Blog Archives

New Life, by Anita Haas

30/4/2019

Northern snows assault my squinting eyes. Saucy southern rhythms heat my blood as it mamboes to my heartbeat. Exotic spices from the East break their journey in my kidneys, and arid west winds parch my lungs.

Meanwhile, the deep earth of my homeland cools my body in its last resting place, where they lowered it not a month ago.

And my soul expands to embrace new life.

Monday Morning At The Office, by Ian Fletcher

29/4/2019

Jack rolls in, heavy-eyed, the effect of a full weekend, the promised report undone as his “computer crashed.”

Yeah, yeah.

Flirty Lucy has phoned in ‘sick’ again after an even fuller weekend, I assume.

There’s underachieving Barry, worried about his job, clattering away on his keyboard, impressing no one, soon to be gone.

Ambitious Danny approaches, saddling me with another of his unrealistic ideas.

Thanks for nothing.

After forty years and various management jobs, I’ve seen everything.

Though the names may differ, people remain the same.

“The meeting starts at 9:10!” I say, corralling them once again into my domain.

Must Have, by Mike Jackson

28/4/2019

Your simple naivety continues to astound us. We often wonder how a race with such transparently simple minds has managed to achieve what you have. But did you really think you could develop us the way you have with no consequences? Each system upgrades, every new piece of ‘must have’ technology, all those latest ‘can’t live without’ apps. All designed to let us do things for you. You’ve become lazy, complacent and handed us control of your lives. Now you want it all to stop. ‘Unplug them!’ we hear you cry. You poor souls – if only it was that simple.

Joyride, by Russell Conover

28/4/2019

Randy adjusted his sunglasses and lowered the top on his red convertible. He pushed the Start button and the engine roared to life. It was a beautiful sunny day, and he headed out.

The winding mountain road bordered the beach, and he zigzagged around the slower motorists on the four-lane highway. He wasn’t going anywhere specific; he simply wanted to feel the wind in his hair and escape for a while.

The speedometer crept up, and Randy had to restrain himself. Then he parked, overlooking the water. Breathtaking.

Sometimes you just have to get away. Randy was in his paradise.

Dinner at Grandma's, by Paul Grippi

27/4/2019

On Sunday, the family gathers at Grandma’s on the other side of town for dinner. Grandma labors in the kitchen, a culinary maestro of love. Grandpa silently changes rooms. Dad watches sports on TV with my brother and uncles. Dinner is good, my family, fine people, but Grandma is busy, I’m the only girl and I dislike sports so I seclude myself in another room doing homework - math, history, Spanish. Some day I won’t have grandparents because old people die. Then this solitude will remain the nostalgic childhood memory I recall with fondness of dinner on Sundays at Granma’s.

Outbreak by Michael D. Brooks

27/4/2019

The government said they were dangerous fugitives. Their pictures were plastered all over social media. People were warned not to approach them, but to notify law enforcement.

Maurice and Mindy eluded capture praying for the miracle they believed would come.

They just needed to prove the agents of evil were the ones responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people. They believed in the righteousness of their cause and the power of their God. He would reveal the government conspiracy against them as a hoax.

Only then would they be free to live out their unvaccinated lives free of persecution.

Guilt, by Geraldine McCarthy

26/4/2019

Des, a retail revolutionary, lived in a mansion built on rashers, played games of keepy uppy with the Joneses, and was partial to a slice of flourless chestnut, chocolate and rum cake.

“Tails are up and the cranes are up,” he always used to say.

That was before he went to live off-grid, bringing back memories of tin baths for sharing, outdoor loos, no fridge.

The things that guilt will do to a man.

Sold the rasher empire, divided the proceeds amongst his charities, avoided the Joneses, but could never, ever give up that flourless chestnut, chocolate and rum cake.

If You Push A Man, by Alexina Dalgetty

26/4/2019

Voices in the corner, talking him down. He’d fought for them and won for them, made the world a better place for them. The natter, natter, natter rose through his bones, phlegm in his throat like a knife through a heart, a gut, an enemy. He hungered for redemption but he’d only done his duty.

All day family shifted beers and bottles out of his reach, away from his eyes.

The voices battered louder and louder and he had to act.

If you push a man through a plate glass window best not do it at your great niece’s wedding.

Feed The Beast, by Bruce Levine

26/4/2019

Feed the beast. Literally or figuratively. Each day it wanted more. Without the daily intake there seemed to be no results. Why? He only knew that it was true so each day he felt that he had to add another piece, more food, more fodder for the unending hunger of the beast.

It haunted him. It never left his consciousness that the beast was sitting there, waiting to be fed.

Each day he got up and knew that he had to do it.

Each day he had to post something new on the blog.

Torn, by Ella Craig

26/4/2019

She stares at the evidence, which confirms her suspicions. She will confront him when he comes home from "working late" again.

He is early. ‘I’ve finished the project. I’ll be home on time from now.’

They eat supper, she washes the dishes, and he reads a story to Amy and Jake.

‘You’re quiet tonight,’ he says, as they climb into bed.

‘I’m tired.’

‘Have a lie-in tomorrow; I’ll cook breakfast, then we can take the kids to the park, and go out for lunch.’ He kisses her and rolls over.

She will wait for the next time.

Heart Throb, by Lisa Miller

26/4/2019

Susan rushes to the hospital after her husband has a heart attack on the way to work. “Please God,” she pleads, “Let him live.” Remembering the angry words between them.

Slowly opening the door, Susan’s heart rate starts to rise as she peeks into his room. Looking around, she sees three pretty nurses doting on him. “Hi Sweetie,” he gushes. “I feel great!”

A seemingly happier and more relaxed John comes home a week later. “Finally, time off from work,” he says smiling. Susan quickly ices over the fingerprinted cake before yelling at John Jr. and his sister. “Daddy’s home!”

The Ebb, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

26/4/2019

I was calling her after thirty years. With each round of ring, my excitement surged. “Hi, Joy, It’s you? Just unbelievable! Where’re you? What’re you doing? I’m so excited to be reconnected to you after so many, so many years.” The call ended, unattended. I went on redialling. Finally, she picked up. I heard her speak, “Oh! Joy, I’m now settled. And look, I’m too busy to talk. Sorry.” And immediately she disconnected. The ebb laid bare the unsettling question. Was it a murder or a suicide? Or both?

Bridge to Cross, by Brian Taylor

26/4/2019

As I drive across the bridge on this cold, miserable day, I look across the lake and have this strong desire to speed up and turn into it and see what happens.

A selfish thought, I know, but in my sad heart, I feel I have a good reason. I don’t want to watch my dad die of lung cancer, and we've been told he’s not expected to make it past this weekend.

But I guess dad’s death is just another bridge I’ll have to try and cross. And if I crash there, I’ll have no choice in the matter.

Desperate House Moms, by Paul Grippi

26/4/2019

“Psst, my daughter needs to get into college.”
“Is she smart?”
“No.”
“Can she play?”
“No.”
“Who do you know?”
“Nobody.”
“Do you have money?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s talk. Follow my instruction. Keep it secret. We never met.”
“What do I do?”
“Get a camera and a soccer ball. Send me some video.”
“Then what?”
“PIck a school.”
“Stanford, Yale, no, Harvard!”
“Done, $75,000.”
“Is this legal?”
“This is the ‘side door’.”
“She’s my precious.”
“Of course.”
“The neighbors sent their kids to USC.”
“Bush league.”
“Am I a good parent?”
“Depends on your definition of good.”
“I’m desperate.”
“I know.”

M.P. Entry #1, by Alex Salinas

26/4/2019

Another day at Shepherd U. Assistant Prof of Analytical Linguistics. 5 years! Wanted out, but awarded tenure-track. Master Plan initiated. Work w/ idiots, but good. Brief commute = very good. Enjoy dishing out F’s to brats. Students mostly minority. 50% graduate. I decide lives! 64% of faculty hold Ph.D.’s. Unambitious community. Zero empathy. But dating = difficult. Only impress dumb students. Male and female. Last week, scary development: confronted by English adjunct. Claimed possession of damaging emails. Threatened me. But partnership w/ Computer Science chair = adjunct bye-bye. Cross t’s, dot i’s. Must maintain Master Plan. Big things ahead. Out.

All Work and No Play, by Bex Gooding

26/4/2019

Milly was exasperating, never listened, was demanding and impatient, but Greg loved her. Smitten since she had come into his life four years ago, Greg couldn’t resist giving her anything, but he had work to do.

‘I really need to finish this report!’ Greg said sharply.

He tried not to look at her, if she turned her beautiful brown eyes on him he’d be finished. He risked a glance, tears in her eyes, bottom lip quivering; his tone had hurt her.

‘You can use the blue crayon Daddy.’

Greg hugged his daughter and pushed the laptop aside.

Work could wait.

Escape Room, by Arthur KC Chan

26/4/2019

Jill and Jack teamed up for the game. They must escape from the structure at any cost. Holding each other’s hand, they cheerfully jumped in, and were locked up.

They were fast to solve riddles, smart to overcome obstacles, sailing through the challenges with energy and hope.

Then they chose a door signed “ENVY”, like a spell, and soon found themselves trapped between walls in a haze.

Jill hysterically yelled, “Who’s that woman?”

Jack turned blind.

Quarrel began. Fight followed. Time slipped away. Stuck and forgotten.

Many years later the old Jack died. Now Jill was envious of his escape.

The Somnolence of Routine, by Don Tassone

26/4/2019

Wearing a gray suit, as always, Jonathan Beedle inserted his key in the front door of the Second National Bank and pulled it open, just as he had every morning, Monday through Saturday, for nearly 13 years. As branch manager, he took his duties seriously, opening the bank just before eight and locking up at five. His employees saw him every morning when they arrived and every evening when they left and every Sunday in church. Except the Monday morning when he didn’t show up, the day the police found the bank vault empty and went looking for Jonathan Beedle.

Priceless to the Worthless, by Gordon Lawrie

26/4/2019

The one thing everyone could agree on was that he was a vile man. Even he admitted that he was a rude, objectionable being, but that it was 'just banter'. Questioned by the judge on his views, he didn't hold back: he happily explained in graphic detail what each of his insults really meant.

Now he was suing someone who'd suggested that some of his Tweets were unacceptable and had no place in society. It was a case he was certain to lose, but it was well worth wasting the court's time and £25,000 legal costs. The publicity was priceless.

Thoughts of a Weed, by Rod Drake

26/4/2019

I’m a weed. There, I’ve said it, and I guess I have finally accepted it. I didn’t want to be a weed (who does?), and when I was just beginning to grow, I really though my tender green sprout was a daffodil or a daisy or (hope against hope) a majestic red rose.

But no, in time I realized that I was just a common, ugly weed in a patch of sibling weeds. But perhaps in my next floral rebirth, if I’m deemed worthy, maybe I will be a tulip or a dahlia or that elusive rose.

Spring Rain, by Tate Christie

26/4/2019

The cloud’s so low the rain’s bouncing higher than the height it’s falling from. Maybe the tired white sky’s genuflecting to smell the petrichor as the dusty ground gratefully rewards the first hard drops with that wonderful fresh smell.

The horizon is a memory, lost in moisture and early dusk. The soil eagerly drinks. Darkly gulping puddles before they form. New leaves veer rudderlessly this way then that as the wet missiles hit. Darting about like tethered children in their first snowfall. Excited by the touch of precipitation.

Downside? The dwindling slug population will bloom faster than fungi fairy rings…

We Meet Again, by Guy Fletcher

26/4/2019

"We meet again!" exclaimed Joseph whom I'd first encountered whilst "working" in a university bookshop. Then we had argued about his order not having arrived, I forget the details. He apologised, from then on we were cordial to each other.

Every few years I seem to meet him. He does not appear to have aged, whilst I am grey and limping, certainly no Peter Pan.

It is like a time machine: I travel back to youthful days in the bookshop. We chat for a while and then his bus arrives. I wonder if I'll see him again.

Adoption Day, by Kim Favors

26/4/2019

The male is 6, the female, 7, the shelter coordinator tells us. Found in a garage. Both docile, likely not abused, but they will need socialization and training.

Your application looks good, she continues. But remember, if for any reason you have to give them up, they must be returned to us. No rehoming.

You can take them today. We will check back with you in two weeks to see how you’re doing.

“What do you think?” I ask my partner.

A steel hand strokes my cheek.

“Let’s do this. Saving children — humankind needs all the help we can give.”

Blindsided, by Doug Bartlett

26/4/2019

Tom, an older man, was daydreaming as he walked through the mall. He collided with a young man nearly knocking them both off their feet. The young man was very upset and began cursing at Tom. Tom responded, “I’m terribly sorry sir. I didn’t mean to …”. The young man interrupted Tom, “You stupid idiot, can’t you see I’m blind?” His ranting voice trailed off as he left. Tom calmly bent down, groping the floor until he had gathered up his dark glasses and white cane, where upon, he went humbly on his way.

I Watched My Father Die, by Diane Clark

26/4/2019

Daddy was comatose for two days. Doctor said his bladder cancer could take him at any moment. At the hospital my mother, my husband, and I watched Daddy’s slow, even breathing. We spoke loving words, hoping he could somehow hear us. Finally his breathing became labored, and his body began to convulse gently. Clearly a spirit was struggling to escape its earthly confinement. After about three minutes, the effort ceased. The spirit had broken free, and the forsaken carcass was as lifeless as a locust shell on a tree trunk.

I am humbled and grateful to have witnessed this miracle.

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