Blog Archives

Confirmation, by Alyce Clark

23/2/2024

Ashley sits, petting her dog Max, collecting her thoughts. She’s tense, but Max has a way of settling her nerves, calming things down.

“If all my relationships could work so well,” she muses, staving off thoughts of Darrin.

They’ve never had a fight like this one. Now, their relationship is in tatters.

Ashley still loves him.

Maybe she shouldn’t have ended things. Maybe he still loves her too.

“Ash,” Darrin says, nervously, standing before her. “Maybe we could try again- if you’re willing.”

Max walks over to Darrin, sits and looks at Ashley. That’s all the confirmation she’ll ever need.

Without Her Consent, by Gretchen VanOstrand

23/2/2024

Even with her ballcap yanked down over her giant sunglasses, Miranda was recognized. She considered dyeing her distinctive red hair something else. Maybe brown. She was pissed that was even a consideration.

Running up the steps to her studio apartment, she almost wished that she could just ask her parents for a loan. It had been 8 years, but bills were due.

Plopping on the couch, she opened YouTube and read the comments on the latest GrowingOurGirls family video. “You’re great parents.” Ugh.

Miranda dialed. “Hey Mom, it’s me, Tiffany. Do you want me to come back and film?”

Lifes' Crossroads, by Stephen Goodlad

23/2/2024

John stopped at the Crossroads of Life, the signal on amber.
Would it change to Red or Green he wondered. Somewhere in his memory where the deepest truths of his understanding dwelt, untroubled, unquestioned. Mistaken.
These were all childhood memories, childhood understandings of how things worked.
His adult life amounted to little more than screwing up all the truths he’d learned by trial and error as a child, invalidating what amounted to himself.
The signal remained on amber. Nothing else had passed before him. He had a choice.
He gunned the accelerator. A juggernaut sped from unseen from his left.

The Hero, by Bruce Gunther

23/2/2024

It was another event honoring me for my heroism. I’d been credited with pulling a toddler from a burning house, saving her life.

It wasn’t me, however. I was too scared. It was another man, also on the scene, who got little Angela out of the house. He disappeared – with a wink – before fire and police units arrived. I never forgot his face.

I said nothing to the authorities.

I was at the lectern, ready to give my speech, when I saw him at the back of the room. He winked and waited for my hero’s wisdom.

Young Again, by Ian Willey

23/2/2024

As we waited for the vet my dog experienced a moment of terminal lucidity. She said, you know, master, I’ve never liked how you talk about my age in human years. It makes me feel old. I’m not 81 years old. I’m 11 years and six months. How would you like it if I said you’re seven years old?

Actually, I said, that makes me feel young again. As her eyes began to glaze over, the dementia regaining its grip, she offered me her paw. Good boy, she said. I held tight, even when the vet returned with the needle.

Seriously? by Sandra James

23/2/2024

Too many rejections took their toll. Yes, I’d read the statistics on how many rejections best-selling authors received before succeeding and for a while I persevered but just could push myself anymore.

‘I’m depressed. I feel like no one takes me seriously, Doc. I know my book is good but I’m afraid of sending it off and getting another rejection. I end up playing mah-jong on my computer each day. Any suggestions?’

My doctor nodded, tapping on his keyboard. Hopefully he’d find some kind of tonic to give me a boost.

I peeped at the screen.

Doc was playing mah-jong.

The Party Crasher, by G. Lynn Brown

23/2/2024

She asked her friends at the party about the new guy standing in the corner, but no one seemed to know him, and most acted as though they couldn't even see him. But how could they not notice such a fine looking specimen?

She hadn't taken her eyes off of him since she arrived, almost as though she couldn't, and his gaze seemed just as stuck on her.

He stepped from the shadows. "Care to dance?"

She took his hand. "Who are you?" she wondered aloud.

He grinned. "I go by David Thomas Hall, but everyone calls me Death."

Bloodlines, by Jennifer Duncan

23/2/2024

The Grade 6 class was presenting on their heritage. Joleen, who was bi-racial, was excited to share her history.

"My family was cruelly torn from their land, forced to come to America. My ancestors suffered from abuse, sickness, starvation. They had to work so hard they died young. But they were a strong people. They sang songs of home as they toiled. They were determined to be free, risking their lives."

Her fellow students listened enrapt as she shared stories passed down through the generations. Her teacher began to frown.

Joleen ended, "I am so proud of my Irish heritage."

Intractable or on Track, by Tony Covatta

23/2/2024

Wendy was three years married to Wesley, second try for both, when his son Wayne (7), sullen, rebellious, arrived. She labored to get intractable Wayne on track but couldn’t. As the teen years began, she’d had enough:

“Wesley, choose: boarding school, military academy or reformatory. I’m done.”

That summer Wesley spent weeks touring boarding schools with Wayne, was shocked to receive letters from each school, accepting him.

“Wendy, choose: which one?”

“None of them. I’d miss him too much.”

That fall, enrolled and passing at City High, Wayne first began calling Wendy “Mom.” A lifetime later, he has never stopped.

An Urban Hope, by Sankar Chatterjee

23/2/2024

Immigrant Debashis Mitra, a high school math-teacher in Philadelphia, came out of the morning’s first trolley. Retiring early from his prestigious accounting job, he began teaching in a low-income area.

It always intrigued him how this rich country still treated its minority citizens. The west side, populated by African-Americans, remained frozen in the segregation-era. After the Afghan War, the SE-Asian refugees had landed in the southern region, still striving to integrate. But, the lack of quality education was hurting their children most.

Amidst city lights, Debashis noticed the first pink shade of the sunrise, offering him a ray of hope.

(Image credit: Tirthankar Ghosh)

Interview at the Underpass, by Elizabeth Zahn

23/2/2024

That, you call THAT graffiti. Uninspired. Lazy. I wrote all over this town. I was all city. Everyone knew me. None better than town officials who got tired of buffing. Finally, Mayor Randolph asked me to do a mural. Something permanent and paid. And I wouldn’t get busted. Now, I’ve done murals all over the world.

Being back here, I wanted to be wowed by my hometown’s talent.

Help me get the spray cans. I’m going over this one.

Watch and learn how it’s done.

And I can’t run anymore. So, if cops come, we tell ‘em it's been commissioned.

Us, by Pamela Kennedy

23/2/2024

Devasted and heartbroken, Chris paused at Dana's photo and reflected upon the love they shared. Sentimental words were often spoken...

We never gave the subtle changes that occurred a second thought. At first they went unnoticed. Eventually, though, there was no obscuring the disappearance of our burning passion. Love, with tolerance, that's what we practiced. Under one roof we were two people still being intimate with each other while ignoring moments of indiscretion.

The neighbors gossiped. To them our loving relationship was bizarre. It was always misunderstood. So what if it was...it worked for us.

Dinner Plans, by Sherri Bale

23/2/2024

Tony loved his job as an autopsy assistant in the hospital morgue. It paid well, had good hours and great perks. Today, he helped the pathologist with the old man’s corpse, then prepared the body for transfer to Restwell Funeral Home.

Selecting the choicest bits, he set them in his cooler. He placed the rest of the organs securely into the body cavity, sewing everything up neatly. He washed down the body, closed its eyes, covered it with a shroud, and phoned for the hearse.

Tonight, Tony would make liver and kidney pie. Perhaps with potatoes on the side?

Cirque, by Cate Vance

23/2/2024

The trail out has vanished, as if the mountains shifted beneath the light of the bruised moon. She now treads a rocky, infinite loop in the shadow of the cirque’s jagged peaks.

All attempts to flee through the surrounding forest fail. Life resets every morning—her red-rimmed eyes cracking open in the tent beside the lake, dawn glinting off the ring of steely mountains.

Desperation withers to resignation.

Resignation fades to acceptance.

When the trail reappears one afternoon, she stops short. A flicker of yearning dissolves into a wary shiver and she retreats into the refuge of the cirque.

The Critic, by Tom Baldwin

23/2/2024

Marnie left the stage after the third curtain call, gracefully accepting the congratulations of the cast. In her dressing-room she collapsed onto the couch and reflected on her performance.

In the first act she had fluffed a line, just a little. Had anyone noticed? She hoped not. In the second act she was fractionally late moving to her mark, and thought the leading man had curled his lip at her error. In the third act she had paused momentarily in a vital speech, but had quickly recovered.

Perhaps tomorrow night she would do better.

Making Memories, by Don Tassone

23/2/2024

The first thing my kids want to do at my parents’ house is take a ride in my dad’s car.

It’s a 1962 Rambler station wagon, just like the one my dad’s family had when he was a kid. He bought it a few years ago, restored it and upgraded it with seat belts, airbags and modern car seats. But there’s no air conditioning, DVD player or power windows.

My kids and their cousins pile in. They fight for window seats and the “way-back.” They ramble down country roads. Just a bunch of kids, including my dad, making memories.

Playing Gin with Lucifer, by David Croll

23/2/2024

Shuffling the cards Lucifer asked, “How is your project coming along?”
“I’m now thinking about creating a hairless bipedal primate, who will be the smartest animal on earth.”
“Fascinating. Tell me more.”
“Since they are hairless, the skin tones will need to protect them from the sun, so some will have dark skin while others will have lighter skin. And they will worship me in various religions.”
“Interesting,” said Lucifer. “Will there be apple trees?”
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
Lucifer lays down his cards.
“Gin.”
“Lucifer, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you are cheating.”

The Cutting Business, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

23/2/2024

“Not even! Too long on the right,” she blurted.

The man with the tools paused to observe.

“It’ll grow back,” he grunted.

“What, you’re leaving it like that?”

No response.

Back home she reflected on the situation through wisps of steamy tea.

What would the neighbours say when they’d see her? She loathed sloppiness. An expert in the cutting business would’ve presented satisfactory results.

Can it be? Her hearing perked. Beyond the trickling of melting snow, a familiar annual sound had returned— the singing of robins.

It made her forget the hatchet job her husband did on their maple tree.

Karma is Delicious, by Lucy Iscaro

23/2/2024

“There’s something wrong with our connection,” Rita said into the phone to her adult daughter, “It sounded like ‘Please take Dad for two weeks to convalesce from hip surgery.’”

“I can’t, Mom. I have the kids. Bunny kicked him out. She caught him with the pretty ski pro right before he fell.”

Rita’s mind flashed to a cartoon of wife # 4 chucking her ex into the snow. She willed herself not to laugh. The man who broke her heart now broke his hip and was old and alone.

“I’ll think about it,” she lied.
Karma was delicious.

Seller Beware, Buyer Be Aware, by Andrew Ricchiuti

23/2/2024

I held up the drawings. “How much for these?” Drawn by a kid, but with elaborate frames. .We could sell the frames.

“Just what they’re marked,” the estate seller said. ‘Either take them or don’t waste my time. No price drops.”

We took the drawings home. We ripped the paper from the frames.

“This one has another drawing underneath.” Teddy said. “I recognize the artist's name.”

It had resale value. More than everything else we bought.

“Do you think the seller knows what it’s worth?” Teddy said.

I didn’t like the seller.

“Who cares? We bought them. They’re ours now.”

Mon Petit Chou, by Scott C. Holstad

23/2/2024

We met bumping into each other while reaching for the same Jackson Pollack print. Laughing, she asked me out for a drink instead, so we headed for a jazz club two blocks away. While sharing a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and some cheeses, she looked at me and asked, “When are you going to kiss me?”

Inspired, I did right then, and we went on to have a beautiful evening which turned into a wonderful month and then summer.

When I dumped her over the phone five months later, she told me I had been a lovely person to love.

A Kafka Classic, by Jo Riglar

23/2/2024

Younger skin starts here! Only one of the insightful mantras on a screen at Spa Celine. I met Dreamy Don at the exit, near a steel wire sculpture of a girl and a barrel cactus. It was supposed to represent aging.
Don had stopped by the pub and wasn’t the slightest bit interested in my rejuvenation. We were off to celebrate the weekend with gin and a show. ‘A Hunger Artist’ at Théâtre des Mathurins. A Kafka classic.
Pont D’Alma was closed and the police were requesting witness statements. A real princess had life threatening injuries.
I was feeling immortal.

When Life Is Hopeless, by Brian Mackinney

23/2/2024

Gary had had a troubled life. He’d seen more than he should in his ten years. His mother took Gary and his brother away as the neighbours were regularly stealing their meagre possessions.

At his new school he took the day off to wander round the city. On his return he told his support teacher how he’d been fascinated by the Galleries of Justice museum.

“How would you like to die?” queried Gary.

“I don’t know . I’ve never thought about it.”

“I’d like to do one last job and get hung.”

The teacher was horrified but what could she do?

A Ghost Story? by John Cooper

23/2/2024

The terror on his face when he opened the door told me all I needed to know.

He hadn’t really explained on the phone. Some garbled story about ‘IT’ being here and a swooshing sound, a nasty smell and sparks shooting from the skirting.

I had known Tim four years. Not given to flights of fancy, if he said something was happening then it was.

He had said nothing as he showed me in and then left to put the kettle on.

At least that was the click I thought I heard, difficult to recall precisely after the flash.

The Spelling Bee, by David Sydney

23/2/2024

Lisa's Choice

It was the middle school finals, with Francine pitted against Ralph.
“Okay, Francine, spell the word GRANDILOQUENT,” instructed Mrs. Franklin who received the card from Mr. Greenberg, the physical education teacher.
Francine succeeded.
“Now, Ralph, spell the word CAN.”
Which he did.
Then Francine managed ONOMATOPOEIA.
And Ralph, MAN.
Francine made it through CORUSCATION.
And Ralph, PAN.

Loud, disgruntled objections from Francine's side interrupted the contest. Shouldn't Ralph be challenged with a larger word than PAN?
Francine managed EPONYMOUS.
Mrs. Fisher took the card from Sam Greenberg, Ralph's uncle.
“And for something longer, can you spell the word PLAN, Ralph?”

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