Blog Archives

The Left Behind, by Samantha Lynne

29/3/2024

He’d been left floating, gasping, bloating, asking. Destined to depart God’s waiting room. They’d abandoned him; such heartlessness, such cruelty. Her eyes met his and she felt anguish for his turmoil.

Why had she been left alone with this dying soul?

She couldn’t bring herself to put him out of his misery with the bottom of a frying pan. What if he exploded? What if his watery guts pebbledashed the walls…or her blouse?

A midnight Google saved her spiritual dilemma. Clove infused water, a bucket and a prayer meant a peaceful passing for that goldfish in the pond.

A Poor Rope Opera, by Steven Holding

29/3/2024

We, the dead, the deceased unseen, are beyond legion.
After life no paradise nor other place. Instead, this; a dark procession pacing Earth’s circumference, pet rats, rodents all, rotating a wheel, each trudging step spinning a world closer towards death.
A sea of sons and daughters fathered by the cruellest God, our ghostly ocean toils, bringing each dawn, mocked by the warmth of his love radiating from the burning star that is his pulsing heartbeat.
Tricked, we lean in, our walk becoming a run. For no fire burns forever.
Ten billion years to go.
So many souls still to come.

Needles, by David Lowis

29/3/2024

Growing up, Sasha indulged her older sister, Eva, expressing her desire to have children.

"I don't want children," Sasha would say. "I want to be wildlife photographer and travel the world."

"Who'd want to marry you anyway?" Eva would taunt.

Now in her thirties, Sasha appreciated the irony of having a baby boy whilst Eva struggled to fall pregnant.

Sasha took plenty of pictures of Eva cradling the baby and messaged them to her sister. Although each photo induced a spike of pain, Eva accepted them as thoughtful gestures.

Sasha never mentioned she was sending the pictures out of spite.

Wouldn't Matter, by John M. Carlson

29/3/2024

He’d officially won the election!

He sipped Champagne and thought of the last year. He’d screamed about his “extremist” opponent. He’d made vague promises about improving the economy, education, and health care. (The same promises he made every election, but he never delivered on. Amazing the voters could still be conned!)

Now he was free to work on the things his big money donors expected. They weren’t anything that would make the lives of his voters better. Not that he cared. His voters wouldn’t matter again until the next election.

The Passerby and the Pauper, by Yola M. Caecenary

29/3/2024

Trudging amid drizzles, carrying her work and groceries in both hands, she smiled as the sparks of her daughter's eyes emerged.
Then her heart sank as she saw a man pulling a cart with a child in it from afar. She slowed down, stopped, and met the child's eyes.
Without many words, she gave the child a doll and the father a loaf. She continued trudging.

She tried to console her daughter that night and made a delicious dinner with some leftovers.
Distance from her house, a family had a festive night and a child dancing with a new doll.

The Good Daughter, by Raymond Sloan

28/3/2024

It's nice that Dad and I have grown closer since Mum passed. But a year later, it's taken its toll. Don't get me wrong, I love him, but I'm swamped.

For instance, he'll text me at work about twenty times a day. On the one night a week I plan to go out, he'll be in floods of tears. And don't get me started on the housework he's too stricken with grief to do.

When I do get around to dusting Mum's old photos, I can't help but ask her, why was she the one that had to die first.

No Money-No Milk, by Lucy Iscaro

28/3/2024

“Hide?” I asked. “Why? It’s just the milkman at the door.”
My mother said, “Not hide exactly-just pretend we’re not home. It will be like hide and seek.”
The knocks got louder. This game wasn’t fun anymore. I was seven and liked playing games like tic-tac-toe and go-fish. Crouching on the kitchen floor wasn’t a good game.
“That’s it—no money, no milk,” the man yelled, pushing a paper into the mail slot.
It had lots of numbers written in red ink. Mom grabbed it and stuffed it into her apron pocket. I never saw her cry before.

Sheepish, by Cheryl Snell

28/3/2024

The black lamb in that year’s litter was born with organizational gifts that made him the flock’s sweetheart. He kept his siblings in line as they grazed. “Tryin’ to take my job, are ya?” the shepherd said, stroking Black Tea’s curly tendrils. “Wish my son would. Boy’s got a full ride to University! They best teach him about business.” Much later, the son bought his father a Border collie. Lamb and dog bonded. “You can’t be mates! Black Tea already acts like he’s half Collie,” he said. The herd took on a sudden blush. The source was Black Tea’s mother.

A Life Well Lived, by Brian Mackinney

28/3/2024

Last month Leonard passed away fondly remembered by family and friends.

In 1960 he was a quiet boy in a noisy classroom full of spirited children of various nationalities already written off as 11+ failures. Two of the other boys had been placed on remand.

Leonard steered clear of trouble and avoided the bullies who taunted those who were easy meat. He left school with few qualifications but he worked hard and became a manager in the city parks and garden department. He cared for his family and had a season ticket at Meadow Lane.

He will be fondly remembered.

A Piece of Cake, by Alasdair MacEòsaiph

28/3/2024

Elizabeth was in her house, selling some of her clothes to pay her rent, because she was sick, and she couldn’t work.
And an unknown woman came, bringing an envelope. The woman said:
- I don’t want anything. Pay your rent and be healthy.
- Why are you helping me?
- Because you helped me before with a piece of cake.
And Elizabeth saw scars in the woman’s wrists, and she remembered the daily cake sent to her sister, a psychologist in an East Kilbride’s hospital.
She finally understood. And the woman left with joy.

Career Moves, by Dee Lorraine

27/3/2024

Identical twin brothers Bartholomew and Benjamin possessed sharp minds, competitive spirits, and a propensity to lie. Older by minutes, Bartholomew enjoyed quiet reflection. Outgoing Benjamin craved attention. Their loving parents encouraged activities that developed their talents and distinct personalities.

The duo left home for college. Bartholomew flew East to an Ivy League university, and Benjamin chose a West Coast liberal arts institution. Both students suffered discharges for cheating.

Bart called Ben. “We can turn our skills into lucrative professions,” Bart said. “I have an idea....”

“That’s brilliant. Perfect.” Ben said.

Bartholomew became a successful novelist.

Benjamin became a successful politician.

Sly Spazz, by Marinela Dobrescu

27/3/2024

Deep into the enchanted forest, when the night encircles the inhabitants in its green, quickening world, and the river expresses itself in its indecipherable silver argot, and birds chirp proud of inside information about the dawn, an enterprising squirrel named Spazz stumbles upon a glowing mushroom nestled beneath a gnarled oak. Ignoring warnings, he takes a bite, transforming into Prince Charming bedecked in resplendent attire. His fellow critters gaze in awe, clamoring for a taste, but when they do, nothing happens. Sensing an opportunity, Spazz chuckles, “If you want magic, just believe; don’t eat it!”

Doubts, by Sandra James

27/3/2024

‘Did you remember to lock the door?’

I glanced towards the driver’s seat. His hands clenched tighter on the steering wheel.

‘I’m sure I did.’

‘Good. I couldn’t remember.’

‘I’m pretty sure I did.’ He frowned.

‘I’m sure you did.’

‘After I filled the cat’s water.’

‘Great. There’s been some break-ins lately.’

‘Y…ess.’

We were half an hour from home.

Suddenly he stamped his foot on the brake. ‘We’d better go back and check.’

‘Good idea.’

The door was locked.

Pity it was too late to set out again. I’m sure mother-in-law must be disappointed.

Air Dancers, by Sarah Samson

27/3/2024

She ran her hands through the last petrified forests of hair on her balding scalp. More hair fell out, criss-crossing her fingers like mahogany cuts. A swallowed sob.

A robin twittered outside.

She pushed the screen door open. Bare feet slapped against the outdoor deck’s wet wood.

A spring wind tugged at the hair in her fingers, making each strand flap like an air dancer in front of a used car lot. Then she let the strands float away, imagining the robin finding them and using the treasure to build a nest to shepherd new life into this world.

Forlorn, by Keith E Maynard

25/3/2024

I watched as she sat at the computer screen viewing images of … does it matter, really? For several hours. Dressed in black, head to toe, wearing a pair of aged gray Uggs. Together, they have traveled many miles.

Sitting surrounded by her earthly possessions? I wondered.

What did she look like? Petite. Young or old? Ruffled by time. Why those images?

She stood, turned, and younger than I expected, oddly attractive, youthful, neither sad nor happy. Forlorn.

Walked away, trusting material possessions secure.

Returned. Collected possessions, several backpacks, duffel bag, carry-on travel case, small travel bags…

Trudged away. I wondered.

Rohan's Death, by Gautam Sen

25/3/2024

When Rohan ‘died’, he found himself fully alive, floating above the others and watching them look at his corpse. Soon he was met by his parents and friends who had earlier crossed over. It was a grand re-union, but when Rohan’s eyes fell on the world he’d left behind, he felt sorry for his bereaved wife and daughter.

“Don’t worry,” said his mother. “There’s a way.”

That night Rohan’s wife had an incredibly powerful dream: A smiling Rohan told her, “I’m in a beautiful place, and one day we’ll be together again.”

Rohan’s wife woke up feeling fresh and different.

The Sacrifice, by Rebekah Lawrence

25/3/2024

I listened in horror to their hate, their self-righteousness, their rationalisations. An echo-chamber of misguided self-concern.

Until I could listen no longer.

“If we accept people, without preconceptions or judgement, wouldn’t the world be a better place?”

“But They are taking over.” One said.

“You are too naive. Open your eyes.” Said another dismissively. “We can’t say anything these days without someone being offended.”

Contempt in their eyes, they’d found their new target.

They didn’t realise that I would happily take their bile if it saved even one other person from suffering from it.

The Death Wish, by Sivan Pillai

25/3/2024

Suffering from limited mobility, he required constant attention. He was fed up, like others at home. They were tolerating him, wondering when the ordeal would be over.
"Call me, God," was his constant prayer. Even when he woke at night, he prayed and wept silently.
Since he was a good man, God felt sympathy towards him.
He appeared before the man one night. "Can't call you before your turn, but will do something."
The man fell one day, badly injuring his head. He was unconscious, with no feelings.
"The end may come anytime, but can't say when," the doctors pronounced.

Tea and Sympathy, by Ester Golding-Webb

24/3/2024

And so I turn to leave, my face flushed with confusion. I count internally, “one, two three, four, one, two, three, four” trying to keep calm.

“It’s fine”, she says, “don’t go” and I turn back, scared to lift my eyes, fiddling with the strap on my bag, pretending to adjust it. “Here, have another cup of tea, there’s no rush, sit back down”.

I carefully sit without making eye contact, while she busies herself with cups and passes me the biscuits. The sofa is comfy, and my shoulders finally drop. I take a deep breath and start again.

Blooming, by Angela Carlton

23/3/2024

When I lost you, I lost doors to secret worlds, everything blooming under the orange sun until it dropped, the night took you in a head on conclusion, all the lights went OUT.

Indigo eyes like you, he visits the coffee shop, a widower, photographer, lingering around to people watch. He buys me coffee sometimes, so I’ll smile. Once, he shared photographs of his darling daughter holding daisies. When his hand brushed against mine, electricity surged through me. The heat rises with a slight tingle for the first time after losing you, the earth it spins, with me.

The Lineup, by Elizabeth Elder

23/3/2024

Aware of their contributions, they lined up. Across the centuries—from the first glimmer of humankind’s interactions, through all the world’s evolving cultural, educational, arts, and scientific advancements—they lined up before Mother Time. Each one hoped to shine brightest. They were researchers, scientists, musicians, bishops, professors, writers of deep sensibility, and world-honored leaders. Humbly they waited, but soon saw their lights dimmed beside the child who, without thought of fame, gave his favorite marble to a classmate who felt shunned.

Lack of Compassion, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

23/3/2024

At each of his blows, it screamed. But every time, he ignored its cry for mercy. Perhaps, his ears were incapable of hearing such painful yelps. He continued to strike devotedly. He would not want it to become something other than his choice. When he was done with hitting, he started with some other means of inflicting pain. Unmindful of its suffering and begging for pity, he went on. After many, many days, he rested his hands. Now, thousands throng everyday to view it with awe. Now, it proudly celebrates its maker’s passion as well as his lack of compassion.

Compassion in Crisis, by David Chek Ling Ngo

22/3/2024

Like a blunt knife, it's slowly cutting deep into my heart, twisting and turning with each beat. The memory, once sweet, is now tainted by the bitterness of deceit. Each time I try to forgive, the wound reopens, as if soaked in salt water. It has become a part of me, a tormentor that relentlessly preys on my mind, replaying and intensifying every scene with each passing day. Yet, hear me out, I don’t give up the fight, not wielding this blade against you, but for the sake of us.

That Child in the Photograph, by Andrea Damic

22/3/2024

Yesterday.

You took your first steps with that broad smile on your face. No obstacle was hard enough, no matter the tottering pace of your chubby legs. You mumbled Mom for the first time, and I understood the meaning behind a melophile. You got a football scholarship and played professionally, yet never failed to help the less fortunate. You got married, made me Grandma, and I’m bewildered at how time slipped away.

Today.

You are that empathy in your children’s eyes, an unabating reminder in their gleeful laughter, an added wrinkle on my face; precious memorabilia in our photo album.

Honey for the Bees, by Dorian J. Sinnott

21/3/2024

It was easy to feed them the lies they longed to hear. Offered on a silver spoon, coated in clover honey. How sweet the manipulation was. How organic. Inviting.
It’s a shame so much that is consumed is camouflaged chemical. Devoured by our desire for sugar. If only the eyes could taste as well as the tongue. Maybe then, they’d be open wide enough to see. Wide enough to sense the sham. Taste the bitter truth that lay beneath.
But, as long as there’s honey, they’ll go unnoticed. Leaving another drove of bees to swarm around their hive of lies.

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