when she spoke to Bessie. She tried to tell him about her day and winning the writing competition but he was always engrossed in Facebook or podcasts on his phone. Then if he missed something he blamed her for not telling him!

‘You’re a good girl for listening, Bessie,’ she said, recounting her novel plot.

‘I think Sally’s leaving,’ Brian moaned to friends.

‘She told you?’

‘No, the dog.’

Sally received flowers that night and weekly thereafter.

Pity Brian hadn’t heard her telling Bessie about her hayfever…

The Weekends, by Pamela Kennedy

25/2/2022

It was snow season and the new skis which were at the ready in the alcove were ignored. A crackling fire in the ingle provided comforting warmth, along with lots of cuddling and snuggling under fleece blankets. Hot chocolate segued into hot rum toddies, and the outside frigid temperature and howling wind didn't disturb our passion.

Time moved on, as we had done. Life altered many things. Again we sit huddled together gazing at the flickering flames and reminisce of that weekend so long ago but still fresh in our memories. Some moments, my love, are meant to last forever.

Say Goodnight, Gracie, by Lynn Messing

25/2/2022

“What’s new?”

“A wildebeest.”

“What? No. I said, ‘What’s new,’ not ‘What’s a gnu.’ There was no article.”

“Of course not, silly. Why would anyone write an article about a wildebeest?”

“No. I meant no indefinite article. No ‘a.’”

“Noah? What does Noah have to do with anything? Is he building another ark for the wildebeests to ride in?”

“No Noah. Not even Moses. I meant, ‘What’s up?’”

“What sup? It’s too early for supper. Hey, while we wait until suppertime, why don’t you tell me what’s new with you?”

“Say goodnight, Gracie.”

“Goodnight.”

You Can Always Rely on a Reliant, by Sue Clayton

25/2/2022

Our first car was a second-hand, Baby-Blue, Reliant Regal. It only had three wheels but it always got us from A to B; we never dared try for C.

One day a Rolls Royce overtook as we motored down a steep gradient. The driver flipped us the bird.

Nobody puts Baby in the corner.

Pedal to the metal we fly past in a Formula One race. Black exhaust smoke billows.

We land safely at the foot of the hill, C achieved, hot brakes screaming, tyres shredding.

Score: Baby-Blue one, Rude-Roller nil.

You can always rely on a Reliant.

The Waiter, by Tom Baldwin

25/2/2022

‘So that’s agreed. We merge the companies but put it out as a hostile take-over.’

The waiter poured more wine.

‘Agreed. I’ll start the rumours, we’ll jiggle the stocks and make a killing. The little people won’t like it, but what do they matter?’

The waiter removed their plates as they laughed and reminisced over previous deals.

The waiter served dessert. He heard a lot of things in his job, and tomorrow he would phone his broker. This deal should get him to his target, then he could retire.

He knew men like that never noticed the waiter.

Wild Zinnia, by Jennifer Mills Kerr

25/2/2022

Heat against her back, Esther weeded her front garden. She spotted a young man, walking along the usually empty road. In his hand, a pink zinnia. She stood. He held up the flower. “I found it growing wild!”

Her son would have been his age. Still, Esther smiled. “Beautiful!”

He grinned, soon disappearing from sight.

David. She returned to weeding, murmuring his name, which soothed her even as tears slipped down her face and dropped into the earth.

In Want of Caring, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

25/2/2022

Nightfall. People stride past me in pursuit of merriment at the city’s main square. In a high rise apartment across the street, flamenco pulses from an open window. Singing and clapping erupt. Smells of warm foods being made at tapas bars flavour the humid, tepid air.

A nearby nightclub closes. Last customers exit, zigzagging into the light of a new day. I pull a quilt over my head.

There’ll be coins dropping into the cup by me, on a bankrupt store’s doorstep I call ‘home’. Someone may throw me a stale empanada.

I sometimes find one, after footsteps scurry away.

Charity Shop, by Jenny Logan

25/2/2022

The lining had been repaired but it was a good coat and a fair price.

Whenever I wore it, which was usually for nights out (it was that type of coat), this bloke appeared. It would not be so suspicious if I frequented the same bars every time.

When I had a weekend in Blackpool with girl friends and spotted him outside our bed and breakfast, I got really freaked out. He was fifty miles away from home. Who was he?

When a bird pooped on the coat and I chucked it in a skip, I never saw him again.

A Fool and His Inheritance Are Soon Parted, by Doug Bartlett

25/2/2022

Jack’s elderly mother had to be admitted into a care facility.

She had now developed foot drop which meant she would be confined to a wheelchair. However, if she would force herself to walk up and down the hallway as therapy she could improve her condition, but his mom wouldn’t do it.

The doctor said Jack needed to have a stern conversation with her, because there was only a small window of opportunity for her to regain her ability to walk again.

After the talk, the doctor asked him how it went.

“I think I just doubled my brother’s inheritance.”

Expo, by Bill Cox

25/2/2022

Tick tock, tick tock, an analogue alarm clock! Old school! But why? God, I wish I’d apologised to Mindy this morning. Such a stupid argument over nothing. Why do I let myself get so riled up? Red goes there. Blue goes here. Tick tock alarm clock. Why an alarm clock? Why not a phone? Easier to do remotely with a phone. I should have phoned her. Told I was sorry. We could have made up before this. Before this tick tock alarm clock with its bells ready to ring. Ready to detonate the four pounds of Semtex. Tick Tock.

The First Meeting, by Fliss Zakaszewska

25/2/2022

My hands shook as I opened their front door. Did my voice tremble as I called, “Hiya, I’m here!” He was in the house. I could hardly believe it. I’d finally get to see him.

As I walked in, Tony handed me a cup of tea. “I expect you need this after an eight-hour drive.”

Gratefully, I grasped the handle, took a sip, and looked around. “Where is he?”

Tony smiled. “Upstairs. Come on.”

I followed him up to a bedroom and stared at the crib as Tony smiled at me. “There he is, Mum, your first grandchild.”

The Short Answer, by Gary Carter

25/2/2022

He met her at his cousin’s wedding and, surprising even to him, immediately asked her to dinner. It wasn’t love at first sight, or even lust. There was just something about her that intrigued him, a calmness that bewitched him, a grace that unnerved him, a pleasant face though with features that seemed slightly askew, like a Picasso drawing.

That evening, the conversation was comfortable. Over dessert, he clarified he wasn’t just single, but actually a widower. When did your wife pass away, she had asked softly, sympathy in her voice. When he answered “Last Wednesday,” she went suddenly silent.

A Continuum of Dichotomy, by Sankar Chatterjee

25/2/2022

Sara, Brad, and their tour-guide were exploring an ancient Mayan cave, called the Actun Tunichil Muknal, near Belmopan, Belize. Artifacts were all over. Soon they arrived at an enclosed chamber. Looking through an opening, they noticed a human skeleton on the floor. Known as the “Crystal Maiden”, it was thought to be a sacrificial female adolescent. The skeleton had been calcified radiating a sparkling appearance. The pair discussed about the inherent dichotomy of Mayan advanced civilization with its ritual of human sacrifice.

Once outside, they heard the news of a new war in Europe, a modern-day continuum of same dichotomy.

Old Photo, by John M. Carlson

25/2/2022

March, 2032

“It’s weird seeing Grandma without a face mask!” Greg said, as he stared at the old photo.

“Yes,” his mom said. “It is strange. The last time I saw her without a face mask was about twelve years ago. Right after you were born.”

“Why does she always wear one?”

“You once had to wear masks because of COVID-19. Grandma never felt comfortable without a mask again, even after the disease was no longer a problem.”

Moonscape, by Ben Lockwood

25/2/2022

Make it to the desert, and you're free.
That's what the note in the briefcase said. Charlie's palms were sweating as he sped down Highway 10. There was supposed to be money, a lot of money. That's what the man with the black gloves had told him when he'd agreed to take the job.
"A quick in and out, Charlie," he'd said, smiling out the words. He'd smiled the entire conversation. But there wasn't any money in the briefcase, and a purple glow was growing over the desert mountains.

Fallen, by Lyn Miller

25/2/2022

Maggie floundered on the hard floor.

Stuck. She couldn’t manage to get up, even after dragging herself to the door frame trying to haul herself upright. She’d have to press her alarm. A voice over the loudspeaker, “Alright Maggie, someone will be there soon.”

Dark, waiting. Cold seeped from the tiles, through her nightie, to her bones. Pain where she’d bumped her leg. She hadn’t reached the toilet, hoped that she could hold on.

Later; efficiently picked up, examined, toileted and tucked back into bed. Left alone, Maggie cried, lonely and helpless. “Nothing broken,” they’d said. Just her spirit.

Lainey Wears Purple, by Finnian Burnett

25/2/2022

Lainey wears purple—the fabric swirls as she spreads her wings. Not majestic like an eagle, but bright and chirpy like a sparrow. Her spins make me dizzy, and she twists and gyrates, the thin gauze of her dress floating in my vision. Everyone stares, everyone except my husband who watches me watching her.

The DJ lets the song play on repeat, the same one we played when we danced in our dorm room and Lainey sways and remembers, turning to touch me, to smile and even with chips in her teeth, she is perfect.

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