Blog Archives

After the Party, By Robin Shepard

26/7/2024

George heard sobbing coming from behind the bathroom door. He paused and listened. His wife moaned in fitful starts. George felt little pity, and decided to let her stew in the mess she’d made.

He retreated into the den, poured a drink and played Mozart’s String Quartet No. 14, whose light and graceful first movement reminded him of walking along a winding, sunny path toward a castle where in bliss a princess slept for centuries.

Then his wife walked in, eyes red with tears. “Forgive me,” she pleaded.

He held his finger to his lips. “I hear only Mozart. Understand?”

Go on – sit back, listen and enjoy – Ed.

A Fly in Love, by David Luna

26/7/2024

Frank sat on a chair next to the window. His mind lost in memories. A fly swirled around him. He swat at it. Margo’s face came to him. Why did she leave? The same fly returned and tickled his arm. He slapped it. The fly escaped. Then, the memory of Mia. She had left too. The fly perched on his nose. Frank hit his face. It got away again. Stupid fly! Now he thought of Evelyn. She had left him for another man. All women left him eventually. Except the damn fly! He finally caught it with a rolled magazine.

Said City, by Myram Huey

26/7/2024

There's no going back, said Turl. Except of course there was, there was every going back, it would be easy, just stop, turn around and head back the way they had come. This thought hung in the air but found no willing mouth. We live or we die, declared Turl. The former is preferable, ventured one of the men. But it was understood that Turl had meant the latter; his eyes said as much, those little glowing coals. Only now was the reason for the journey clear: there was no kingdom to reach, there was no said city, no gold.

Voice From the Past, by Keith E Maynard

26/7/2024

Sitting, editing a story, I pause and notice the nearby printer has powered-up. Why? Momentarily squirreled… I quickly return to the task at hand.

The printer actuates, ejecting a page with what appears to be a brief message.

Taken aback, puzzled. Wonder, could this be a rogue wireless signal?

Pulling out the page read:

“Son.”

“Soon, someone will make a desire of yours come true. Be prepared to make a choice. Calculate the opportunity cost with care.”

“I should of, could of, but failed to act. Do not repeat my failure.”

“You are about to receive a gift.”

“Sincerely, Dad.”

Ready, Steady, Move, by Marjan Sierhuis

26/7/2024

This year the competition is going to be fierce. The annual world championships have some fierce competitors. Some can stretch their foot or muscular organ to great lengths as they travel along on a trail of slime. But Buttercup is smaller. She has a thinner shell and therefore carries less weight than the larger snails.

“This will not stop me,” she mutters.

So, for weeks on end she eats a cornucopia of leaves, stems, worms, animal waste, mushrooms and decaying organic matter in preparation for the big day.

Now she is too full to move.

Ralph Prepares Breakfast, by David Sydney

26/7/2024

The three of them needed to eat. It was Saturday morning. Ralph was the short order cook, so to speak.

In his tank among the plastic weeds, Zeus, the goldfish, was ready for a serving of fish flakes.
Frodo, the Labrador retriever, was ready for… well… anything.
Ralph, himself, was hungry and thirsty. But out of coffee. And out of blueberries, cereal, and milk. The refrigerator and shelves were lonely, empty, sad.

Was it to be fish flakes all around?
He shook the canister.
Or dog food? Frodo's dried kibble?
No way.
No… Zeus had always rejected dog food before.

What He Didn't Say, by Tony Covatta

26/7/2024

Wednesday night, a surprise call from friend Larry. “Mel, how’s your wife, Molly?”

“Feeling better, thanks. How are you?”

“Loving it at the lake. I’ve stopped those exercises Doc prescribed. They wore me out.”

Thought Mel: “He shouldn’t quit. Bad ticker. He needs good exercise.” But said nothing.

Thursday morning, a call from Barry, also at the lake: “Mel, Larry just died. Massive heart attack.”

Mel grieved for many months, finally asked Barry. “Why didn’t I warn Larry about quitting exercise?”

Barry: “Who knows. Kind of late, no? Maybe Larry sensed it coming, was sending you his own unspoken farewell.”

The Cockroach, by Shannon Chartrand

26/7/2024

My daughter hires a companion for me. The woman pushes my wheelchair throughout the neighbourhood. I love the sun, fresh air and smelling the flowers. I discover Tim Horton’s and chocolate covered doughnuts.
Too soon, I am placed in palliative care.
“How long do I have, Doctor?” I ask.
“You’re circling the drain,” he says.
“Like a cockroach?” I ask.
“Metaphorically speaking.”
A nurse flicks the switch on a stuffed animal, a gift from a young neighbour. It plays a nursery rhyme. I want to hear Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett. I am in the ‘System’. Death will release me.

General Maintenance, by Victor Kreuiter

26/7/2024

The spaceships landed all over: the Americas, Europe, Asia, Africa, the Middle East. Australia. Even Antarctica.

The aliens, pleasant enough, explained their mission this way: “We’re here to delete your history. Excise your memories. Your anxieties. You folks are forever wound up. Wound up over nothing, really, and you hold grudges. You don’t seem to be able to learn from your past.”

Asked on the news what they were up to, their leader, a decent enough guy, laughed. “General maintenance,” he said. “We do this every couple thousand years. It’s a safety thing. You won’t remember us when we’re gone.”

Limoncello, by Louise Arnott

26/7/2024

Two strangers bumped carts at the display of lemmoncello biscuits.
Stocky pointed. “Are these good?”
“To die for. I haven’t seen them since last year.” Stout dropped one package into the cart and hesitated over another.
“Are they gluten-free?” asked Stocky.
Stout grinned. “Haven’t a clue but boy are they addictive. I really shouldn’t do this.”
Stocky reached into Stout’s cart, retrieved the biscuits and returned them to the display. “Leave them. Sugar kills.”
Stunned, Stout acquiesced.
They met again at the checkout. Stocky eyed Stout’s basket.
Stout laughed. “My hips thank you for intervening but damn they’re sure good.”

Van Go Figure, by David Milner

19/7/2024

Opened my door to an Ear that was telling me it had moved into the house across the road.

“The pink house that no one round here could afford to buy.” Said the Ear.

In lieu of an adequate response, I smiled. I swear the Ear imitated my facial contortion.

The Ear informed me that his family of sons and their beautiful, beautiful wives, each one a winner, baby that’s the truth, will be moving in, with the beautiful just beautiful children.

“Are they all ears?” I asked meekly.

“My heirs,” the Ear swayed gracefully, “and we’re ‘ere to stay.”

Alison, by Rod Drake

19/7/2024

This morning when I was at Starbucks, I saw a girl who looked a lot like you. Remarkedly like you, in fact, both in face and figure, and she even moved like you. When I heard her order, her voice was the same as yours too. Really strange, like a mirror image, a true twin of you. It made me remember when we were together, all the good times, the wonderful memories, how happy we once were. Then, as she left, walking right past me, I realized that she looked very little, really nothing at all, like you.

Touch-and-Go, by Sivan Pillai

19/7/2024

The pain was increasing by the second, as I had been experiencing for a few months. I was happy I was moving in a driverless car, not responsible for anyone's death in the chaotic traffic. The artificial intelligence had checked that the house was locked.
Not that I was worried. I had asked God to take me, but the answer was always negative.
The car suddenly reduced its speed and stopped where it was allowed. Everything went dark.
"You're lucky we were called in time", someone was saying.
"Your time hasn't come yet," another voice said.

Lakeside View, by Jennifer Duncan

19/7/2024

The lake reflected moonlight as Anders contemplated the rough ripples stirred up by gusty breezes. A pair of loons bobbed along, mournfully calling to the stars. In the distance, a tree-covered island gathered darkness into its branches.

A man was awkwardly paddling a canoe to the island. Anders observed him carefully, saw him land the canoe, disappear into the bush.

Before dawn, Anders slipped into his kayak and silently stroked over to the island. He tied a rope to the canoe, towed it to his dock. He settled into his Adirondack chair, waiting, watching.

The police would arrive soon enough.

After the Accident, by C. J. H. Dickens

19/7/2024

It wasn’t my fault that other car jumped the red light. Sure, I might have seen it quicker, but you can’t have eyes everywhere. Doesn’t matter anyway, there’s no footage anywhere of what the other guy did.

Instead, the police are picking on me. I’m the one to blame, they’re saying. Lots of questions. And they’ll never be able to question the other guy.

No, all they’re interested in is the reading I gave on that breath test.

My grandmother used to say “One’s too many, two’s not enough.” I know, I should have refused three and four as well.

The Last Three Days, by Angela Carlton

19/7/2024

He needs a potion, a pill, a smidgen of relief. He hasn’t eaten or slept in days-days and days. That evening, he finally makes his way over to the Delta Pharmacy. He finds a shiny, purple bottle that says, s-e-r-e-n-i-t-y. The woman behind the counter whispers, “this-this, it works!” When he takes the first swig, the liquid slides down his throat in a silky, warm manner.

Later, he finds himself slipping into this hole, a cool, black space where he’s in an extraordinarily deep sleep for hours and hours and hours until he wakes, only to find…he cannot shake her.

Commissioned, by Louise Arnott

19/7/2024

Everywhere Carla looked, she encountered a mess. Discarded clothes, cream curdling in a chipped mug, piles of magazines, sketch books, a bowl with four soggy Cheerios floating in milk, all strewn on the orange shag carpet. The pungent odor of solvents permeated the space. Tossing underwear, jeans and runners, she perched on the edge of Beth’s recliner. “This is more my style than yours.”

“Yes! This is High Realism.” Beth pointed to a large canvas with a re-creation of the room they were in. “Your mother asked me to paint her something she’d recognize. 'Carla’s Chaos' is my first commission.”

Kipping Career, by Brian Mackinney

19/7/2024

When John was a student he was dubbed Rip Van Winkle for his tendency to fall asleep. On Wednesdays when the others were playing sports or chatting up the counter girls in Woolworths he valued the comfort of the extended forty winks.
When he settled down he thought the responsible thing to do would be to have some life insurance and invited an agent round for a chat one evening. The guy was super alert but admitted he’d been asleep all afternoon.
When John reached the age of retirement he rekindled his love of relaxation by taking a regular nap.

The Caretaker, by A C Clarke

19/7/2024

Tom was looking at another campus streetlight blown out by pot-shotting students. All the kids these days had air rifles, if not worse. All of them draft-dodging. He’d pack them all off to ‘nam if he was in charge.

He hated this job, non-stop petty vandalism, too many late shifts. This one was nearly over, thank the Lord.

His pager buzzed – call-out to one of the women students’ flats. To fix - a bathplug?? He was a caretaker not an odd-job man. He had responsibilities. She could fix her own goddam bathplug. He fingered his revolver. Bathplugs!

The Second Stone Age, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

19/7/2024

That banyan tree was the only surviving specimen of vegetation on earth. In the withered valley, it stood upright to shelter the last three surviving human children. Every evening, they sat close to the aged tree to hear its life story. That evening, the tree began the end part by mourning the extinction of its fraternity. Then, it described at length the cult of self-destruction among humans. Every word of the tree made the children curse their predecessors. Finally, the tree said grimly, “This is the second Stone Age. But your cavemen ancestors were by all means luckier than you!”

The Pale Green Grass of Home, by Bill Cox

19/7/2024

“Do this, do that, go here, go there!”

Peggy lived in a world of endless demands from her loved ones. She realised that with their voices constantly screeching at her, she had lost sight of who she was and what she wanted.

So she ran away, leaving the incessant voices behind. Peggy was no longer subject to their unremitting decrees. She was free!

The next day, after a freezing night outdoors and with a rumbling belly, Peggy returned home.

“Freedom is all very well,” she barked, “but nothing beats a full stomach and a warm bed!”

Stop, by Sue Clayton

19/7/2024

“Show some respect”

“What? Who?” A paper thin voice roused me from sleep.

“It’s time you stopped.”

The disembodied voice came from my bedside table. I switched on the light, nothing but my book and glasses.

“Must be going mad.”

“You’re not mad. I am,” the voice huffed. “Stop turning down the corners to mark your place each time you finish reading. Splash out and buy a bookmark.”

“I’m sorry.” I unfurled the dog ear and inserted a temporary strip of cardboard between the pages.

“Much better,” the book sighed. “And make sure you don’t break my spine.”

Moving In, by Tom Baldwin

19/7/2024

We’d signed an agreement and saved for years, five friends and I. At last we had enough, and the agent showed us round the scruffy apartment. It was in a dodgy area, and needed some work, but to us it was a palace, with a small kitchen, a lounge-diner, shower room and three bedrooms. Three!

The seller accepted our bid and the apartment was ours. Or it would be when the mortgage was paid off in thirty-five years.

We sold our tents, moved in and went for a drink. Just the one — we now had that mortgage to pay.

Get Thee Behind Me Stan, by Myram Huey

19/7/2024

Gordon's Choice

And so it was Jesus removed the first 'a' from Satan's name, and Satan, reduced to 'Stan', sprouted giant wings and roared like a dinosaur. But the 'a' was gone, and gradually the roaring croaked to a halt and the giant wings drooped. Stan was unequal to the task of tempting the carpenter's son. Stan stood hunched, diminished; he lowered his head, and tears fell. And Jesus was moved to compassion. Satan was in again.

Not Quite Up to Snuff, by James A. Tweedie

19/7/2024

Lisa's Choice

Pardon my French, but although I was as keen as mustard to fit in at the soirée, for all intents and purposes I felt like a fish out of water, a fly in the ointment and a sight for sore eyes. I had hoped that the occasion would be a turn up for the books, but when my request for a spend a penny created a tempest in a teapot, the hostess’ wink was as good as nod. So instead of flogging a dead horse I ate humble pie, and said I had to see a man about a dog.

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