Blog Archives

The Icy Trail, by Mon House

24/6/2022

Downwards goes the trail. Its icy slopes enveloping the mountainside.

There was no one in sight. I froze in fear.

Then, my husband appeared next to me. He reached out his hands and held mine tightly.

He whispered, “Everything is going to be okay”, and guided me down the harsh, slippery trail. Hand in hand, we ventured past every obstacle.

We made it to the bottom, all that was left to do now was walk up.

“I know being let go from your job was a shock, but as long as we have one another, we can get through anything”.

Cognitive Assessment, by Wendy Gilbert Gronbeck

24/6/2022

“Dr. Hemple’s Office. How may I help you?”

“Fish! Lamp! Pothole!”

“Hello, what?”

“This morning I remembered! Fish. Lamp. Pothole.”

“Who is this?”

“Tell the doctor I remembered.”

"Remembered what, ma’am?”

“At my appointment last week. The doctor said, ‘remember these

three words.’ I just did. Will you tell him so the kids will know I’m

okay? Fish, lamp, pothole––so I can stay in my house?”

“I’m afraid the doctor’s out today.”

“They’re dragging my stuff outside. Fish, lamp, pothole! Hurry and

tell him. Now I can stay in my house.”

Cauldron, by Rina Palumbo

24/6/2022

She felt the water rush over her shoulders and down her legs. Her cheek hurt, new new pink against the bright, bright red. The water was hot, but she wanted boiling. She wanted to melt off her skin, melt everything down to old, old white bones. The scar pulsed in rhythm with her heart. She remembered. The glass from the broken windows, dark, dark red blood that did not seem to be hers. She opened her eyes. The shower was steamy now, moisture rising in waves and ending in loose fingers. She laughed. It felt good to be clean.

Ham and Cheese, by David Milner

24/6/2022

Editor's Choice

So, the car would park up. Usually near a field or open space. No need for paper plates, basket, blankets. We ate in the car. Sandwiches of ham, cheese, tomatoes. Grandad didn’t like tomatoes as the pips would get stuck under the plate of his false teeth. Grandad and his lady friend (name of Jean) would stay in the car. Gran wasn’t with us. Not dead. Chronic car sickness was her excuse. Me, my kid brother, and sister would venture into the green and pleasant. There were apple trees to climb. We had a frisbee.

It was almost a picnic.

The Great Hunter, by Sherry G Williams

24/6/2022

The tip of his tail flicked. He pounced but the grasshopper escaped his grasping paws. Growling his disappointment, he spotted another target, a bird pecking at insects. Tail tightly controlled, he wiggled his butt and pounced. The bird flew off with an annoyed squawk. That squirrel looked tasty. Tail still, butt low, a sudden pounce! Rustling leaves sent the vermin scurrying.

“There you are, kitty,” the woman said. He yowled; protesting being picked up. “I guess I’m providing dinner?” She kissed his nose. “Tuna?” He purred, rubbing his cheek against hers. Maybe being a bad hunter wasn’t the worst thing.

Towards Evening Short Sleeves, by Viva Hammer

24/6/2022

Towards evening, I left the house in short sleeves. From under the garden’s canopy, I looked left and right. No one was out. I stepped into the road. Warm breezes fluttered at my elbow, gentle caresses from the end of a summer’s day.

Brought to mind the morning I left the man. I woke with the sun to walk along the ocean and did not bind my head as a married woman should. Winds of sunrise blew through my hair which awoke, answering the wind.

But nothing is like the evening breeze on my arm, so starving for touch.

Kindness is Never Unnoticed, by E.A. Garone

24/6/2022

A disheveled woman sitting on the sidewalk in front of my favorite fast-food restaurant smiled at me. I smiled back. “Will you buy me a hamburger?” she asked. She wasn’t asking for money, so I went inside bought her milk and a red and yellow box that contained a burger, fries, apples, and a little blue toy Genie. I saw her again the next day. She smiled and handed me the empty red box. A note sticking out the top read “YOU MADE ME HAPPY.” When I opened it, I found the little blue Genie and a thousand dollars inside.

Too Beat To Eat, by Lorraine Murphy

24/6/2022

Tom lay beside Ellie, welcoming the shade of her scarlet parasol. A crow landed on the clothesline, where a white sheet hung still as a photo. It didn't care about last night's drama, focused solely on the discarded pork sausage glistening on the patio slab.
The first day of real heat in Ireland and almost the longest day of the year; Tom was too beat to eat. The bird pecked and picked at the meat while Ellie read her book, missing the whole show. Maybe she was right.

Tom stretched out his ginger paw and closed his eyes.

An Ordinary Day, by Robert P. Bishop

24/6/2022

“Quite possibly,” Howard’s wife said to him, adjusting the glasses sliding down her nose, “you’ve fooled yourself into thinking you’ve escaped the madness of an ordinary life, that you are somehow removed from the desperation that makes men step off bridges, hang themselves in garages with electrical cords or go bowling Thursday nights.”

“Of course,” she continued, “remembering old love affairs, praying, writing novels, wanting to be published, planting daffodils, paying taxes, and thinking you’re clever can drive you mad as well so perhaps you’d better forget about yesterday and any dreams of a better tomorrow and wash the car.”

One Without the Other, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

24/6/2022

They were meant to be together; a match to last a lifetime.

The day they no longer appeared in public, wonderment and grief followed. Someone exercising power over them had intervened.

Perhaps it was the dog who enjoyed chewing upholstery to threads. Or the person with a haphazard laundry routine.

The once colour and pattern coordinated couple stopped attending cultural functions. Off limits were celebrations of family and friends.

When an “aha” moment reverberated throughout the house, it became clear that a reconciliation had occurred.

The missing sock was found.

Reuniting with its mate, the pair resumed prodding about town.

Stopped by a Cop, by Ronald Larsen

24/6/2022

Henriette was ripping down a country road in her convertible, enjoying the spring weather when she saw blue lights in the rear view mirror.

"Damn!" She pulled over to the berm.

A poker-faced, straight-arrow patrolman strode up to her window. "Do know why I stopped you?"

She thought quickly. "I thought maybe you were going to try to sell me tickets to the state patrolmen's ball."

"State patrolmen don't have balls." Realizing what he said, the cop's face turned 3 shades of red. Tipping his hat, he said, "Have a nice day," got back on his motorcycle and roared off.

Cavemen and Weddings, by Alex Blaine

24/6/2022

We are no longer cavemen tying our women to the trees so they can't run away, then putting a rope on the feminine finger to let others know: she's taken. We no longer go on wild adventures and then take an arrow to the knee when we're ready to settle down. We no longer have to use a longbow or salute the French. Cupid has buggered off and romance is dead. But one thing is the same: the lion still eats when the wildebeest is looking the other way.

Phone Message, by Jennifer Duncan

24/6/2022

Even a cozy mystery was not enough to distract Carol from her loneliness. Curled up on her couch, she put her book aside. Hesitantly, picked up her phone and dialed a number. It went to an answering machine: "You've reached Brian. Please leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I can."

Carl hung up.

Sighing, she tried to reengage with her book.

Later that evening, sad, weary, she called again.

"You've reached Brian. Please leave a message..."

"I love you," she whispered, cherishing the sound of her husband's voice. He had died six months before.

Where is Everybody? by Don Tassone

24/6/2022

I had learned not to try to go into restaurants because they were no longer open for dining. Another casualty of Covid, I thought.

But I was shocked when the drive-thru of my favorite burger joint was closed “due to staff shortage.”

So I decided to stop at the grocery store to pick up food for dinner. But a sign on the door said, “Closed due to staff shortage. Try our autonomous vehicle delivery.”

Hospitals are closing units. Not enough nurses.

Airlines are cutting routes. Not enough pilots.

Pools aren’t opening this summer. Not enough lifeguards.

Where is everybody?

Perspectives, by Lynn Messing

24/6/2022

Come around my pups and listen to me. I need to tell you an important lesson. Beware of little girls. Oh, they may look all sweet and innocent, but they’re trouble.

One broke into the house of our neighbours the bears, ate some of their precious food, and destroyed some of their property. Another killed the mistress of our friends the flying monkeys; killed her sister, too. Little girls are good for one thing only: eating. And if all goes well, tonight we’ll feast on a little girl with a red cape, and her grandmother too.

Oops, by James A. Tweedie

24/6/2022

“There’s a book of them on my desk,” I said as I sent my 8-year-old son upstairs to stick a stamp on a letter.

“Which one do you want?’ he yelled.

“It doesn’t matter,” I answered. “They’re all ‘Forever’ stamps. Pick one you like.”

Two days later I got a phone call from my book editor.

“I got your letter,” he said. “But it only had a ten-cent stamp on it.”

“A what?”

My son had taken it from my stamp collection—An 1847 Ben Franklin red brown in mint condition worth $2,500.00.

He used glue-stick.

I’ve never told him.

Be Careful on Your Way Home, by Sarah Pineda

24/6/2022

Day 1

We have been running for hours.

The only things we see are tall green bush walls.

This has been going on since this morning, after we got lost on our way home.

Hopefully, after we are done here, we will get to see our family.

Day 9

My sister and I really don't know where we are.

Our skin is cold, and our feet are bare.

We have no idea what time it is.

Day 15

We have started to find food in front of black doors.

Should we open the door?

Day 67

This maze is endless.

The Pants King, by Paul Rogalus

24/6/2022

The first time Zapanski bowled with us, someone on the other team thought we were calling him “The Pants King,” instead of Zapanski, and he asked: “How did you get to be the Pants King?” So, that became Zapanski’s nickname. And he worked hard to live up to it. He started wearing these really big, puffy Russian Cossack-looking pants. Another time he wore very flowery culottes—and someone on the other team called him “The Pants Queen.” Zapanski seemed to like that name, too. But we stuck with “The Pants King,” just to save him money on his wardrobe.

Justice, by Bobby Warner

24/6/2022

It has to be done. We gather them and meet underneath the old oak tree that stands in Watchman's Field. Like it or not, the work is there to do.

The Limb of Justice juts out thirty feet, and it'll hold a dozen souls if need be.

Some say it's just vigilantism. Maybe so, but the law can't handle what's to be done. Not by a long shot.

So we gather twice a year, hoist up the guilty, say a few words as they sway in the breeze. Then we go home and sleep soundly, knowing justice has been done.

Still, by Ed Dzitko

17/6/2022

What do you do when, walking though the woods, you stumble upon an abandoned house? Well, if you're Charlie Honset, you go in.

Rather than use the door, though, you step through the first hole in the wall you see. You step lightly into a room with its dusty mattress, peeling ceiling, and red fabric wall paper. You don't dare breathe deep.

You check out an old photo on the wall, and turning, you see a skunk blocking the way out. You hold your breath, and hope you're still enough so as not to invite anything unpleasant upon your person.

Hunting Waves, by Moh Afdhaal

17/6/2022

As a youth, he survived on an aging trawler, scouring the quiet depths of the teeming waters off the coast of Queensland, casting for prey fool enough to take his ambitious bait. In his adulthood, he persevered with swindling the life of more of its inhabitants, furthering his empire of blood. Nowadays his bones adorn the barren bedrock of his old hunting ground, obscured by the deafening silence of ruin, taken by the prowess of waves he claimed to have conquered.

The Origin of a Salutation, by Sankar Chatterjee

17/6/2022

Traveling through various Asian and African nations previously colonized, Harvard linguist Prof. Sandler noticed that citizens employed in various industries were always initiating the conversation calling him “Sir”. He had similar experience from the African-Americans while traveling through former slavery states in the US.

In Kenya, local linguist Prof. Kwame offered an explanation. Whenever a powerful invader with different race and language took control of another human society, the first thing was demanded obedience, thus teaching the natives the phrase “Slave I remain” (“Sir”, in short).

Unsure of its authenticity, Prof. Sandler just began his own exploration. So, stay tuned.

A Stranger in My Old Backyard, by Stephen Goodlad

17/6/2022

We parked at the bottom of the cul-de-sac and looked at our childhood home.

“You were born in that room.” I said pointing to a curtained bedroom.

Anne was humouring my reminiscences, my insistence on visiting, not her choice.

Everything was different now, a new door, the saplings were trees, a conservatory added.

I recalled each child’s name for each house that we’d played street games with. Anne smiled, then asked to go.

After she died, I returned to the same spot, but I felt like a stranger in my old backyard. I drove off and I have never returned.

Tiffany’s Impulsive Decision, by Peggy Gerber

17/6/2022

Tiffany was frantic. It was the morning of her best friend’s wedding and she wasn’t feeling well. She knew she should take a covid test, but if the results were positive, she couldn’t go. She’d be disappointing the whole bridal party.

Tiffany stepped into her bridesmaid’s dress and looked in the mirror. It was an ugly shade of salmon she’d never be able to wear again and it cost a fortune. She unwrapped a lozenge and made her decision. It was probably just a cold anyway.

Two weeks later when the bride’s grandma died, Tiffany didn’t go to the funeral.

Hearing No Sound, by Lorraine Murphy

17/6/2022

Her brow furrows in the silence. "Yes, I hear you." There is nobody else here.
Her brain interprets ones and zeros blue-toothed from her phone as sound, at the speed of sound, but there is no sound. There is a clear digital signal, stimulating the 22 electrodes in her cochlear implants, mimicking thousands of hair cells as if they weren't decimated before she took her first breath. As if she wasn't deaf. As if she wasn't completely silent before the surgery.
Streaming music directly from phone to electrode array, she sings, her voice the only real sound in the room.

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