Blog Archives

A Happy End, by Sivan Pillai

10/8/2023

The tribal doctor's expression told me everything. My days were numbered. It would be the end of the misery of my beloved ones who looked after me.
The money I had saved lay buried in a box in the compound. I was happy I had made a sketch when my hands and brain worked. My son would soon be well off.
When I was on my way up, it rained heavily. The dry fields where my people grew corn would get enough rain. They would be doubly happy now.
I waited gladly for the god of death riding a buffalo.

A Soft Landing, by Sue Clayton

10/8/2023

I scale the rope ladder to my tree house. Engrossed in Enid Blyton I munch on cupcakes, sharing with birds that fly in, chirruping and pecking sweet crumbs.

‘Dinner time, Helena,’ Mum calls.

The top rung of the ladder breaks. I tumble down, awaiting agonising pain.

I hear chirruping and flapping wings create an air cushion. I float down to a soft landing.

Enid Blyton has yellowed with age; there are no sweet crumbs. Birds still fly into the tree house but quickly fly out.

At the bottom of the tree a plaque reads RIP Helena Carter. 1947 to 1955.

Leave the Past Alone, by K.G. Song

10/8/2023

“Leave the past alone, Diana.” Her mother’s fuming words stung Diane.

“What’s wrong with learning about my birth? Why don’t you tell me about my birth father?”

When the line went dead, she stood stunned and furious momentarily. Then her scream and cursing, long and hard, echoed through her pretty cottage.

She hopped on her red rocket motorcycle and zipped through the rush hour traffic to her mother’s house.

When she barged into the house, only completely empty and dusty rooms greeted her.

Diana realized too late she should’ve left the past alone.

Her shrill wailing spilled onto the street.

First Day of Middle School, by Gabrielle Park

10/8/2023

It was the first day of middle school.
Annabelle had no friends, and terrible thoughts spiraled through her head.
What if no one likes me? Will I become that old lady with only ten cats as friends? Should I just accept my future and adopt some cats? I wonder when the shelter closes today?
Suddenly, a girl came up to Annabelle. She said cheerfully, “Hey! I like your hair! My name is Kat. What’s yours?”
Annabelle smiled. Maybe middle school won’t be so bad after all.

Serious Replies Only, by Marjan Sierhuis

9/8/2023

A bubbly personality with an infectious laugh, a sense of humor, a passion for life, confident, a great listener, ability to shed tears of pure joy at chick flicks, a sense of style, moral integrity, kind, faithful, confident, a great cook, handy with a vacuum cleaner, self-possessed, emotional availability, honest, compassionate, mature, generous, physically active, intelligent and showers regularly.

Brown hair with warm blonde highlights, a couple of dimples, green eyes and chiseled cheekbones is an added bonus.

Scent Memory, by Tara Peck

9/8/2023

I’m halfway up the stairs when I smell tobacco and aftershave. Just as quickly, the scents disappear. I second guess they were ever there. My eyes water. Stubby, wrinkled fingers pump air into my bike tires; I lay in a kiddie pool and someone sprays me with a hose, the stream of cold water making me scream and giggle; a gruff voice tells me: some people are only in your life for a season. I go to my bedroom and pull on my suit, grief stitched into its very lining.

Coming Soon to a Shop Near You, by Bill Cox

9/8/2023

I was shopping at the supermarket when I overheard the conversation. A young couple were standing in the frozen goods aisle, looking at the new product.

“You haven’t tried Manna yet? You should, it tastes just like meat, like pork, as far as I can remember. It’s better than all those insect burgers! I think it’s grown in a lab, or something.”

It’s not really artificial, of course. That’s just a PR job the Ministry concocted. I’m glad that it seems to be working though. It would’ve been a terrible shame had all those climate refugees gone to waste.

Sleepless Lola, by Kirsty MacKay

9/8/2023

The narrow red hotel stood at the lake's edge. Though boarded up for decades now it gave off the impression of fullness and noise. I snapped a photo and strolled back to my campsite to build up our campfire and dole out marshmallows. I'd felt beheld while looking up at the face of the old structure and taking its portrait.

The peal of a woman's laughter broke forth from the porch and circled through the campground sometime after midnight. Lola Montez in her black lace and red ruffles.

Meet and Greet Barbie, by Debeshi Gooptu

9/8/2023

Meet and greet Barbie at the mall. Young Margot Robbie lookalike with a blonde wig. Tired eyes, smile stretched tight. Men sidle up to click photographs, smartphones clicking pictures all the while. She cocks her head, hand on hip and thrusts out a slipper clad foot. Her skin crawls. Someone’s hand is running suggestively down her back. She shuts her eyes shut and thinks of the pay cheque at the end of the day that will buy medicines for her mother. She opens her eyes to find a man leering at her. Her eyelids flutter and she smiles.

Dot's New Shoes, by Colette Coen

9/8/2023

The shoes would be too narrow for her flat feet, too tight for her chilblained toes, too high to let her run. But they were magnificent. The type of shoes to covet; the type you might conjure up a storm to possess.
It didn’t matter to Dot that the woman wearing them needed medical attention, at the very least; didn’t matter that Aunt Em would scold her for their impracticality; didn’t matter that she heard bones crack as she prised them from the feet that stuck out beneath the house. The ruby slippers cried out to be hers.

Solace in Time, by Thompson Emate

9/8/2023

Everything was happening too fast. Love. Sex. Marriage. She needed some time to exhale. She needed some time to feel the warmth of nature's embrace. As she strolled in the twilight of summer, she wished Eric understood how she felt. She wished Eric understood that she needed some space to figure out some things and that she only needed him to go easy on her.

“Eric, I love you. It’s only that I need some time to see me inside out.”

Eric stood looking dishevelled.

She stopped by a meadow. The ambience was breath-taking. Tears streamed down her eyes.

A Happy Home, by Tom Baldwin

9/8/2023

Bernard trudged from the station to the house he had known so well. It looked much the same as he remembered from all those years ago

Two children were playing and laughing in the garden with their mother, who looked up at him enquiringly.

‘I hope you don’t mind me stopping,’ he said, ‘but I used to live here once.’

He was glad the house now contained love and happiness. That helped to heal some of the damage from seventy years past that still lived deep within him.

His heart a little lighter, Bernard walked back to the station.

Two Letters, by Chidi Young

8/8/2023

In a class full of forty-six eyes, a teacher stares with teary eyes at the two letters on her desk. One is her resignation letter; the other is ‘My Favourite Teacher's Letter’ from Dammy. The teacher reads the latter one last time, dabbing off the tears streaming down her cheeks. She looks into the forty-six glistening eyes in the class, and her muffled sobs turn into loud, uncontrollable wails. Giving the former a pounding squeeze, she tosses it into the trash can.

Prime Day, by Wendy Forshee

8/8/2023

“Prime, Prime, Prime….” she yelled from the recliner in the living room balancing her laptop on her knees.
“I’m coming..” a breathless voice answered, her walker sliding in first as she entered the room. Excitement tilted her face upward, “I can’t wait,” she said as she shuffled herself to the opposite chair and adjusted her walker to the side.
“I know Mama. I’ve had my eyes on that Henkel Knife set for a year.”
Then the son walked in. Hair a mess. Dressed in black.
“I’m done with prime day,” and raised his new shiny AK47.
Prime Day was over.

No Defending Conflict, by Scott Rhodie

8/8/2023

Laughter and tears bring childhood dreams to life. Blue-eyed boys in dirt and mud, with sticks and stones; guns and grenades.

“Help, please help.” Anguished cries reverberate through me nightly.

Overcast, darkened skies conceal bombs, and bullets. Horror in the trenches, but this dirt and mud lies on a deadly foreign field.

I remember holding him. He looked up, his eyes speaking, “thank you, brother,” as his breath ebbed away.

The futility of war is grasped in hindsight. Friendships last forever. But, the fool’s errand is brought into sharp focus every eventide.

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors, by Tony Covatta

8/8/2023

1980, Chip buys a ramshackle beach cottage.
1995, wealthy industrialist Dale builds a sprawling cabin next door, cuts off Chip’s view down beach.
2000, Chip moves his beloved shack toward the water, blocking Dale’s view up beach.
2004, Dale constructs a two-story boathouse, obliterating Chip’s sunset view. Winter storms blow it away.
2007, Dale builds a peaked roof boardwalk to the beach.
2009, shifting sands render it useless. Chip’s lawsuit blocks repairing it.
2010, Dale installs spite fencing from road to beach. Dale found dead in cabin.
2023. Only 17 years till Chip is eligible for parole, return to cottage.

Unthinkable, by Dee Lorraine

8/8/2023

Shape-shifting aliens landed on a distant planet for reconnaissance. They took human form to join a crowd.

A man with an odd hairstyle addressed the gathering. He glowed orange like the fire-smoky, cloudless sky.

“The sky is green!” the man shouted.

“The sky is green!” the others seated on stage chanted.

“The sky is green!” the crowd yelled.

“It’s raining!” the man bellowed.

The sequence repeated.

“Who’s the speaker?” Captain Chameleon asked a bystander.

“Our front-running candidate for President.”

“On stage with him. Supporters?”

“No. Opponents.”

“The crowd?”

“Voters.”

The captain’s conclusion: “Takeover will be easy. Subjects are color-blind and gullible.”

My World Shifted, by Angela Carlton

8/8/2023

I didn’t know you. They said you gave me away as an infant like a mix from a litter.

As a child, I scribbled pictures of you. Later, I filled pages in a black diary. Countless times, I studied faces on streets, looking for this selfless woman who brought me into the world. They said you were a baby yourself, terrified, but still, I searched-searched for you. I searched the web, dangling, waiting for that day, the day you walked to me, under a misty sky, the same gait, familiar smile, rain falling with tears.

And my whole world shifted.

Traces, by Joan Prefontaine

8/8/2023

Sunbursts, fish, flowers, birds, big-horned sheep and geometric designs, thousands of petroglyphs scattered across a basaltic ridge in New Mexico—the only reminders of the Jornada Mogollon culture of 600 years ago.

The summer sun here has no mercy at midday. It illuminates the shadowy corners, where humans once crouched, at dawn or in the cool of the evening, with stone chisels, chipping patina off to expose the rock underneath.

“Can’t you see the sign beside the trail?” the park ranger shouts at the wandering tourists who fling Pepsi cans on the parched, ancient ground. “It says ‘Leave No Trace!’”

Holiday Specials, by G. Lynn Brown

8/8/2023

A 12" Panasonic TV sat on the kitchen counter. Mom slid one of the dining chairs up to the counter, filled my plastic Josie and the Pussycats mug with orange soda and placed it beside a bowl full of potato chips next to the television, then sat my little five-year-old body in the seat.

"Don't spill it," she said of the soda and tuned in to channel 10, pushing the rabbit ears around until she found the clearest picture.

"I won't," I promised, smile broad, eyes wide at the sight of Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer in living black and white.

Prize Blooms, by Peter Richardson

8/8/2023

A woman wearing a mask opened the door.
“That man. He’s got my flowers.”
“Mr Dixon?”
“He stole my prize winning tulips. I’m calling the police.”
“Poor man. Before covid he was here all day. Now he gets fifteen minutes and can’t even hold his wife’s hand.”
“But what about my flowers?”
“Tulips are her favourite. I did wonder how he could afford them.”

***

“Mr Dixon. Don’t steal my flowers.”
The man nodded sadly.
Mark passed him the most exquisite bunch of tulips.
“Those are the best tulips in the county. Tomorrow I’ll cut you some roses.”

Time, by Malvina Perova

8/8/2023

I’m a subtle shadow at your shoulder, always there, behind you, wherever you go, whatever you do. Since you’ve been born, I count your every breath and wait for you to open.

You will one day. It’s just a matter of time.

Since the break of this war, we’ve got closer, almost friends now. Being shot in the leg on the battlefield, beaten, and having your fingernails torn out in some dirty prisoners’ camp, you open up. You cry for me to touch you and stop this pain at last.

But I know better.

It’s not your time to go.

Fall Out, by Teri Wright

8/8/2023

“Three months! You wouldn’t have kept Johnny stuck in here for that long.”
Jess pushed past her father, tears blurring her vision.

Her brother’s recent death in action had been difficult. Jess missed him greatly, and felt the burden of being the wrong child to survive in her father’s eyes.

Jess ran down the corridor, took the stairs two at a time.

At the entrance, she paused, hoping to hear her father’s pleas to return.

When none came, Jess unlocked the bolts, shifted her weight to pull back the door.

Stepped into the darkness to let the radiation envelop her.

House Hunting, by Robert P. Bishop

8/8/2023

Howard studied the world map on his computer screen. “What are you doing?” asked Rachel.
“Making a list of countries to move to.”
“Why?”
“We’re running out of water. Our politics are poisonous. There are mass shootings every day. This country’s coming apart.”
“We’re too old to move.”
“No, we aren’t.”
“We’ll lose our family and our friends. Are you willing to give them up?”
“Yes.”
“We can insulate ourselves from the hostility surrounding us.”
“And live in fear and isolation until we die? What kind of life is that?”
Rachel sat down. “What country is first on your list?”

Birdsong, by Anna Summerfield

7/8/2023

We buried the baby bird under the apple tree, inside a small box. I’d discovered it that morning at first light, lifeless and face down in a bucket of rainwater. Still featherless, freshly hatched. Extinguished by its own unsteady newness.

My daughter, astute beyond her years, cried as she told me the chick had not had enough time with its mummy, clung to me. We watched all day as parents bristled in flight, darting in and out of the empty nest.

At bedtime, I tucked my own fledgling in a little tighter. Checked on her twice before daybreak.

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