Blog Archives

Her First Time, by Gordon Lawrie

30/7/2021

At his strong, gentle caress, I flinched.

"You're sure you're all right?" he asked.

"A little nervous, that's all. It's my first time. I'm ready."

"It's OK." Reassuring, sensuous.

"I've heard it hurts when... you know, you penetrate."

"That depends on who's... I'll be gentle, leave to it me."

I waited, allowing his warm presence and Calvin Klein aftershave to wash over me...

Suddenly, it was over.

"Is that it?" I asked. "I felt nothing at all." As a woman, I felt cheated. I deserved more from him.

"That's it," he said, businesslike. "Your second one will also be Moderna."

Not Just Vegetables, by Jim Woessner

30/7/2021

I’m shopping in the produce section at Whole Foods. Cucumbers, bell peppers, broccoli. And I notice this gorgeous woman who’s looking at me with a kind of electric stare. So I look back. It’s compelling, magic. As if our eyes are having sex. Later at the checkout we brush elbows. And just like that, we drop our greens and leave together, arm-in-arm. If only. That last bit about us leaving together didn’t happen. What can I say? I guess my dream life took over. But the thing is, what if? What if we could live all of our parallel lives?

Visiting Is A Dying Art, by Shelley Kirton

30/7/2021

Lilith visits infrequently. It’s an hour’s drive, for God’s sake.

“Sweetheart, I just wondered about lunch next weekend. My treat, for my birthday.”

“Sorry, no. We’re too busy. Absolutely frantic,” texted Lilith.

“Never mind. Maybe next time.”

“Maybe.” Lilith added a sad face emoji.

***

Weeks later, Lilith steps into the house. It’s holding its breath, awaiting her. Her eyes adjust to the dim light, and she knows something is terribly wrong.

A foul odour, alien and overwhelming, is wrapping insistent fingers around her throat as she stands.

She sips unsteady breaths and walks upstairs, holding worn banisters in dread-filmed hands.

Land Grab, by S.R Malone

30/7/2021

Blackened clouds pressed down on sulphur skies.
As we trudged forward, the ground became softer. We noticed the tight soil stopping, and the slack, plastic-laden ground beginning.
My comms unit crackled to the tune of a dead global network. Adverts for extinct products— junk, like the terrain.

Black towers loomed on the horizon.
The stinging gale rattled them as we neared, their rusted iron frames groaning.
“You wonder what these turrets were trying to keep out,” I murmured. The dried-up seas beyond held rusted barges in outstretched hands.

I had seen enough.

I radioed the survey council, “Earth remains uninhabitable.”

Old Friend Stuck, by Daniel Hybner

30/7/2021

“What’re you looking at?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

He stared off into the distance trying to see whatever I saw, rain dripping down his hat.

“What? That old tractor?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“It’s the only thing keeping this farm going.”

Just not anywhere anytime soon.

“Stuck?”

“It’s been raining for three straight weeks. What do you think?”

He stood and pondered a minute, as if he knew what to do.

“Can’t you pull it out?”

“With what?”

“Another tractor.”

“You see another tractor around here?”

He looked around at nothing.

“I guess you’re stuck.”

He had no idea how right he was.

The Mood's Upbeat, by Lisa Miller

30/7/2021

Abnormally upbeat, Lenny’s fingers are pure magic on the piano while he sings. His longtime friend, Miles, plays tenor saxophone beside him. The old Reno Club with its blinking neon lights outside and checkered floors inside. The customers love the purple velvet booths.

“A genius,” his father brags. “My son’s a writer and sings, never sleeps.” But Lenny always spirals downward afterward when he loses interest in his music. Feeling every wound, he sleeps, hiding in his small apartment for weeks. When Lenny returns to the jazz club, his mood’s upbeat. Miles joins in. It’s a match made in heaven.

Once More, by Paul Lewthwaite

30/7/2021

Some sit, heads bowed, rocking in time to a silent beat. Others stagger up and down the dimly lit hallway; grunting each time they bump into those of us that remain seated.

One stumbles and falls. He has no arms. He slithers worm like across the floor, coming to rest opposite me, wedged in the space between two vacant charging points.

I ignore him, but my torso twitches, betraying my unease. Sensors flare red as wounds hastily sealed, come undone. I yearn for shut down.

We will be repaired again, too valuable to lose, for this war has no end.

The Passageway, by Jenise Cook

30/7/2021

I’m standing in dim light, a narrow passageway surrounds me.

“You had a medical event.” A voice addresses me. My confusion increases.

I was driving back home from coffee with a friend.

“You killed another driver, head on, and you killed yourself.”

My children. My grandchildren. The other driver’s family. What have I done?

My son begged me to live with him because of my seizures.

Mom, please, you won’t be a burden.

The passageway’s walls swim around me. I search for the voice. “I’m so sorry. Can I have a do-over?”

The silence crushes me.

What price my independence?

Another Funny Thing, by David Milner

30/7/2021

I was meeting the soon to be ex-wife to discuss matters of a legal persuasion. Things hadn’t worked out between us. Same old story.

Styled her hair in pigtails. Sharp parting middle of her scalp, like a demarcation line of consciousness. Cute though.

“You’ve put weight on.” Says she.

I could have said the same, as her face looked fatter.

“How are your folks?” I ventured.

“I’m pregnant.” She shrugged in-lieu of an answer.

Disappointed? I was on a precipice staring into nothingness… To lose her forever.

“You’re the father, asshole.”

Thirty years together later we laugh about this.

Happy Birthday, by Catherine Evans

30/7/2021

After he was asleep, she crept downstairs, carefully avoiding the squeaky step. In the kitchen, she eased open the drawer where she’d hidden party balloons, streamers, and happy birthday bunting. Silently she taped the decorations in place, making sure the effect would be celebratory and spontaneous. Then she tiptoed back upstairs and slipped into bed, reassured by the sound of snoring.

At dawn, he got up for his usual cup of tea. She followed him to the kitchen, anxious to see his reaction. But his face was blank and all he said was, “You’re up early. You don’t normally bother.”

The North Star, by Anima Sahu

30/7/2021

I like sleeping under the stars.
I remember the first time dad took me camping and showed me the North Star.
I always look for the North Star wherever I go. It makes me remember dad’s last words -
Life’s purpose is not to make you happy or sad, it’s to make you face challenges and transform you into your best self.
It’s been a challenge, no doubt about that. I looked at the North Star through the sunroof before calling it a night. The car radio was playing smooth jazz. That’s home for now.

Special Order, by Dee Lorraine

30/7/2021

"Welcome to Abull’s Burgers. What’s your order?"

"Number 6, no onions."

"That's $8.79."

Sharon went to the restroom, washed her hands, then headed to the pickup counter.

"Bacon cheeseburger combo, no onions?"

"That’s me."

She strolled to the park, sat down, and opened the bag.

"This isn’t my order. Two Number 12s. Fish sandwiches, fries, fresh lemonades."

Sharon ate, then closed her eyes.

She opened them and saw a young man sitting on the opposite bench.

Their eyes met.

Sharon stood, tossed her trash into the can nearby, and approached him.

Smiling, she handed him the bag.

"Enjoy your lunch."

Beginning, by Don Tassone

30/7/2021

Rob was a sweet, quiet, sensitive boy. He was bullied at school, and his parents were hard on him at home. These experiences wounded him but steeled him too.

He took a liking to blue jays. Nobody messed with them, not even the bigger birds.

Rob began to act like a blue jay. He became mean and aggressive, and people backed off.

Now, after a lifetime of intimidating others, Rob lay dying. He expected to hear the familiar screech of blue jays through his open window. Instead, the gentle coo of a mourning dove called him back to his beginning.

His Way, by Gautam Sen

30/7/2021

Being a politician in a democracy, he had no shortage of open enemies. They went at him day and night, casting aspersions on his character, spreading falsehoods about him, or simply criticizing his performance.

Through it all, he kept smiling and maintained his admirable cool. I once asked him how he did it. He took me to his private gym and pointed to a punching bag he’d put up there.

“Every evening, for half an hour, I go hammer and tongs at that,” he said. “It takes all the poison out of me. At night, I sleep like a log.”

Before She Could Escape, by Amal Tahir

30/7/2021

Sighing, she settled on the bed. As she basked in the moonlight, the toll her husband’s violence had taken on her was evident. His violence knew no bounds. The house would be shaken by his booming voice. How glad she was to be alone, safe, from his horrible senseless grunting as he hunted for her, room after room, knife in hand. She shuddered once more as she realized, it was not long till he found her again. She had only just laid down when she was startled; startled by a creak of the floorboards, and that familiar grunting voice.

George's Stripy Paperweight, by Margaret Price

30/7/2021

It was the stripy paperweight that George liked the best out of his whole collection, and that was saying something, as he had more than fifty of them. He stroked its smooth surface, gazing at the iridescent blue and green stripes.

“You’re going to overload that shelf,” said his wife when she brought in his cup of tea, mouth pursed. “Don’t blame me if it falls down.”

“I’ll take one of them off,” he said, whirling with it in his hand. She dropped like a stone. He wiped off the blood carefully, smoothing it in his hands.

Unspoken, by Shanan Winters

30/7/2021

Ginny collects a creamy orange seashell from the shelf to dust beneath. Her curly red hair sways with her hips.

Heather catches herself watching and busies herself with work. Longing crashes in waves, then retreats. A rip current of fantasy. She steals another glance.

Ginny holds the conch to her ear.

“Can you hear the ocean?” Heather asks.

“Kind of. The beach is better.” Ginny moves the shell so Heather can listen.

Heather’s hand finds Ginny’s. The tide shifts.

“We should go to the beach sometime,” Ginny says.

“Together?”

Ginny’s smile answers every unspoken question. “Together.”

The Graduation Tears, by Christian Aug

30/7/2021

I’m waiting to hear my sister’s name be called after the graduates ahead of her. I’m also waiting to hear the sound of my mom’s cry when the announcement’s made. It’s going to be so embarrassing.

“Cassie Davis!”

A huge round of applause follows, along with the sound of sobbing. I turn to my mom, but she’s not crying. Just smiling.

Where’s that coming from? Then it hits me.

Oh, no. I touch my face to feel the tears that have fallen. I decide to embrace it. I’m a proud big brother.

Oddity, by Allison Symes

30/7/2021

It was funny how people went into that barber’s shop in Fleet Street, but never came out again.

Mrs Williams sighed. It was nothing to do with her. The customers must simply slip out of the back way or something.

It was time for her to get on but her stomach rumbled. She simply must pop into that new baker’s right next door to the barber’s shop.

The new baker simply was the last word in freshly baked meat pies. She must ask them where they got their meat from as she’d never tasted anything like it before.

In the Dragon-Lands, by Fliss Zakaszewska

30/7/2021

Great beasts hunkered over me, watching my every move. I could smell... taste sulphur as smoke floated from long-snouted nostrils. Luminescent wings glimmered in the morning sunlight.

Their queen, golden-hide shimmering, spoke telepathically. “No, girl-child. Feel your feet rise above the ground. An inch for now...”

I worked to imagine my feet rising then…

“Oh!” Arms flailed in panic as my feet rose.

Their silent laughter echoed in my head as I thumped back down to earth. Again I concentrated and finally I levitated…

Bing-bing-bing… “NO-NO-NO-NO-NO!”

Hand slams the snooze button. The best dream EVER and I wake up now?

The Bird Lady, by A. M Crawford

30/7/2021

As Sarah walked along the river it started to rain, though it was the kind you didn’t need an umbrella for. She was just thinking how she felt lonely, but that perhaps her loneliness had some higher creative purpose when a single white swan floated down along the black surface. Hey, she thought, isn’t this just apt symbolism. She decided to feed him some bread from her handbag. A whole menagerie congregated as if from nowhere. Ducks, swans, seagulls’ pigeons. Well perhaps I am not alone after all, she thought.

The sun came out and things looked pretty damn nice.

Stranger Danger, by Elizabeth Zahn

30/7/2021

They spotted me as I rounded the muddy trail. He poked undergrowth with a long stick. She held a knife. I hiked towards them.

“Rains were good for mushrooms,” the old man said to me. Their basket overflowed. The woman scraped away dirt and gills.

“Lots of large, white ones back there.” I pointed.

“Saw ‘em. Poisonous.”

“Really?

“Enough could kill you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Doing this my whole life son.”

“Even cooked?”

“Yep.”

I thanked the man.

But for him, I’d not be able to kill two birds with one stone tonight: make dinner and ...

The Bullet Rice Assassin, by Archibald Hobbs

30/7/2021

Sitting next to Simon, Suzy fidgeted whilst his parents, Beryl and Jim, selected food from the banquet. After a patient wait, she took her turn.

But her boyfriend cracked a joke just as Suzy inhaled some fried rice. Snorting spontaneously, a single grain surged up into her nasal cavity and launched from her nose, on a kill vector across the table. Her future mother-in-law swore as her head snapped back.

Suzy held her breath. Beryl's eyes blazed. Simon tried not to laugh.

"Well," Jim broke the fragile silence, "she's got my approval, son! What a cracking shot!"

Post Pandemic Fatigue, Deborah Robinson

23/7/2021

I’d been locked up for over a year when the vaccine set me free. So many vacations and visits to reschedule! Mahjong lessons are free at the senior center. The concert series in the park resumes in August. Sign me up for that writing class. The library is finally reopened so Ravenous Readers Book Club begins tomorrow. Reservations are made for Thursday night all-you-can-eat baby backs. Finally, we’re back to in-person church. It feels so nice to see our friends again. It’s already Bingo night and my turn to drive!

“This is exhausting.”

On The Horizon, by Barbara Wheatley

23/7/2021

It wasn’t until the sand, the linear movement of the waves, and a row of uniform pastel-coloured beach huts to her right, that the realization came.
Clues her mother had lined up, she picked up on only now, after 20 years. They were for safeguarding her future and trading them in for a security she couldn’t have anticipated, for her and the children.
“You’ve provided for your grandchildren,” Sarah mouthed into the sea breeze, “you clever lady. Thank you”.

This is the point at which the two generations intersect. Something about new for old, something on the horizon.

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