Blog Archives

The More Things Change, by Tony Covatta

26/5/2023

“Ricky, Tiffany, here’s Section 93A. It’s beautiful and historic, the resting place of Spangleburg’s finest.”
Gravesite huckster Hank spoke true: stately oaks, spreading maples, hosts of taxus, flora, verdant beds of ivies shaded, cloaked the potent obelisks and stately mausolea of ancestral Spangleburg.
Tiffany: “Marvelous! Where do we sign? Ricky worked so hard to get us here.”
The credulous couple headed office ward, brandishing pen and fat checkbook.
Silence reigned at 93A, except for subterranean murmurings:

“Who? Ricky? Tiffany?”

“Major appliance dealer. TV ads 24/7.”

“There goes the neighborhood.”

“Never mind. Let’s just ignore them for—”
“A thousand years.”

The Interview, by Jacqui Wiley

26/5/2023

"Why do you want this job?"

"It will be very rewarding, watching your little girl grow."

"How are you on nutrition?"

"I've managed to keep myself and my family healthy and alive."

"...and play? she is very energetic..."

"I reared a very energetic boy."

“Do you have any medical knowledge…how are you in a crisis?”

“Yes, I can clean cuts and grazes…good, I have experience.”

"We might need you an odd night and holidays.”

"I'm sure I can manage to do both."

"The job, my dear, is yours."

"Thanks son, I love being a granny."

Bloom, by David Milner

26/5/2023

Since her husband died, she’s taken to wearing studded leather boots and multi-coloured tights. Had her grey hair styled in a sharp crew cut. She’s no longer on speaking terms with her daughter. Though I sense there is more to this familial strife, I do not push the subject.

In the living earth of St Peter’s church, we are planting Michaelmas daisies.

“Come on, Suzie, the bells are ringing.”

“I’m not deaf… And I’m old enough to be late,” her laughter leaping o’er the spire, she tightens the bandana wrapped around her head.

To the congregation, she remains ‘that’ Suzanne.

The Storm, by Ian Willey

26/5/2023

I don’t know what came over me that afternoon but I resolved to tell her how I felt.

I drove over to her place, winnowing my announcement to three phrases: a haiku. The sky began to darken. I parked across the street from her house as the clouds opened and a summer downpour began. It was like being in a car wash.

I was clutching the steering wheel, waiting for it to stop, when she flew out of the house and got into her car. She backed down the driveway and drove off. The rain let up.

I went home.

Today, by Pamela Kennedy

26/5/2023

The familiar is quite familiar, and, yet, everything seems to be presenting itself in the grandest fashion when the old and the new come together. Nervous anticipation yields to a bubbling excitement….Soon, very soon…the music begins and that magic moment has finally arrived.

With a few steps a new milestone will be reached. My day will become your day and thus it will become ours.

We hear and repeat the much quoted words, but they are different today because they are for us. Now and forever, we become one.

Nora and Fred, by Mimi Grouse

26/5/2023

Lightning slashed the sky and thunder bellowed overhead, making the window panes tremble beneath their veil of rain. Nora put down her knitting, watched the lights flicker and her cat slink into the shadows. 'It's only a squall,' she murmured. 'It'll soon blow over.'
In the garden, the old yew toppled to the ground and, after one last flash followed by an argumentative rumble, the storm moved away.
Sighing, Nora resumed her knitting.
'No prisoners taken in that war,' came Fred's quiet voice from his long-empty chair by the hearth, and the aroma of his tobacco filled the room.

A NOT-True Story, by Louis Kummerer

26/5/2023

I’m existentialism’s negative pole, an in vitro sampling of life’s vacuity. I’m Nobody.

Who shot Tupac? Everyone said “Nobody knows.” And I did. It was Somebody. Which meant I was off the hook.

But the attempt to charge Somebody went Nowhere, so they sent me there to investigate. Luckily, I was already Nowhere, so I didn’t have to pack.

Turns out, it was a set-up, and I was arrested for doing Nothing.

At my trial, the DA proved I was guilty of Nothing. But Everybody on the jury agreed: No Way could they convict me because Nobody’s above the law.

Fog, by Stephen Goodlad

26/5/2023

The fog has made its way into our house like bad news; maybe terminal. It swirls around us like things unsaid around the sickbed. We are the visitors in this house, barely removing our coats as we practise ritual courtesies:
“I’ll make the dinner.”
“That would be lovely”
When I know it isn’t and won’t ever be.
The fog grows in intensity; sound-proofing and eradicating each of us from sight of one another.
I am grateful. If I can’t see you then I am relieved of saying what I truly feel. But the pervading stench of decay persists.

It's All So New, by Sharon Mallon

26/5/2023

I had to catch my breath; I can’t remember ever feeling like this before.

I’ve never dressed like this; I’ve never moved this way. It’s all so new.

Every muscle in my body aches. I think I’ve discovered a new muscle, maybe it’s a new scientific discovery, “…Lady finds sixth groin muscle…”

I wonder does it happen this way for everyone.

Only five minutes rest and he’s ready for action again.

A bead of sweat runs down my forehead and drips from my nose, when he shouts, “let’s go ladies, this is a spin class not a spa”.

The Last Day, by Guy Fletcher

26/5/2023

This is Kitty's last full day in the old house she has dwelled in for over half a century. She buried her husband long ago and now peers lovingly at the black and white wedding photograph on the wall. She will take it with her but knows it's not quite the same.

She recalls children's laughter and excitement and joy on Christmas days when the world stretched out seemingly as much as the universe.

It will be the last sleep in her bed tonight and she half wishes she'll never wake up...perhaps she will not.

Purple Haze, by Allison Symes

26/5/2023

Sally collected purple things.

As a child, her purple felt tips were always replaced first. She collected purple toys, including a bear, won in a raffle, which filled one bedroom corner. She was lucky. Her parents thought otherwise. It was tied to the car roof rack to get it home.

Sally took him with her when she left home. Her parents weren’t sorry.

She still collected purple things from bottles to stones. Better still were the purple grapes that came in bottles - and she wasn’t talking squash.

Teddy with his huge paws made an excellent bottle holder.

A Modern Fairy Tale, by Alan Moskowitz

26/5/2023

Beast told Beauty that when the last petal fell from the magic rose, he’d remain the Beast forever unless she loved him.

Finding Beast to be tender, understanding, and responsive to her needs, she joyfully cried “I do!”

Transforming into a handsome prince he carried her into his bed chamber.

She endured a full minute of one-sided lovemaking, after which he left for the tavern.

Joyfully crying “I don’t” she plucked the last petal from the magic rose.

Hearing the frustrated roar of the Beast she escaped the castle, adopted a dog, and lived happily ever after.

Under One Roof, by Libby Belle

26/5/2023

The warm-up is dreadful to my ear, sounding like a cow dying in agony. A lost sheep bleating a woeful cry. A scorned crow screaming out injustices.
Catgut screeches violently around me, intensified by wooden floors and hollow walls. I can’t think, I can’t write!
Suddenly, a purposeful pause.
Did the cow surrender to the milky light? Was the sheep returned to the flock? Is the crow content with being alone?
Slowly, achingly, sweetly streaming, “Pachelbel Canon” rises and falls like an ocean wave.
My untethered words seek the path less chosen.
And the musician’s life is spared once again.

Her Name, by Christine H. Chen

26/5/2023

They agreed to go their separate ways amicably. She sold her glass dining table, their king-sized bed, the guest towels. He boxed his collection of dice, video games, and comic books. They promised to stay friends, even if they dated other people. They hugged and cried.
"Wait, what about this?” she said, pointing to her name he’d tattooed on his chest.
“I’d like it back, it’s my name!” “It’s MY tattoo!”

She lunged, he kicked her in the gut, she squinted in pain, and pulled her penknife.
The police found them fighting, naked under the sky, shreds of clothing everywhere.

Towing Service, by Bryan Vale

19/5/2023

The texts came from different numbers every time, oddly enough. And they always seemed to come at lunchtime. Location, make, model...problem.

Well, it was an inconvenient job sometimes, but it was a living. You needed a living in this world. Tomas had found that out earlier than most.

He wrapped up the half-eaten sandwich and leaped into the yellow tow truck. It wasn't long before he turned on the flashing lights. The crash had happened up the road from the diner.

Tomas braked to a halt behind the wrecked Toyota and approached the driver, surprised. "Hi, Dad," he said.

Aroma Therapy, by Paul A. Freeman

19/5/2023

Dawson’s footsteps echoed along the corridor of the crew deck, emphasising her solitude. Soon, however, she would re-animate Mkumbe to monitor his leg of the mission to restock the Aldeberon space colony. Then she would sleep.

“One last visit to the Aroma Room,” she decided, “to recall the smells of coffee, roses, even broccoli.”

There were X-rated smells, too.

Surreptitiously she typed in ‘barbecuing meat’, which no earthling had tasted in centuries, and inhaled.

Mkumbe’s eyes fluttered open. Dawson loomed over him, brandishing a chainsaw from the colonists’ equipment store.

“What’ll it be?” she said. “An arm or a leg?”

Dolphin Touring, by Scott C. Holstad

19/5/2023

On the dolphin tour, we pitched in choppy water beside the dolphins riding the waves nearby. Our captain said we were heading to Jekyll Island when suddenly the boat lurched and the front end plunged face down into the ocean, water pouring in. People panicked, screaming, the first mate threw out life jackets. As the ship settled into the ocean, I thought about how it was the second most globally populated shark waters with twelve species of sharks. Then, another lurch. The boat righted itself, leaving us in ankle deep water and we decided the island wasn’t really that important.

Stamina, by Dee Lorraine

19/5/2023

“Let’s do it again, Jason.”

“I haven’t recovered from the last time, Marina.”

“You’ve had five minutes. I’m ready.”

“As always.”

“You love the thrill.”

“But it takes a lot out of me, Marina. Give me a break.”

“Getting old? Would you rather I do it with Paul? He got excited watching our last go-round. Maybe I should give him a turn.”

“You’d do that?”

“He’s younger. I need a man with enough stamina for the challenge.”

“No way I’m letting Paul take my place. Let’s go!”

They dive into the pool again to see who can stay underwater longer.

The Toy Box, by Sue Clayton

19/5/2023

The box remained abandoned in the attic of the old mansion. Wooden unicorns and zephyrs, finely engraved around its lid and sides, pranced beneath a coating of cobwebs and dust.

Neglected toys lay dormant inside, abandoned by children from a bygone era who’d outgrown them.

“Let’s explore the attic,” childish voices echoed; children of the new inhabitants.

Light filtered into the toy box’s as its lid creaked open.

“A Raggedy Ann doll,” lisped a small girl’s voice, stroking cobwebbed red hair, while brushing dust off a blue-eyed face.

“A wooden solder,” a boy beamed.

Yesteryear's toys stirred into life.

Shopping Day, by Sandra James

19/5/2023

He stamped his feet; his face grew redder. ‘Don’t wanna go shopping. Hate shopping!’

‘I know, sweetheart, but we need groceries so we have food for dinner. We’ll get the yoghurt you like, some sausages and…’

‘Don’t like sausages anymore.’

‘How about we get the shopping done quickly, then we’ll buy ice cream and stop near the airport to watch the planes.’

He nodded, smiled, then held her hand tightly.

He turned to her as they entered the first aisle. ‘Are you my mummy?’

‘No, sweetheart, you can call me Betty,’ replied his wife, blinking away her tears.

Early Summer, by John M. Carlson

19/5/2023

It had been an unusually cold spring. More winter than spring, actually. I kept wishing it would warm up.

Be careful what you wish for! Overnight, it went straight from freezing cold to broiling hot. Everyone said this was probably the start of an early, hot summer.

Maybe fall will be nice, I thought one hot evening, as I sat on my deck and sipped iced tea. Not too hot. Not too cold. I could, at least, hope.

A Promise, by Sankar Chatterjee

19/5/2023

(Photo credit: Sinjinee Chatterjee)

It was a long brutal season, but at the end his team losing in semifinal in national tournament. What upset him most the inquiry from a reporter “Do you think your season was a failure?” He’d labored thirty years preparing for that opportunity, in the process motivating legions of junior players to shine.

Thoughtful, he looked at distant mountains. After illuminating the day, the sun began disappearing, leaving our universe to darkness. Was the day then a “failure” to that brilliant star? He promised returning following year to lift that championship trophy, while shinning the football world.

Tranquility flooded nature.

A Reminder, by Dorian J. Sinnott

19/5/2023

Barry loved the flowers. After his wife had passed, he took it upon himself to continue caring for them in the spring. Their bright and delicate beauty sprouting just about mid-May.
Around the time she fell ill.
Departed.
Was buried.
And though his sorrow was heavy, the tears that fell upon the garden watered the seeds. The fragments left behind beneath the earth. The roots too strong to wither. Fade. And sure enough, there they always bloomed. Year after year.
A reminder of her love. Her beauty. Her grace.
A reminder that she was still there. Greeting him in May.

Lost, by Bill Cox

19/5/2023

I walk the high track to the loch, hood up, sheltering from the damp, blustery wind.

The honking of a lone Goose pierces the air as it wings its way beneath a smothering blanket of leaden cloud. It calls out, desperately seeking its family, its companions, the mass of its flock, but receives nothing in reply.

Its forlorn cries bring me to a stop. I too want to yell into the immensity of the world. I want to scream your name, but the broken thing inside me knows that I will never again hear my name in reply.

Hitch, by Cheryl Snell

19/5/2023

Cranked up on adrenaline, he barely blinks for miles. His zigzag route away from the life that’s got him stuck leads him to a bar. He pretends to be calm while he watches the girl lick her lips. Outside, she squints into the bloodshot sun, puts on wraparound sunglasses. Feet on the dash of the camper, she separates each toe with cotton. When he pumps the brakes, a swipe of red bloodies the balls. Later, she asks, Can I drive? They both know where. She’ll be his next exit, nearest off –ramp, the neon sign he can’t wait to run.

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