Blog Archives

Lucky Woman, by Amy Carlisle

26/3/2021

Joannie thought ‘stood up at the altar’ was just a cliché. Until it happened to her.

Walking across the church’s parking lot, she spied a penny facing heads-up. The unspoken rules from her childhood required you to leave something when you took a lucky penny. Sadly, there wasn’t a pebble, bottle cap or leaf in sight. What did she have that was small and worthless?

When she got to her car, she could see her engagement ring, sparks of fire against the blacktop. She fingered the penny in her pocket.

Turned out it was the luckiest day in Joannie’s life.

The Well of Tears, by Elisabeth Moore

26/3/2021

She stares into the well of tears, all different hues. A palette of life’s emotions: sad farewells; a newborn’s distant cry; ashes scattered to the winds. Bittersweet memories, too poignant to share.

Locking them away, she cries for characters inside her head, for fallen knights and widowed brides. She weeps for ancestors lying in crumbling crypts and seeks to resurrect them with her pen.

Yet when she is moved by the words of long-dead poets or trembles at the haunting frisson of a song, she returns to the well of secret tears and wonders. Dare she let true feelings flow?

A Bittersweet Surprise, by Marie Johnson-Ladson

26/3/2021

Paula loved when her older sister Laura came to visit from the big city. Laura brought her gifts, talked about her career as a Journalist and the places she visited.

One day Paula got into a terrible accident.

While in the hospital she overheard the doctor telling her parents that she needed a blood transfusion. Then she heard her parents say "we have to tell her Mom."

Paula was shocked but didn't say anything, thank goodness she recovered. Paula finally confronted her parents demanding to know the truth. They said "sweetheart your Mom is Laura."

It was a bittersweet surprise!

A Bold Adventure Begins, by Janice Siderius

26/3/2021

“Charles, the carriage is waiting. You don’t want to miss the ship, do you?”

A bright voice from above stairs replies, “I just need to pack a few last-minute instruments. Be right there.”

Two minutes later a young man bounds down the stairs and hugs his waiting father. “Thank you for agreeing to fund my part of this excursion. I promise I will make the most of it. Take care while I am gone; I will try to send letters.”

“Please, God, watch over my son.” Father silently prays.

“Isn’t Beagle an odd name for a ship?” muses Charles.

The Kite, by Deborah Shrimplin

26/3/2021

Lissa answered the call from her husband's cellphone. It was her young son, Ray.

"Mommy, the tree ate my kite!" he sobbed.

"It's OK, Ray. Your daddy can get you a new one."

"Daddy's taking me to the kite shop."

"Let me talk to your Dad. Keith, where are you?"

"We're on Highway 305 enroute to the store."

"Can you stop off at Safeway and get some cheese?"

Will do......oh, my God, my God, my God.....NO........"

Keith's blood curdling scream pierced Lissa's mind and soul.

Then, she heard the crashing sound of metal on metal followed by silence.

The Visit, by Susan Pepper Robbins

26/3/2021

I had politely but automatically said I'd run over to check on Lena--her oxygen tank and tube were brand new--who'd said on the phone she could not breathe. I panicked as I walked in to her pre-Civil War house. Did I know how to call the rescue squad on my new, not brand new, but almost, cell? Did I know how to rouse her old husband in his man cave behind the house? Had I ever bothered to take the CPR class? Had my own mother slipped out of my clutched hands to break her hip and then gone to the nursing home for nine years?

Murder She Wrote, by Sandra James

26/3/2021

Surely she was in the middle of a nightmare. Her husband, Roger, had been found murdered and now the police were questioning her.

“We checked your internet history, Mandy,” accused the sergeant. “Murder methods?”

“But it was our homework for writing group,” she sobbed. “Write a murder story.”

“We checked with your classmate Cynthia. She said the topic was romance.”

Cynthia smiled as she tapped the keys on her computer. She was sick of always coming second to Mandy in writing competitions. The next prize was hers.

One of Those Days, by Allison Symes

26/3/2021

He ran the wrong way up the one-way street. He ignored traffic hooting - why care? He was on the pavement unlike the bloody joggers. He’d been mown down by three last month. No apologies to him. Plenty of swearing at him.

Today was a new start. No more being pushed around. He needed a symbol to show himself (and whoever cared to watch) he was finally thinking outside the box.

It was a pity he ran head first into the lamppost and was carted away in an ambulance to the sound of drivers laughing.

My Bittersweet Candy, by Sarah Chong

26/3/2021

I stop by my local gas station with one motive: candy. I look through all the different options and go with lemonheads. My mind is fully consumed by my craving for sweets. I open the bright yellow box and place one in my mouth. The flavor reaches my tastebuds. Now I think of nothing but you. You, like the candy, are equal amounts of sweet as sour. Your sweet side is caring and nurturing, and your sourness, bitter and stubborn. You have the perfect balance, you are my lemonhead.

The Legless Man, by Sivan Pillai

26/3/2021

Keeping aside the Bible, I try to sleep in vain. I’m seething with anger. Crooks become rich overnight, but those sweating it out remain poor.

The sound of drumbeats wafts from far away. The late-night tribal dance has begun. I walk towards it. A ring of dancers, male and female, move around a portrait. The drumbeat becomes deafening, and the pace of dancing increases. They move at an incredible speed, striking at each other’s sticks with abandon.

A legless man emerges from behind the portrait, crawls towards me, flames darting from his eyes.

I retreat, thanking God I could run.

Monster, by Rod Drake

26/3/2021

There is a monster in the house. I know he is here somewhere. I can’t find him, but I can feel him, smell his monstery breath. I have checked all the obvious hiding places. My bedroom closet. Under my bed. Behind the shower curtain in the bathroom. But I know he is just waiting for me to go to sleep. As long as I keep the covers over me, I’m safe, according to neighborhood wisdom. But sooner or later, I will have to go to the bathroom. Down the long dark hall alone. Goodbye, cruel world. Farewell, unbelieving parents.

In the Deep Woods, by Avery Mathers

26/3/2021

I’d seen a man’s penis before, but it was upsetting nonetheless. Time was, I’d have ignored it and kept on going. No longer. I had a responsibility to the other women who ran in those woods. So, I overcame my embarrassment, took a photo, and called the police.

The operator was a man, and I heard him stifle a snigger when I said 'penis'. Was I in any immediate danger? I had to admit that I wasn't. Then it wasn’t a priority. I should go home and someone would contact me later.

'Should I just leave the penis here then?'

The Moniker, by Sterling Warner

26/3/2021

Flip didn’t usually shout at strangers, but Holly seemed like such a free spirit. Though unwarranted objectification, he felt drawn to her lack of pretension and interest. Besides, Holly took no offense at his familiarity. Instead, she gazed at him affirmatively before running across Main Street traffic.

With a burst of speed, Holly leaped up on the sidewalk before settling herself at Flip’s feet. “I’m Flip,” he said looking down at a face projecting instant adoration. Bending over, Flip noticed that under her spiked collar hung a nametag: Holly. “I knew it,” he mumbled. “The perfect name for any collie!”

Blue Jeans Forever, by Shelley Kirton

26/3/2021

“Go wash that muck off your face. Now. No kid of mine will go out looking like a tart. Go. Both of you.”

“But Dad…” Actually our step-Dad.

“And while you’re at it get those jeans off. You can wear jeans when you see me wearing them. Hell will freeze over first. Get used to dressing properly.”

We hated him, his cruel restrictions. Mum had no say. He bullied her too. Hurt her.

He died soon after. Broken neck. Fell downstairs. We all agreed. Hope he enjoys the afterlife wearing blue jeans.

We wear them too. He said we could.

The Downfall of Sir David Knight, by Gordon Lawrie

26/3/2021

To the public, Sir David Knight was a respected senior politician, even a hero. To those who worked for him, however, he was an infamous bully and a sex pest. No woman was safe alone in a lift with him.

Eventually, three women found the courage to speak up. Knight was investigated and charged, but used his powers to destroy the trial and he was acquitted.

He should have left it there. But like all overly powerful men, he couldn't, insisting on suing the women for defamation. The victims weren't going to miss a second chance and they had justice.

Rotting Flowers, by Artie Kuyper

26/3/2021

When a hippie dies, the world smells like rotting flowers. The steps creaked beneath Rose's feet, the wood on the railing chipped and crumbling.

Her mother's plants were wilting. She had taught Rose how to take care of them, but she never listened. Because her mom would always be there to do it herself.

She made her way to the bathroom, showering for the first time in over a week. She hoped the warm water would wash away the week's sadness, yet it didn't. The depression clung to her skin no matter how hard she scrubbed.

She scrubbed herself numb.

After Dark Comes Dawn, by Kim Favors

26/3/2021

Green eyes. Curly auburn hair. Various dialects. A penchant for harried husbands.

Even with the pandemic, Dawn is still a favorite as she tours the South’s small-town taverns.

Bartenders comp her liquor. Bouncers keep watch for wives. And “Sorry, (insert name) isn’t here” is frequently overheard on the business phone.

TV casting calls may be on hiatus, but Dawn’s not. Covid won’t take down this cougar, the actress has decided.

Dominatrix, lawyer, MILF. Dawn’s ready — with masks, of course — for her various roles.

“Hello, Sugar. You look like a man with interesting stories to tell. Buy me a drink?”

Howard's Choice, by Pamela Kennedy

26/3/2021

"I can't go on like this," Howard admitted to himself. "Divorcing my wife, Carina, would be expensive-the house, the car, endless alimony...But how can I give up my sweet Suzette and our romantic escapades"?

"Howie, my love! What are you doing here? Perhaps buying me a diamond bracelet"? With hugs and kisses galore, Suzette was practically making love to him in front of the jewelry store.

From a short distance away, Carina witnessed everything. Quietly she approached them. "Howard, why don't you introduce me to your long-lost niece"?

OOPS! Howard didn't have a choice anymore now did he?

Honest Loaf, by Madeleine Dhéry

26/3/2021

A man discovers a twenty-dollar note crumpled by my table leg.

He stretches for it. “That ain’t yours”, his wife snaps, slapping him on the hand.

“It ain’t our oil either, but I don’t see you out there protestin’ the war.”

He sighs, stands up, and gestures the note at me, “Excuse me, ma’am, you dropped this.”

“Thank you, good to know there are honest people left in this world!”

“Honest? Now, ma'am, you’ve stretched the truth. But I can take a slice."

He chuckles, slumps down again, nodding to his wife. She sips her coffee and rolls her eyes.

Judgment Day, by Don Tassone

26/3/2021

“What did you stand for?”

“Winning.”

“Winning?”

“Yes. I built a big business.”

“I understand. But what were your guiding principles?”

“Guiding principles?”

“Your core values.”

“You mean beyond winning?”

“Yes.”

“To do better all the time.”

“In what way?”

“Sales and profits.”

“Why was that important?”

“It meant I was winning.”

Pause.

“I gave a lot of money to charity too.”

“Why?”

“Tax deductions. And good PR.”

“I can see you’re tired,” said the interviewer, turning off her recording device. “Why don’t we pick it up there tomorrow?”

“Okay,” said the old man, closing his eyes one last time.

Growing Malcontent, by Sinéad Delaney

26/3/2021

My mother hates my friend, Laura because of all the digs at me she makes. It’s not that I don’t notice. I can handle criticism. I know she can’t because I’ve seen her crumble and sob, as if cruelty was something unknown to her.

“That girl has a thornbush for a heart,” my mother said.

She meant she was cruel, but the image stayed with me. I pictured wounds being stabbed from the inside, and her needing to spit the thorns out.

I take the insults but I know it won’t help. In the end, the thorns will get her.

A Good Day, by Hervé Suys

26/3/2021

My day wasn’t a wasted one after all, he said to the man in the mirror while washing the blood from his hands. He lifted his shirt and uncovered a nasty wound on his abdomen. His clothes were ruined, those stains would never wash out.

The radio was on and reported on events earlier that day:
“… concerning the mystery man who saved two children from a burning building. The man jumped through a window on the second floor carrying the infants. He might be in need of some medical attention…”
Not a bad day at all, said the Superhero.

First Story, by Michael Drezin

26/3/2021

I’m working on my first story; I’d like to be a published author.

When I can’t sleep, I read my own writing. It’s not that they're lullabies; it’s an early draft before the words that don’t belong are asked to leave.

“Pardon me, sir, the door is that way.”

It’s so effective I keel over. Plop! Not a care in the world.

I wake up, good to go; I’m not a professional writer; I've got other things to attend to. Come the weekend; I pull out my draft.

You know what happens next.

I’m still working on my first story.

Love 3, by Jeffrey Griffiths

26/3/2021

“All Jackson and I ever did was fight.” She lit a cigarette. “I’ll be honest; I’ve gone out with a couple of other guys. What was I supposed to do? He hardly ever called anyway.”

She went silent for a few minutes then turned her head to look at me. “I don’t know what love is. You’re crazy about someone then before you know it you can’t figure out how the hell you thought any of it. What is that?”

I nodded my head slowly. “Love is the big question.”

She blew smoke out the window and said nothing.

Discrepancy, by Melody Merrell

26/3/2021

I couldn’t love her more, but the relationship is tenuous at best. As a child, she was everything a mother could want: beautiful, intelligent, loving. It was a wonderful time and I believed even though she grew, we couldn’t grow apart. We would always enjoy each other’s company. I believed- but I was wrong. As the stages of adolescence grew, so did a bridge between us. Teenage years brought: tears, frustration, and denial for both of us, as the bridge widened, and grew longer. Both of us adamant, entrenched in our own perspective. Both brandished swords, both have used them.

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