Blog Archives

The Last Vacation, by Mimi Grouse

25/8/2023

Summer dripped into a pool of molten memories; the beach emptied of holidaymakers and Lydia stood on the shore, staring at the horizon. Three weeks ago, her husband had paddled out to sea on his one-man canoe.
'I'll be back for tea,' he'd said, but many tea-times had been and gone since then and he'd not returned. She should have reported his disappearance but she knew how angry he became when she "made a fuss" so she hadn't dared.
Now, on this final day of vacation, she realised that, for once, she'd done the right thing after all.

By the Side of the Road, by Bill Cox

25/8/2023

His corpse is lying by the side of the road. It makes me sad every time I pass him, because I knew him well. Oh, not to speak to, obviously. You could never say that we were close, but I’ve often watched him go about his business. He was a good provider and a good father to his children. Sometimes I think I should remove his body, give it a Christian burial, but those weren’t his beliefs. Besides, nature will take care of it, in its own way.

Hail and farewell, Mr Brock.

I hope they let Badgers into Heaven.

Enough, by Don Tassone

25/8/2023

I run every day but can’t lose any weight.

I’ve worked hard for years but haven’t saved a dime.

My house needs so many repairs I don’t know where to begin.

Feeling exasperated, I sat down this morning and closed my eyes. In the quiet of my mind, an idea came to me, like an old friend I’d nearly forgotten. It was the idea of enough.

I don’t know why it reappeared just now, but I sat with it all morning and let everything else go. Then I opened my eyes and wanted for nothing.

Shopping for School Shoes, by Lisa Williams

25/8/2023

We take a ticket showing the largest number known to man: every school child in Leicester is currently in Clarks with us. Whilst squeezed next to a display of patent leather shoes with dolls in the heel we discuss what’s allowed.
No, no dolls.
Not patent.
We’re told the internet’s down so the digital foot measurer won’t work. Doll and Patent are mentioned twenty times. After what feels like three days we choose sensible shoes.
The till won’t work without the internet- we can buy them online.
We head home; I feel broken.
Our chosen shoes are out of stock.

Melody, by Tom Baldwin

25/8/2023

‘Please, I didn’t mean to burn your dinner. I was bathing the kids while you watched the football and I forgot about it. You could have turned the oven off if you smelt it. No, I’m not blaming you — it was all my fault and I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t, not with the kids still awake. I promise I’ll do better, honestly. Please don’t… No-o-o!

‘Melody! What on earth are you doing?’ said the duty playground teacher.

‘Playing mummies and daddies,’ said Melody.

A Magical Garden, by Sankar Chatterjee

25/8/2023

Robert Jones, a clinical psychiatrist was exploring the Amazon jungles with a local shaman, expert in identifying medicinally active flora and fauna utilized in local folk medicine. One day, the shaman picked up a small octagonal violet flower and handed over to Robert, mentioning its mind-soothing property.

Robert placed the specimen in his collection pouch. A day later, Robert received a message from his wife about the expiry of his beloved bird, a colorful parrot. Distressed throughout the day, he decided to take that flower specimen at night.

Soon he entered a magical garden, colors borrowed from his deceased parrot.

Trash, by Brian Taylor

25/8/2023

They call her trash, like her name doesn't matter anymore. She's been married four times, and she's only 23. She's had five kids, three with different fathers. None of them live with her anymore. She drinks, smokes, and whatever. She lives in a trailer, of course. She makes money any way she can. The whole town knows and talks about her with amusement, disgust, and even hatred.

But tonight, as I lay in her bed and she holds me while I cry over my dead wife and son, she isn't trash to me, but a treasure to my shattered heart.

Big Black Bear, by Keith E Maynard

25/8/2023

Finishing breakfast, preparing for another day at school, mom calmly noted the TV reporter announced locals had observed bears in the area. Most likely wandering about checking out garbage cans, nothing to worry about, just be alert.

“Am I safe? Should I stay home? Will someone take me to school? I began to fret, feeling uncomfortable not wanting to be a bears’ breakfast.”

“Tell you what, I’ll watch you walk to the corner, busy street. You should be fine after that.”

I walk, confident mom was watching, would rescue me should a bear appear!

Turned to look and wave. Abandoned.

Peeing In The Bush, by Virginia Ashberry

25/8/2023

Editor's Choice

How is it possible to cram so much philosophy into 100 words? "I pee ergo sum" – Editor

One hundred meters from the cabin, Jane drops her pants, squats and pees into the hole she's dug beside a small pine tree.

If she was doing a dump, she would’ve gone further, but urine leaves a scent somewhat less attractive to hungry bears.

Standing to pull up her pants, Jane’s attention drifts to wonder why most people bother wearing underwear, then the loud crack of a branch close behind, brings her to the present fast.

Running, and not daring to look back, Jane is amazed how fast she gets back to the cabin, and Jeff, and her morning coffee.

The Replacement, by Sivan Pillai

25/8/2023

Both the old man and his horse appeared sick. People looked at them with pity but hardly ever hired his buggy.
I gathered he spent a large portion of his earning on medicines for the horse. He ate at a cheap hotel and never left it hungry. I have seen him petting it often.
One night, with a friend's help, I secretly replaced the horse with a healthy one. The other horse was left in the care of a faraway veterinary doctor.
How could I forget that the heap of money I owned had come from racecourses?

Fortunes of War, by Cheryl Dahlstrand

25/8/2023

“Here is a toy I used to play with, Katya. It’s a magic fortune ball. First, ask a question. Let’s try: Rain today?”

Grandma turned the black sphere over. “Without a doubt” slowly appeared.

“Oooo,” breathed Katya excitedly.

“Go practice. Remember, only a yes or no.”

In a few minutes, Katya returned looking troubled.

“I asked: Will the war end soon? It answered: ‘Cannot predict now.’ So, I tried: Will my papa come home soon? Then it broke. Only one answer came up over and over.”

Grandma drew in her breath. “And it was –”

“Better not tell you now.”

Last Camera, by John M. Carlson

25/8/2023

“We’re installing the last camera,” Deb said.

“I’m glad we’re nearly done,” Angie said. “I needed the money, but this job felt so creepy! They say these cameras are needed for safety. But it’s more like spying on citizens!”

“Yes. And I hated this job, too. But you can’t be picky about jobs—not since the crash. Someone else would do it if we didn’t.”

The light on the camera lit.

“Done!” Deb said. “Every restroom toilet stall in town now has a surveillance camera inside, so this city is officially compliant with the 2028 Safety Everywhere Act.”

Hunting, by Scott C. Holstad

25/8/2023

It was expected that all Pennsylvania kids get their hunting license on their twelfth birthday, and I did.

Father took me hunting early and we found our spot, waiting for deer. It was so very cold but after hours a buck appeared and

BAM

my father’s rifle exploded and the buck fell, flailing. We watched its struggles to right itself, to breathe, before it stilled. Right then hunting wasn’t cool to me anymore. I fought the urge to be sick as I watched the blood ooze from the dying deer.

Later, I found it hard to enjoy mom’s venison stew.

A Shake, by Malvina Perova

25/8/2023

I was cooking in the kitchen, ruminating on whether I should buy that new bed. It would give my life a shake, I kept nagging, and some comfort. But, damn, I so dreaded spending some extra thousand and sweating, running around the furniture stores.

The next thing I remember: I hit the wall with my back and the window shards ring crashing at the floor. I don’t hear the blast strangely, nor feel any pain as I stare at my bloodied tee. Then doors and stairs, stairs, stairs, people run, people scream… Has anyone got a spare bed for me?

Not a Proper Nurse, by Stephen Goodlad

25/8/2023

There was something about that word: “proper”. His wife wanted a “proper” nurse. She helped him to the toilet from his bed, taking their time, encouraging him to put one foot in front of the other holding his shaking hands, meeting his eyes, and smiling. After the toilet, she cleaned him, helped him to shower, dried him, shaved his chin stubble and laid out a clean set of clothes, helping him only when he asked. Combing his hair, they chatted cheerfully despite his aphasia language.

Afterwards, the proper nurse popped the medication in his mouth and left without a word.

Beautiful and Delicate, by K.G. Song

25/8/2023

After working as a researcher on the hormones and neurotransmitters involved in sexual behaviors in humans for over thirty years, Dr. Janet Lopez submitted the paperwork for retirement from a prestigious university. Her colleagues begged her to continue her groundbreaking research projects.
However, after her husband of twenty-three years died in an automobile accident, Janet wanted a new start in her life. Her vast knowledge about testosterone, estrogen, dopamine, oxytocin, and a cocktail of other chemicals provided little comfort with her deep grief.
Janet knew love is actually far more than chemicals.
Love is all about relationships.
Beautiful and delicate.

Justice for Maynard, JD Clapp

25/8/2023

The morning they drug the river for Maynard Wilson’s body, my ma put poison in my pa’s eggs. Sheriff Jackson said she just sat there for 14 hours, smoking, sippin’ coffee till he died.

When ma turned herself in, all she’d say was “sombitch had it coming.” Later that same day, they found Maynard’s body all busted up with his pecker hacked off. Sheriff said some rival moonshiners done it.

My ma cried when she heard about Maynard. After that, she told Sheriff Jackson my pa wasn’t no ‘shiner, just a jealous, mean, drunk, sombitch. Ma ain’t said nothin’ since.

Tall Paul, by Louis Kummerer

25/8/2023

After his wife died unexpectedly, Tall Paul put on his hip boots and walked around the world seeking the meaning of life. He waded the Atlantic, dragged his muddy boots across the floors of Europe, stomped through Persia and along the northern edge of India. When he reached Tibet, he found Krishna living in a mountain hut.

Now Tall Paul’s back, sitting on a barstool beside me.

“Krishna showed me a glass bottle that contained the entire universe,” he says.

“Did you find the answer inside?” I ask.

Tall Paul sighs deeply. “No, inside the bottle there was only me.”

Sensei, by Marc Littman

25/8/2023

It began innocently enough. I overheard the teenage barista gush about traveling soon to Japan with her Japanese boyfriend. Having been to the Land of the Rising Sun fifty years ago, during each visit to the coffee shop I mangled phrases for good morning, thank you and delicious, then I got more creative and held up the brew she just poured saying – Die-Joe-Boo-Dieoh– it’s all good. She laughed politely. I felt like an old sen-say teacher imparting my wisdom, but the next morning she introduced me to her jealous boyfriend who told me it wasn’t “all good” in perfect English.

In a Word, by Barney MacFarlane

25/8/2023

For those unfamiliar with the flexible character of the Scots language, "Yer piece" can have three meanings in Scots: (1) "Your snack/packed lunch"; (2) "Your lady-friend"; or (3) "Your chosen ballistic weapon." – Editor

“Don’t forget your piece,” said his wife as he left for what he claimed was an important job.
Sam turned. “The meaning of that depends, of course, on whether you’re a Glasgow guy going to his work, or a mobster in Chi.”
Cecilia smiled … she knew all Sam’s aphorisms. “Don’t talk to me about lingual misunderstandings. My father wanted me named Celia but the priest at my christening had a terrible stammer.”
Sam chuckled as he lifted the sandwich box, then, sliding open a drawer, removed a dark metal object.
“Have a nice day, as all the world says now.”

Family Secrets, by Sherri Bale

25/8/2023

The dark brunette looked at her sisters with their silky blond hair. “May I go to the library tomorrow?” Her farmer father grunted, “Linnie, you aren’t like the rest of us.”

Her sisters married. The farmer died. Mother sold the farm and gave Linnie money for college. She would write a book about her ancestors, “Swedish Farmers of Minnesota”.

A DNA test for a class assignment revealed secrets. Linnie was half-Italian. Her family doctor was her father; his son was her half-brother.

Linnie caressed her chestnut curls as she wrote about her ancestors, “An Italian Family’s Escape from the Nazis”.

A Ladder to the Stars, by Dave Nash

25/8/2023

For him the past was a story trove, for me it was a series of embarrassments that woke up and lingered like morning phlegm.

My brother tells another story on our porch. I notice how night falls earlier in mid-August. How the North Star rises off the horizon. How it calls me like a conjurer in an epic fantasy.

My brother will stay in this town and rise. He’ll talk about how the band played “Forever Young” at his graduation and he knew he was destined. But who will tell the story of that morning when I woke and wandered?

Innocent Spy, by Jane Forward

25/8/2023

Black shawl covering grey hair, she sits, knitting needles clicking, invisible to the soldiers arrogantly striding past, their eyes scanning suspiciously the country people on the platform.
Lashes lowered, she counts certain of the cars of the train lumbering by, marking the number into her row of knitting by dropping stitches, thinking of the grandmother who taught her to knit as a young girl with blonde braids and bare feet who climbed apple trees blossoming in the Spring of peacetime. How shocked Grandmother would be to see this uneven piece of work, riddled as though with bulletholes. Yet, how proud.

Reporting Spam, by Barry O'Farrell

25/8/2023

10,000 women in third world countries want to marry me.

Multiple successes in the national lotteries of various countries.

Mortgages approved against the portfolio of houses I was unaware I owned, globally.

The Internal Revenue Service of the USA holding income tax refunds for me.

Valuable financial documents from banks in countries I have never heard of, require my signature urgently.

Zealously I report all Spam.

Inbox this morning, an email acknowledging the registration of my formal complaint of an highly suspicious email I maliciously sent to myself.

Gone in Summer, by Thompson Emate

25/8/2023

He stood at the shore watching the seagulls. He wondered why he couldn’t stop turning over the pages of yesterday. He wondered why he was still saddled by its cloud. Walking by the sea was a delight for him but this time around it wasn’t taking him out of the gloomy room. He knew she had good reasons for leaving. He knew she had been scarred by his bad habits. He had cut her to the deep. He could remember the note she left.

You’re still my symphony. There only just ashes over my love.

Tears streamed down his eyes.

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