Blog Archives

Papers, by Hervé Suys

29/5/2020

- Good afternoon, sir. Can I see your papers, please?

- Is there a problem, officer? I don’t think I was speeding, was I?

- I said: papers.

- … uhm… all right. Here they are.

- Are you the person on this ID?

- Yes, I am.

- This picture isn’t very recent.

- Can I take a look? … No it isn’t.

- I’m afraid I’ll have to bring you in, sir.

- What? Because my picture isn’t very up-to-date?

- No sir, because of the consequences it might have.

- Such as?

- Well… you might run into someone you bullied as a kid and who is now a cop.

Coming Home, by Gerald Kamens

29/5/2020

“I’m trying to get a flight, Mom. Hard to get out of here.”

“Must be lots of empty seats these days.”

“Not from Nairobi. I’ll be there. I got much to talk over with Dad.”

“I hope you’re not too late.”

The nurse called right after that.

“Bad news?” the wife asked.

“Yes, I’m afraid. He’ll be discharged tomorrow.”

“I don’t understand. You mean he’s better?”

“His doctors say putting him on the ventilator, in his condition, would do more harm than good. He’ll be coming home so he can have a little comfort in his last days with you.”

How Does That Make You Feel? by Amanda Jones

29/5/2020

“Of course, she got over it. But me? I was—"

“Why ‘of course?’”

“Because, you know—"

“Tell me.”

“Well, put yourself in my place—"

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“Please stop interrupting. Who’s the client here? Who’s paying—"

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re doing it again. I hadn’t finish—"

She scrapes back the chair, walks out. I close my eyes, rest my head in my hands.

“And ... Hold it there. Marcie, come back please. Daisy, good. Marcie, how did that make you feel?”

I hold my breath. Will she tell people about last night?

Unconditional Love, by Janice Siderius

29/5/2020

“That damn dog! How did she get out this time?” I asked.

He replied, “It’s my fault. I didn’t secure the back gate properly. Why does she run away like this when we take such good care of her?”

“We can’t take it personally. It is just doggy instinct to hunt. I am just sorry you need to chase her when she does this. Try looking down by the pond.”

Just as he grabbed a leash, the culprit appeared: tail wagging, dirty nose, and a dead gopher in her mouth.

“There you are! Come here. Who is our best girl?”

Equal Opportunity, Sandra James

29/5/2020

He chuckled with glee, blatantly stole it and sauntered away, whistling nonchalantly. His third offence in as many days, he laughed at the stressed suckers going round in circles like sheep. Fools.

Errand completed, he returned soon after, to find an angry, wheelchair-bound man waiting. “It’s against the law…” but the sneering thief cut him off.

"Who cares, you deformed misfit? I saw it first. You guys should stay home by the television and give us real men more space.”

Without a word, the new traffic inspector pulled a large notebook from a bag on the side of his chair.

Unmasking the Mask, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

29/5/2020

Grandpa didn’t like raccoons.

“Those masked bandits are a big nuisance,” he told his grandson.

“But they are cute,” said Philip.

Grandpa grunted. “Nothing cute about them stealing our corn and strawberries.”

Philip looked up. “Do they really wear a mask?”

“It’s the dark fur around their eyes,” answered Grandpa.

“What do you call a person with a sunburned face except for the white skin around her eyes?” Philip asked.

They watched his mother remove her sunglasses after suntanning on the back deck.

“How badly do you want the Brownies she baked?”

Silence ensued. A certain understanding had been reached.

Liberties, by Mary Wallace

29/5/2020

The Corona virus killed our elderly and most vulnerable. Doctors and nurses battled hard, but soon many people tired of lockdown and began demanding their freedom. The Government, worried for the economy, and perhaps secretly calculating how much they would save on disability and aged pensions, ceded to their demands to relax restrictions.

There was no flattening of the curve, instead, wave upon wave of new cases hit our hospitals. People returned to work. Our economy improved. Lost liberties were addressed.

And then our children started dying.

Chocolate Therapy, by Deborah Shrimplin

29/5/2020

At the children's clinic, Coco, a chocolate lab therapy dog, was assigned to Clara, a six year old girl. Today, Coco sat by her side as usual. Again, Clara refused to pet Coco. Clara's therapist knew there were no traumatic experiences with dogs. The trauma was parental neglect.

Coco continued his work for months. Heartbroken with the lack of progress, Coco's owner, spoke with Clara's therapist. They urged him to continue.

One day, Coco placed his paw on Clara's leg. Clara looked at her therapist and said, "My daddy said no one loves me. Coco loves me."

Clara hugged Coco.

The Old Gang, by Russell Conover

29/5/2020

“How you holding up, buddy?”

“OK, I guess. A real bummer to be kicked out of my longtime group, though.”

“It wasn't your fault. We still like you as much as ever.”

“So why can't I still be with you? I miss you guys.”

“It wasn't our decision. You'd still be here if it were up to me.”

“Who do I have to talk to, in order to return?”

“I’d guess some powerful astronomers. It'll probably take a miracle.”

“Wish me luck, Neptune. Sounds like I'll need it.”

“Anytime, Pluto. Hope to have you back in the Solar System soon.”

The Dog Park, by Mark Tulin

29/5/2020

At the dog park, I release Yoni, my chihuahua, so that he could exercise and mingle with the other canines. A pit bull turns, and sniffs Yoni like a delicious piece of meat.

“Oh, he’s fine,” yells the dog’s owner. “He just looks scary.”

Yoni shivers with fear as he doesn't venture far. Soon, the dog moves menacingly past Yoni and heads toward me. Before I could hurdle the fence of the dog park, the pit bull clamps onto my leg, leaving a bite mark the size of Texas.

“Oh, he doesn’t normally do that,” says the apathetic dog owner.

Revolution, by Don Tassone

29/5/2020

It’s hard to say when it began. But at some point, people stopped running for public office.

It probably started at the local level. Auditors. Zoning commissioners. School board members. Staffers stepped up, and other elected officials stepped in. This worked for a while.

But then city council seats went vacant. Soon cities began operating without mayors, states without representatives and governors.

When no one ran for President, the Vice President had to step up, but he cut and ran.

At last, when the suffering had become unbearable and the chaos intolerable, the people began to take charge once again.

The Escape, by Sivan Pillai

29/5/2020

Death, destruction, and anxiety caused by a virus. Television channels have hardly anything else to report. “Time is running out,” they seem to scream. I wonder if I am still alive.

“May I change the channel, please?” my grandson asks me and changes it before I have time to nod.

The Batman moves at lightning speed, rescues damsels in distress, and dispenses justice in his way. Cheers and applause from his little fan.

After the episode is over, he offers me the remote control.

“It’s okay. I’ll watch your channel.”

See you, Corona.

No Worries, by Fliss Zakaszewska

29/5/2020

Ben wandered along by the river, the warm summer sun warming the bank.

“I was so worried about COVID-19,” he sighed. “My mortgage, whether I’d have a job to go back to and whether I’d get the wretched disease...”

He looked towards the little church nestled on the river’s edge and watched as his weeping wife accompanied his coffin out and to the waiting car.

“I got it, coughed a bit and here I am. There never was that much to worry about,” he whispered. “I just wish I could tell Judy that in the end it’ll all be alright.”

A Holy Super Fan, by Sankar Chatterjee

29/5/2020

The collegiate basketball tournament “March Madness” stretched into first week of April. In final match two favorite powerhouses faced, one drawing last blood from other becoming the champion. The nation however, remained dazzled by a new Cinderella, the team from a small catholic college, outside Boston. She danced exquisitely until semi-final, when her clock struck midnight. But it was their octogenarian nun, immobile but perched on a courtside wheelchair, rooting enthusiastically for her boys would melt the soul of a politically fragmented nation.

Bill Walton, a firebrand senator from the ruling party understood “How sports can bind an entire nation!”

Obliteration, by Lisa Marie Scuderi-Burkimsher

29/5/2020

Tiberius ran through the streets amid the chaos. Molten rock and pieces of pumice rained from the sky as volcanic gases darkened the city. He kept moving and ignored the screams of children buried alive as homes collapsed beside him and the lava slowly crept behind, making its way toward the water.

Tiberius made it to the boat just in time. As people scrambled to jump on as it pulled away, the lava reached the sea and began burning through the floor of the small vessel.

The last thing Tiberius saw was Mount Vesuvius obliterate his home, the city, Pompeii.

One-Night Stand, by Leah Browning

29/5/2020

When he got up to go the bathroom, I looked through his nightstand. Tissues, a book on investing. ChapStick, a box of breath mints, and a long strip of foil-wrapped condoms. Not much to tell me who he was.

We’d met at a bar earlier that night. Both of us were drinking gin and tonics.

I fluffed my hair and arranged myself on the pillow, trying to look enticing. Maybe, when he returned, we’d have another go.

It was my first night off in over a week, but I couldn’t face the thought of going home. All those empty hours.

The Cook, by Carole Novak

29/5/2020

Lily had a covert crush on the chef. Every Friday she would train into the city to visit a museum and have lunch at a French café. A view of the kitchen area was open to the clientele. Lily watched the chef as he slowly and methodically wiped the counter with a dish cloth, then twisted it to wring out the extra liquid. He had long sinewy arms and dark hair tied back in a ponytail. On the train ride home she fantasized about preparing a meal with him in her tiny apartment, sidestepping each other but ultimately making contact.

Postpartum, by Anindita Sarkar

29/5/2020

My landlady knew that feeling that urges you to strangle your younger self or slit your arms. She too must have seen those moths that beacon in the dead-quiet of the night when you can’t sleep after draining your milk.

Toni Morrison and Alice Walker have channelized their frustrations through the pages of their books. If only I could cultivate that art. My landlady perhaps preferred gardening too, something that I love. Recently I have added a foxglove plant in the garden already enveloped with poison ivies and buttercups. If only I could meet her and discuss about toxic gardening.

Ripped, by Sue Clayton

29/5/2020

I’m a model, know what I mean. Shake my little tush on the catwalk machine; so the song goes.

My tush shakes until the fashion house clothes me in a tube top that barely covers my breasts and towering black stiletto boots to accessorise their latest design in ripped drainpipe denims.

My heel catches and I plunge from the catwalk. Nipples peep out from the tube and the jeans rip up the backside; I’m not wearing knickers…audience concern; derisive chuckles from models in the wings. Cameras flash. Designer seeks novel way to advertise their ripped creation, scream rag mag headlines.

Transformation, By Teddy Kimathi

29/5/2020

She could taste metal in her taste buds, as she ate mussels. For a moment she paused, the fork and knife parallel to each other on the porcelain plate. She wondered whether it was her sleeping pills or the world had really changed. Three years ago, a prophet in a subway yelled to passersby that the world would never be the same again. She knew she was different. Taste of the world had totally changed.

Bitten, by Nic Dinneen

29/5/2020

The rounds slide easily into the .44. Concentrating on each bullet dulls the burning of my bitten thigh. A six-chambered cylinder. I’m still not sure I can do it, but that’s five more than I need.

Die or turn?

I raise the gun and draw the hammer. It clicks into place. If only I could believe in God, in the hereafter. Or a cure. I feel the barrel tapping softly against my temple, the gun trembling in my hand. The bite throbs now. I wrap my finger around the trigger. I wonder if I’ll pull it even as I squeeze.

Colors of Anguish, by Indra Chopra

23/5/2020

Mayuri twirled. The sequins on her frock and sandals shimmered in the afternoon sun, matching the colours of her glass bangles. Her fourth birthday gift from Aunty. Where mother worked part time.

‘I don’t want to go’. Her mother slapped her.

The pebbles scorching the thin soles of her sandals. Her water bottle empty.

Strains of her favourite film song from a distance. Her steps faltered.

‘Mayuri’. Her father. All sweat and grime.

‘Coming, let me drink water from the river’.

A thud and shriek….the water was tarred..stoney.

*Mayuri’ feminine for ‘Mayur’ (peacock)

Memorial, by Jeffrey Griffiths

23/5/2020

An old girlfriend appears, she tells me she read about it in the paper and knew she had to come. We hug and it feels familiar. I had heard she was married so I asked about kids. Yes a boy and a girl just a little younger than mine. As she walks away I feel more loss.

I hadn’t thought much about who would come but I am surprised over and over. The past is here. I feel so good seeing everyone and momentarily confused by their morose expressions. Maybe my smile is helping the visitors, maybe I’m consoling them.

Nostalgia, by Carole Novak

23/5/2020

Nostalgia bears the weight of the soul. It provokes a hazy, misty-eyed recollection of events softly filtered by time and perspective. But that was before the uncertainty. The world has been turned upside down. Sixty days or six weeks ago is just as heartbreaking as several decades past. There is no constant anymore, except for sorrow.

Mental photographs now bear ambiguous time stamps: the last time we did this or the last time we went there. These are not sepia-tinted memories, but brilliant and painful. We were flying too close to the sun and we see clearly what we lost.

Kindle, by E. E. Rhodes

22/5/2020

In the lee of a frozen hedge I dropped to my knees and hunched over myself, shielding my fragile core from the worst of the wind.

Shuddering hard I built up a small fire. My iced-up fingers fumbled the last match, but the kindling caught.

The thin, reluctant smoke shifted in the frigid air.

I pulled a battered paperback from my jacket’s inside pocket. Earlier, in my distant warm kitchen, I’d read a story about a fire that wouldn’t light, and a man that froze stiff.

I paused momentarily, and then, with gritted teeth, I burned the whole book.

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