Blog Archives

A Song for the Spring, by Dorian J. Sinnott

23/2/2024

She found peace in the night, beneath the silver moon—watching as its light bathed the fading snow. In the shadows, the land glistened and glowed, welcoming the silence. The steady steps towards spring.

And she’d sit beside her window, listening for the wolves. Longing for their howls. Their chilled breath carrying midnight songs on the wind. Serenading a farewell to a long and bitter winter. A beckoning for better days. Better hunts.

The frost had claimed not only a part of the earth, but a part of her, as well.

Now, like them, she longfully sang for the spring.

JFK and Me, by Jo Riglar

16/2/2024

In June 1963 the schoolmaster marched us to the Rising Tide. We were herded into the pub. John-Joe, the owner tried to manage us. I got to sit on a sticky shelf halfway up a Guinness-stained wall.

They had an utterly fascinating television which we were excited to watch, not realising that the ticker tape parade in Dublin was an historical event, or that I was witnessing what the US president described as ‘the best four days of my life’.
In November everybody in Ireland would forever remember what she was up to when the president was shot in Dallas.

Redemption, by Ian Willey

16/2/2024

After his father dies the boy, heartbroken, resolves to live his life in such a way that when he dies no one will cry for him. And he does just that. As he grows he isolates himself from friends and family; he burns bridges; he cuts connections; he turns his solitude into a fortress.

When he dies, wealthy and alone, his lawyers go to the old man’s mansion to collect his possessions for burning, as per his will. One woman finds, in a drawer, his sole photograph, of the man as a boy with his father. The tears come naturally.

Murder, by Sandra James

16/2/2024

I found her under the apple tree in the orchard. Her neck was broken.
I knew at once it was no accident... it was murder. She didn’t deserve it; she’d never hurt anyone. And she was my very best friend.
I compiled a list of suspects but crossed most of them off. They all had alibis... all but one.
I’d seen the murderous glint in his eyes and knew he hated her. He’d never made a secret of it and he'd even threatened harm in the past.
She was my favourite Barbie doll and I’ll never forgive my brother... NEVER!

Flowers, by Julie Reed

16/2/2024

I’d hear the slow thunk and whoosh of a walker approaching my office hoping it was her. The big white sneakers and plaid polyester pants accentuated her tiny body.

She’d peak around the corner chuckling, “Is the Administrator available?”

“She quit,” I’d respond.

I visited her room as often as I could. She sat on the bed offering me the only chair. Once I brought her flowers from my garden. She wrote me a thank you note I kept for years after the space was no longer a sanctuary.

Rigoroso, by Diane Broughton

16/2/2024

Her voice took flight, gliding over notes like a bird skimming a lake, dipping and rising until she came to rest on the final note and held it for the full four beats, slowly spreading circles in the water.
Her heart soared as she waited. Surely this time she had succeeded.
The Professor of Music sighed, his eyes downcast.
‘It just won’t do. Months of work and still you miss the dotted crotchets in bar six. Practice, practice, practice.’
He rose from his chair. She listened for the key turning in the lock.

Dear Bully, by Shannon Hennessey

16/2/2024

Her life was filled with light and love. Her future brimming with undiscovered adventures.

Did she shine too brightly for you? Was her future too full of opportunities?

Your words, filled with cruelty and hate, dimmed her light.

Your actions, designed to humiliate and tear down, stole her future.

Your notes were laced with malice. This note is laced with poison.

My only consolation is your final thoughts will be of her.

Yours sincerely
Devastated

Mind Readers, by Bruce Gunther

16/2/2024

They tricked me into it. I thought it was a brain implant to eliminate insomnia – instead, it allowed others to read my mind.

Going out in public became cringeworthy: husbands wanted to punch me for my thoughts about their wives; other men became offended by my thinking they were ignorant; women left dinner dates as my monkey mind plotted post-meal seduction strategy.

I finally got a meeting with the lead scientist.

“Nope. Can’t do that,” he said before the words even left my mouth.

Next, a squad of goons entered the room. They took thoughts of murder seriously.

Eulogy Cake, by Lucy Iscaro

16/2/2024

Spatula poised. She began to tell her story with an empty bowl as her blank page. Flour as white as her mother’s face became the background. No butter, only glistening oil that cast prisms as it poured. Plump eggs, their round perfection like the continuum of life, would bind the sweet raisins of memories and the salty tears of regret. Shoshona beat the mixture, coaxing life into the inert batter. Once baked, each bite had to extol her beloved mother’s story into the mourner’s mouth.

The Conversationists, by Brian Mackinney

16/2/2024

When the Grump sat next to John he was huffing and puffing with an air of stale odour, waving his Daily Mail as he settled down

Somehow they started chatting and John felt the urge to prick the Grump’s strident views on life in general and football in particular with little humorous sideswipes. At first the old man took them in his stride but he became exasperated.

“I’ll tell you what you are,” he blurted through his matted beard. “ You…You……There’s a word for you if only I could think of it.”

Many have tried to find that word.

Storrow Drive, by Robin Mayer Stein

16/2/2024

We were opposites--city girl--country boy; East Coast--midwest; apartment–farm. His eyes were cornflower blue. We sparked each other. I wrote poems, he made music.

My friends didn’t like him.
He gave me Barlett’s Quotations. I bought him a blue sweater at Saks.
I pictured us living in middle America with lots of babies.
One day, driving in pouring rain, he sighed, “You’ll never leave Boston. You’re happy here.” I protested but two days later, he was gone.

I found his sweater scrunched up on the closet floor. I wished he’d taken it. That sweater made his eyes such a bright blue.

Angel Eyes, by Russ T Mann

16/2/2024

The angel opens its eyes. Mediterranean blue. Silverish striations. Like a magnificent star brighter than anything of the sky or this good earth. Silent, he gazes into my essence. Into my very soul. I’m entranced. Me and Molly both.

“He’s beautiful, Molly,” I say, kissing her. “What shall we name him?”

“Alexander? Your father’s name?”

“No,” I say, stifling tears. “Not Alexander. Too soon.”

A nurse knocks. “Oh my,” she says. “Those eyes! What an angel. What’s his name?”

“Gabriel?” Molly asks. “Like the archangel?”

I nod, stifling tears.

“Gabriel,” Molly says emphatically. “Gabriel, Alexander.”

I smile, letting tears flow.

Let Them Eat Cake, by Sankar Chatterjee

16/2/2024

(Photo: Bibhas Ganguly)

Hidden inside a bush in a bird sanctuary, the wildlife photographer John Reed was quietly shooting a busy yellowish green parakeet with a red beak foraging in a cornfield. Suddenly his smartphone vibrated.

He quickly glanced at the headline from a feed “The food-minister of the superior power in current ongoing conflict ordered not to allow the UN food trucks to enter inside the devastated zone.” John drowned in melancholic thoughts, when a scene flashed inside his brain: two million displaced hungry citizens begging for corn seeds.

The parakeet took off with a corn stalk to feed its own nestlings.

Barry Takes a Trip, by Tom Baldwin

16/2/2024

Barry didn’t believe in aliens, flying saucers and abductions, so he was dumfounded when a silvery craft beamed him aboard to meet its humanoid occupants.

They spoke his language, albeit oddly accented, and explained they were taking him through hyperspace to another planet, where he would meet with other abductees.

Soon the spaceship landed near what looked rather like an Earth township. Bored-looking people, some munching burgers and sipping from cans, wandered about behind a tall wire fence.

‘What does that say?’ said Barry, pointing to a sign in alien script.

‘Planet Zoo. Earth Exhibit. Keep Out.’

S-no-wdrops, by Teri Wright

16/2/2024

Dorothy leant forward, her knees on the foam cushion, a frown on her face. Her gloved fingers gently prodded the soil. “I don’t understand. They’re usually out by now,” she muttered.

Dorothy glanced sideways. She admired the evenly-spaced snowdrops bordering her neighbour’s front lawn. Resigned, she hauled herself up and retreated to the kitchen for a cuppa.

An hour later, Dorothy ventured outside to find an array of snowdrops under her bay window.

“They come up so quickly!” her neighbour trilled, hoping Dorothy wouldn’t notice the hastily dug holes, the transfer of plants.

Dorothy smiled. “How odd. I’d planted aconites.”

As Dates Go, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

16/2/2024

“A few more things to do,” he mumbled into his cellphone.

Normally he’d build himself a dinner sandwich with whatever the fridge provided. For today, he borrowed library cookbooks to create dishes he’d never heard of.

“Picking you up soon, Mabel,” he phoned again, tasting a sauce, unaware of his dog standing by the back door.

When they stepped outdoors, his heart sank like the celery soufflé out of the oven.

He phoned. No answer.

With his car buried and his path to it not close to being cleared, he realized he had a long snow-shovelling date with a Nor’easter.

There Were No More, by K.G. Song

16/2/2024

One more spaceship sent to explore the galaxy returned. It was empty like all the others. Seventy-five souls gone like a puff of baby’s breath on a cold winter morning. The only tale the ship told was burn marks on its once glinting hull.

More than one hundred ships blasted off, each carrying the dying hope of humanity who struggled to breathe through thick mask in the chemical soup that was once called air.

“Is it over?” Zake blurted out his rotting breath.

Christina answered. “Not yet. There is one more ship.”

Zake, however, knew there were no more.

The White Dress, by Angela Carlton

16/2/2024

He calls her for the 17th time. The phone rings-rings-rings. She sits by the window, tears roll down her cheeks as she looks outside, a little girl is playing, laughing. She’s laughing. Yesterday, her world was shiny. Today, she severed ties with two bridesmaids, her fiancé, snap, like that. They knew. Every damn one of them knew. He was cheating with one friend, but they covered it up like fresh dirt over a grave. She’s glad she spotted them kissing in another window on Main Street, that evening she shopped for the white dress that would float in the wind.

Blood and Bone, by Dorian J. Sinnott

16/2/2024

He saw her in the midnight hour, in the darkness stirring at the foot of his bed. He saw her in visions, haunting both his slumber and wake. And he saw her in the mirror, each morning while he stared.
Picking apart his features. Wearing them down to bone.
Blood.
He’d weep over the sink, in relief and in grief. That she was both forever there, but forever gone. A truth too painful to bear.
But he knew she still lived, even if they would never touch. She lived in the glass. In the marrow. In the veins.
In him.

No Reservations, by Tony Covatta

16/2/2024

Gordon's Choice

Each summer Will waved goodbye as his pal headed for relatives’ homes in Kansas. Will’s impoverished family seldom travelled.

One year Mom insisted on visiting cousin Vic in Florida. Their cram-packed Chevy limped into Tampa. No reservations. They saw only “No Vacancy” signs, family friction aflame. After lunch break, Mom made her life’s wisest pronouncement: “Now we’ll feel better. Things will work out.”

From their heaven-sent single room, Will watched sister Wanda tan beet red, underwear clad cousin Darrell belly flop for hours, brother Wayne (12), romance a girl on the beach.

Now retired, well-travelled, Will remembers. No reservations whatsoever.

Blossom Tree, by Jhaztine Isleta

16/2/2024

Lisa's Choice

A faint chirp was heard at the top of the tree. Following the gentle wind rustling sound of dry leaves. It's dying. It's dead, Mr. Henry grieved. I will never forget her beautiful smile. I remember that day, Cherry Blossom! Surprised at the sachet of seed I gave her, she loved it, of course, wishing for it to grow. As time goes by, it sprouts and grows until it becomes a tree. But why? Mr. Henry swings the axe and strikes at the dead tree. The birds fly. It felt without leaves, without branches, without you, but still lives in my heart.

Lisa added that there's an (early) February Blossom Festival in Japan – only 3 hours from Tokyo, if you're passing. But the photos look lovely.

(Photo: Minamiizu Town Tourism Association)

Lot 18 – Assorted China from Clarendon Manor, by Lisa Williams

16/2/2024

(Photo: Osenat, Paris)

One piece was ‘lost’ in transit. Nobody noticed – it was a huge collection. Time passed, the person that ‘found’ it died and the vase ended up in Sue Ryder for £2. Brenda bought it, still with its LOT 18 sticker on the base.

Brenda loved it and always said it was worth something. Her husband Ray, who spent a lot of time at the pub, would laugh and quip “Yeah £2!”

That Sunday on Antiques Roadshow was a vase exactly like hers: Valued at 2 million pounds. Ray wasn’t in. She didn’t tell him but started to make a plan.

There's an extraordinary story about the Chinese vase pictured, too. Click on the image to read about it – Gordon

Tachypsychia, by Robert Martin

16/2/2024

Flying. I was flying. Floating in the air leisurely, effortlessly. It seemed to stretch out far longer than half a second. I had plenty of time to look behind me and see my bicycle rolling along by itself, still upright, even though no one was in the saddle. I had time to think about hitting the pavement. I predicted the impact would be harsh, but it seemed a long way off. I wondered whether I be crippled. My helmet cracked on the ground, ending the lazy flight. Time resumed its normal pace. I learned a new word that day.

Happy to Be You and Me, by Cheryl Dahlstrand

16/2/2024

“Did you get the new AI vaccination?” Rhonda asked her friend.

“Months ago,” Dena responded. “The AI nanocytes really work. I feel great.”

“Well, there’s something I don’t understand. ‘Pursuit of happiness’ has been stricken from the Constitution.”

“There’s an easy explanation,” Dena replied. “Happiness now exists for everyone. It's like gravity or oxygen- they aren’t in the Constitution either. With the availability of the vaccine, AI generated endorphins have taken care of that."

“Yes,” Rhonda returned. “However, I thought the original Constitution was never supposed to be changed."

“Why should you care? Why should anyone care?” Dena laughed happily.

Time for a Cuppa? by Helen Steventon

16/2/2024

Still sleepy. Fill kettle. Press switch. Turn on radio.
"...Repeat, this is not a hoax!"
What? Stupid D.J.
"In less than thirteen minutes time, a hostile nuclear missile will
violate our air-space...potential to obliterate Northern
Hemisphere...germ warfare agent. Repeat...not a hoax!"
Rubbish! And yet...
My God, I only have minutes to live! No time to contact anyone.
Weird calm.
Time for a strong cup of tea. Not one, two sugars. If I'm going to
die, then sod the diet!
"...three...two...one! This is how an 'Apocalypse Now' might have
been announced over the air."
I'll kill that D.J. Apocalypse him!

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