Blog Archives

Jellied Jitters, by Donna Matthews

16/8/2019

I feel it in my seeds. A juicy, delicious purpose awaits me. My skin is radiant…the perfect hue. I am ready.

A small boy comes skipping down my row. I quiver in anticipation as he spots me. He leans over, grabs me with his chubby hands, and in his basket I go. Arriving at his house, I see the water boiling, glass bottles standing ready, pectin on the counter.

Soon, I am transformed. No longer an individual berry but a sweet jelly jam. But why…why am I in the basement? Jellied and abandoned? Will I be forgotten down here?

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I Want to Hold Your Hand, by Don Tassone

16/8/2019

6 Comments

As a kid, I listened to the Beatles sing “I Want to Hold Your Hand” and imagined holding someone’s hand like that one day.

Yours was the first hand I held that way. I held it on our first date. I held it at our wedding. I held it as we both held our children’s hands too. I held it as we drove to the hospital and when you lay in bed.

I heard that Beatles song again today. I remembered that when I touched you, I felt happy inside. I want to hold your hand.

6 Comments

When the Wild Wind Blows, by Chitra Gopalakrishnan

16/8/2019

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In the upper reaches of the mountain Satasringa, Vayu, the wind god, crashed recklessly through its rugged gorges.

His fervour for her was breathy.

He ran wanton air fingers all over her, taking her from a tempestuous wilderness of a million breezes and winds, gales and cyclones to the surprised stillness of a storm quietened.

She took in his ragged whisperings, his buoyant ardour, allowing him to breathe a new life into her.

Kunti, queen of Hastinapur, sought his intervention to carry forward the Kuru dynasty as her king husband was infertile.

She called Vayu’s son Bhima, the powerful one.

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Feelings, by Linda Cornelissen

16/8/2019

1 Comment

The English teacher stood before the class. She needed to regroup before they were lost to her completely. A colleague’s sudden illness had brought her out of semi-retirement.

“Silent reading. 15 minutes,” she barked. Audible grumbles slowly dissipated into the longed-for silence. 15 minutes later, “Books away.”

Their writing task appeared on the board. “But Miss?” echoed around the room.
The task read: Write what you feel. 20 minutes (silence)

Some wrote. Many fiddled. Protests continued. Few read their work voluntarily.

This became a weekly task. Grumbles gradually reduced. More took part willingly. Some amazing writing emerged.

1 Comment

Heirloom, by Stephen Shirres

16/8/2019

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Amazing what you can find in a charity shop for 99p. Ignored priceless editions and well thumbed paperbacks. Today's find, a book of fairy tales, full of magical adventures and far away kingdoms. A family history scribbled on the inside cover, a gift from mother to daughter, generation after generation. Simple messages of dates and 'love Mum'. The longest one left till last.

Dear George. Happy anniversary. I can't believe we have been together now for a year! What better way to celebrate than by giving you my favourite book. Will we give it to our own daughter? Love Kara.

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Eye Not on the Prize, by Rod Drake

16/8/2019

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Eventually God, like all of us, got bored. So YHWH went for a stroll through the cosmos whistling something by Bach or maybe Brahms (He never could keep those two straight). God became intrigued by the pulsating stars, the aimless comets and the collapsing black holes. Soon (in space-time) YHWH had wandered so far that He was helplessly lost and didn’t know how to find his way back to the Milky Way (directions being relative in the universe). So while God searched for home, humanity was left to its own devices, which explains a lot of things.

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Three to Five Seconds, by Mary Wallace

16/8/2019

2 Comments

His brain registered his family cowering in fear, he could hurl it through the doorway, but other families crouched there. Rolling away from his loved ones, he drew the live grenade into himself, smothering it with his body. Today he would meet his maker with a clear conscience.

2 Comments

Stranger Than Fiction, by Adrian McRobb

16/8/2019

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Upon reading the story of the capture of the Enigma from U-110 by HMS Bulldog, I really wanted to meet the Captain in charge of the operation, unfortunately Addison-Baker was dead.

A few years ago, clearing out my bureau I came across some letters from an interview I sat in the mid-nineties, for the Northumberland Sea Fisheries Commission.

Reading them I remembered being informally interviewed by an older man with piercing blue eyes, before the more formal panel interview.

On the bottom of one of the letters was the signature Addison-Baker, I had met my hero without even knowing; strange?

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The Ticking of the Clock, by Bex Gooding

16/8/2019

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Grimlock paused, his hand hovering over the old document he was copying. He tilted his head to one side listening, but the howl did not repeat.

A wolf? Grimlock thought to himself.

Yendor his assistant interrupted his thoughts by dropping a large tome on the end of his desk. Grimlock growled.

‘This is the only one I can find.’ Yendor said sheepishly.
‘Where was it?’ Grimlock asked, glowering at Yendor.
‘In the folklore section.’
‘Leave it here.’

Yendor nodded and turned to leave.

‘Yendor.’ Grimlock said. ‘Did you hear anything just now?’
‘No Sir. Only the ticking of the clock.’

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We Used to Have a Bag Lady, by Kim Favors

16/8/2019

1 Comment

“You kids leave Garbage Grandma alone,” we were told when the old woman began rummaging through trash cans on our street.

Our moms canceled the Salvation Army trucks and for the next two years stopped donating to thrift stores.

The day after we heard Garbage Grandma had died, we jimmied a window and snuck into her house.

Along with trash, we found our photos, toys and trophies.

What our parents had thrown away, Garbage Grandma had salvaged, cleaned and displayed.

And in chalk, she’d scrawled on a wall, “Welcome, My Family.”

We never did find out her name.

1 Comment

One Day in the Life, by Gordon Lawrie

16/8/2019

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He sat outside a flower shop window, shoulders slumped, staring at the pavement. Four policemen stood around, having arrived in two patrol cars. None of the policemen acted harshly; they just wanted to help. The flower shop owner, who'd called them, understandably didn't know what to do.

The man sat silently for ages, incongrously framed by roses and chrysanthemums. Then he said his name, and the police were able to find out some details about him: the usual problems: drugs, alcohol, unemployment, mental health, hopelessness.

They took him to a nearby hostel. Tomorrow he'd be back, or somewhere else similar.

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The Think Tank, by Mark Tulin

16/8/2019

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While drinking ginseng tea, Mendel overheard two customers talking. He didn’t usually judge people, but he couldn't resist these two imbeciles. To prove his point, the bulk of their utterances included okays, likes, and you knows. As their dialogue regressed, Mendel imagined the two grunting Neanderthals exchanging ideas on life’s most crucial problems in a think tank. Everyone depended on these two geniuses for the preservation of our species. He imagined the world getting blown to smithereens as a result.

Mendel checked his watch, called an Uber and, in five-minutes, he was on his way to a Slightly Stoopid concert.

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The Discovery, by Russell Conover

16/8/2019

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Stan was overwhelmed by the clutter in his place. He dove in and started rearranging, cleaning, sorting. Everything that had a place went there, and everything that didn’t got one.

Then something caught Stan’s eye. He gasped as he laid eyes on a vintage jacket signed by his favorite musician, that the musician had given him at a concert. He’d completely forgotten about it! He rushed to the hobby shop to confirm its value, and then framed it to hang and display.

“I need to tidy up more often.” Stan smiled. “Who knows what else might be lurking in here?”

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The Woman I Was, by Diane Clark

16/8/2019

1 Comment

It was eerily quiet in the old theatre, which had not been used for several years. I could smell the dust and mold. A bit of daylight shone from a side window – just enough to see the stage. I walked out on it and faced the empty seats. Closing my eyes, I listened for the applause – faint at first, then growing to a thunderous ovation. I saw myself in a glittering red gown, taking a triumphant bow, and catching flowers being tossed to me. I smiled and opened my eyes. It was good. I had been good. Life is good.

1 Comment

Just Three Minutes Left, by Julie Achilles

16/8/2019

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'What would you do if we had just three minutes left to live'?, asked Sabrina.

'Would it matter if there was such a short time left?-panic maybe', replied Raj.

'Course it would matter, three precious minutes, you couldn't waste them, - 'I know', interrupted Raj, 'I'd snog your faceoff.'

'Oh! blimey Raj, I didn't know you cared', said Sabrina, laughing.

'I don't Sab, but I ain't ever kissed a girl and you wouldn't have time to slap me' Raj replied shyly.

'Well, was just asking Sabrina added, not looking Raj in the eye.

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A Home Of Her Own, by Sandra James

16/8/2019

1 Comment

Owning a house had become increasingly difficult in the challenging economic climate but she saved hard, brought lunch from home and made generic coffee in the office tea room instead of buying a takeaway from the café on the corner every morning.

The sacrifices were worth it and finally she was able to buy the perfect house with enough left over for a few new items of furniture.

“Happy Birthday, Bella!”

“Oh Mummy, my very own doll house. Thank you.”

1 Comment

Signal Failure, by Marjan Sierhuis

16/8/2019

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There he is again. He stands at the end of the subway platform. From the corner of my eye, I see him move towards me. I panic, then I take a deep breath as he comes closer and closer.

“Where is the train?” I ask myself.

An overhead announcer apologizes for the short delay. “The signal failure is now fixed,” he says.

As the train pulls into the station, the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stand on end. I feel a sharp pain in the ribs. I fight to keep my balance.

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A New Story, by Donna Matthews

11/8/2019

1 Comment

How did the story go, she wondered? A girl bit into a poisoned apple and fell asleep? The evil step-mother, jealous of her beautiful step-daughter?

Yes!

And the seven drawfs? Or was that detail from another story? She couldn't recall clearly. Except that maybe the story was titled, "Sleeping Beauty." The character had to be awakened by a kiss from a prince.

Hmmm. Now exasperated. Stories about girls waiting around for the prince to save the day. Sleeping beauty waiting for someone to wake her up.

Yeah, no. She never did care for fairytales — she'd write a new story.

1 Comment

Fixer Upper, by Alison Ogilvie-Holme

10/8/2019

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I wish I could say I was surprised by the…turn of events…but honestly, between you and me, I warned Louise something like this was bound to happen if she let that man into her home.

I told Louise, I said “Louise, hon, think about your family! This man could be a criminal or psychopath.”

She just smiled and said “Really Aunt Beth, you watch too much Dateline.”

What Louise doesn’t understand is that not everyone can be trusted. She’s a fixer. Always has been.

Even now, after everything, she can’t stop herself – weekly snail mail to prisoner #98769.

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Earth's Final Delivery, by Kim Favors

9/8/2019

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The titanium cylinder arrived battered, but JonX571 recognized the Intergalactic Express logo and the date 2021.

Inside were three squirming humans: male, female and intersex. They were drab hues resembling brown, black and something in-between.

JonX571’s own archived memory chips retrieved data on world leaders, racism and nuclear war. And an electronic screen with instructions, which he decided to ignore.

Instead, he researched “rainbow.” Soon, the three humans were radiant in brilliant, ever-changing colors.

JonX571 smiled.

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A Man Transformed, by Guy Fletcher

9/8/2019

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Craig's demeanour was grey as the Cardiff sky as he wandered down St Mary Street.

"Craig! Great to see you again. This man looked after me at the choir, after some of my darkest days."

He spoke to his female companion who possessed the troubled eyes of the mentally unwell. They talked about West Bromwich Albion and he stated that he now helped with Care in the Community.

"You seem so much better," said Craig.

"Helping others has done the trick, I forget about my own woes."

The sun broke through and Craig's mood lifted too.

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The Way You Look, by Brian Taylor

9/8/2019

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I hate the way you look now. It’s terrible.

I'm sorry if that sounds cruel. It's how I feel.

You were once so beautiful, though. When we met, your blue eyes were so full of light, and your smile could melt ice. Love at first sight for me. Why did you have to change?

Yes, you did.

What about the way I look?

I look the same.

I still look at you with love and longing.

But you. After all these years and all we've been through together, you now look at someone else that way.

It's just terrible.

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One Way or Another, by Marjan Sierhuis

9/8/2019

0 Comments

Libby pleads with her husband to go for his annual physical, but he can be stubborn at the best of times.

“Please, Alex.” “You’re fifty, and you’ll be able to talk about some of your concerns.”

“I have none. I feel fine,” says Alex and places an arm around Libby’s shoulder.

“All right, I won’t nag you about it, anymore,” says Libby and starts texting on her cell phone.

“What are you doing?"

“I’ve booked an appointment with Dr. Smith. If you would like, you can come and keep me company,” she says with an innocent look on her face.

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A Family Welcome, by Mark Tulin

9/8/2019

2 Comments

“Welcome to the family,” Bruno said with a hug.

Greg returned a reluctant embrace, “I’m visiting.”

Bruno abruptly let go. “What do you mean, visiting? You’re married to my sister?”

“Just think of me as a friendly visitor passing through,” Greg said.

Bruno was insulted.

“Don’t take it personally, Bruno, but I don’t believe in organized crime families. Not into loansharking or breaking people’s legs with baseball bats. Do like the food at the weddings, though.”

“Once you’re in, you’re in, Greg,” Bruno said threateningly, as he wrapped his hairy arms around Greg’s shoulders until he heard a loud crunch.

2 Comments

The Demise of Humankind, by Diane Clark

9/8/2019

3 Comments

Everyone thought it would be climate change or nuclear war that would cause the demise of humankind, but they were wrong. It was the cell phone.

In the fast-food restaurant I observed four young men at a table, each one totally preoccupied with his phone. Four attractive young women entered and looked for a place to sit. The guys were oblivious; they never noticed the gals. Even if they had, I’m not sure they would have known what to do.

The worst part is there will be no poets to write, “Here such a passion is as stretcheth me apart…”

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