Blog Archives

The Performance, by Hailey McNamara

11/9/2020

The cornstalks danced, harmonizing with fresh blood.

A twisted car, its tires mangled with glass, poisoned our front yard. Jagged fingers drooped through the windshield, strumming the country road.

My sister’s nose squished against her bedroom window. The crash woke our family, but only I stood outside, flirting with death’s whiskey breath. Thick and lavender, it conducted an orchestra; cornstalks tangoed at a crisp tempo, modeling refined musicality.

I knelt, brushing the duct-taped bumper. The fingers trembled; I grabbed them.

“I’m here,” I whispered.

The cornfield froze, encompassing us. But when death snapped its fingers, the grand finale commenced.

Remembering Tom, by Gordon Lawrie

11/9/2020

As she did that same day each year, Jane sat on the park bench, gazing at the gap in the skyline where Tom had once worked. Why, she asked herself? Thousands dead in the aeroplanes, in the buildings, and amongst the emergency workers; countless thousands more in the years of reprisals that followed. What God could condone such unspeakable evil?

Jane clutched an old red Nokia 3210 mobile phone, remembering Tom's last words: "I love you." She brushed a tear away.

A hand gently touched her arm. "Come on, Mum, let's go home. It doesn't get any easier, does it?"

The Last Dream, the Closure, by Yola M. Caecenary

11/9/2020

After losing the job, she perceived it as a sensible thought, dreaming about her close friends at work. Later, were not only her friends appeared, others decided to invade her subconscious, the undesirable ones.

As she shared it to her friends, they began to worry. She believed that her friends were overreacting. Even so, she finally talked to someone who gave her a new viewpoint.

As she started to see it in a different view, she had her last dream. She dreamed about the person who was always the last person leaving the office, locking it.

Nobody reappeared after that.

STD Scare by Susan Fairfax Reid

11/9/2020

"I would have had a heart attack," my hairstylist gasped, when I told her about my appointment for a routine pap smear.

In his white coat, the doctor told me he couldn't perform the smear because I had a discharge.

Days later, a postcard from my insurance company arrived, stating I had been tested for gonorrhea and chlamydia.

WHAT? The doctor hadn't told me about these tests. My heart pounded. Who had I had sex with? And when?

I called the doctor's office. "Yes, you were tested," the receptionist said. "The results were negative."

I wiped sweat from my forehead.

Stasis, by Robert W. Monk

11/9/2020

“Do you remember when you first went into stasis, Dawn?”

“No, not really. It's like I've always been here. Any memories might be implants or part of the Dream Diet...”

“Oh, they still have you on that?”

“Yep, two shots in the morning, and four just before bed. Regular as clockwork, they are.”

“Blimey. They stopped mine, I liked them a bit too much!”

“Well, dreams are nice, dear.”

“Yes, indeed. But when do you think we'll wake up ?”

“When we're good and ready, Molly. When we're good and ready.”

A Crime Manual, by Neha Varadharajan

11/9/2020

This manual is confusing. I'll try skimming through it. Really hoping it'll be a job well done.

Three important steps.

Take the sharpest knife you can find. Grab a beautiful, long, steely weapon. My eyes gleam brightly.

Place your victim, sleeping or unconscious, and keep quiet. I'm very lucky. She's sound asleep. Can't see much in the dark.

Stick the knife in your choice of a body part. I choose the heart. The heart I never had.

Oh, no.

Now she's shouting. People are coming.

I'm still. Silent.

*Four* important steps.

Run for your life if it does not work.

Fingerprints, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

11/9/2020

He squatted in the lock-up with his head stuffed with suicidal thoughts. Streaming salinity often blurred his vision. He was accused of murdering a woman who lived alone in a luxurious apartment. Fingerprints found on the crime scene matched those of the accused and the victim. Fingerprints of the accused were lifted from an unopened gift box. The boy admitted having delivered the box but denied having done any crime. The fingerprint testimony, however, decided the case, and the boy was convicted.

The fact remains neither the fingerprints nor the boy ever lied.

Act Now, by Don Tassone

11/9/2020

Eight degrees. That’s the rise in the average global temperature over the last century.

That may not sound like much but consider the consequences: extreme storms, floods, droughts and wildfires; filthy air; higher sea levels; trillions in damage; death.

One hundred years ago, our ancestors debated the causes of global warming and did little to stop it.

Now, in 2100, we’re living with the fallout. Our new invention, powered by the sun, eliminates the need to burn fossil fuels. If we convert to it now, we can restore the planet in 1,000 years. That’s 40 generations.

If we act now.

Day One Twenty Seven, by Michael Roberts

11/9/2020

He flipped the calendar back to March.

Large black sharpie’d Xs across the weekdays of the last week

That was when he’d last worked.

It was strange, picking up the phone.

Vickie in ‘management’ saying they were closing ‘temporarily…Until we see what’s what.”

One hundred twenty seven days since that call.

All the things since then.

Vacations, birthday parties, the 5K in July.

All those evaporated in the wake of the shutdowns.

Even now, still waiting be be called back.

The worry that he might never go back to the office, with all those people he thought he despised.

Coming Home, by Janice Siderius

11/9/2020

There I was, floating in my comfortable pool for nine months. Suddenly there was excruciating pain and pressure. Then, like a shooting star, I am forced out into the cold and expected to breathe. Ouch! That hurt! I guess I am on my own now. Will someone please turn out that bright light?

Ahhhhhhh, this is better. A clean blanket and a soft place to rest after that ordeal. Now I hear their voices so much clearer than before. Everyone seems so happy to see me. Hello, mom and dad. I am back; maybe this time life will be easier.

Good Company, by James Woessner

11/9/2020

You would have thought I was good company last night. Anybody would. There we were, two couples in a crowded restaurant carrying on like friends do. I listened, complimented Ashley on her dress, congratulated Stan on his new job, laughed in all the right places, even told some funny stories. But truth be told, nothing I said came from the heart. Instead, I surrendered to a bourgeois sense of obligation and endured a gnawing of the soul. Nearly everything I said was a lie. Except for the stroganoff, which was phenomenal. But then, I would never lie about a stroganoff.

Unstained Melody, By Barney MacFarlane

11/9/2020

The kitchen was clean. Clinically so. Pristine. Rhymed with his wife’s name – Pristine Christine.

Suited her.

The shiny oven glared then winked. A sham. “I know you’re electric,” Jared mouthed.

The children seldom phoned. They professed to love him but when obliged to visit, they felt … “confined”, silence the prominent Christmas decoration.

“Middle-class cliché, her begrudged show of family contentment,” Deborah had whispered as her mother removed the soup plates, having stacked them neatly, four spoons on top.

Jared pondered despairingly why he had tarried with a woman whose favourite phrase was, “I’m never one to complain, but…”

Verisimilitude, by Nicholas Schroeder

11/9/2020

Roger waited for the train. It approached quickly. “What the hell are you doing!” yelled Titus.

“It’s time for this dream to end.”

“I’m not going to let you commit suicide,” Titus pleaded. Roger picked up a stone and threw it. It hovered.

“Stop!”

The train struck.

Roger awoke in a nursing home. “The train?”

The nurse shook her head. “What train?”

“I’m alive?”

“No, you’re dying.”

Roger looked at his wrinkled hands. His vitals failed and he passed away.

The stone fell to the ground. Roger jumped out the way of the train. He didn’t want to die twice.

Guest Appearance, by Swapan K Banerjee

11/9/2020

I couldn’t immediately determine how long I sat in morning meditation when my eyes fluttered open.

Instantly I became aware of its presence: a rearing cobra, few meters away, standing on its tail with its curved hood.

A coffee-pot by my side, I was sitting beside a babbling brook near the hotel where I’d put up.

People started collecting in ones and twos.

The snake slithered towards me. A hush descended over the sparse crowd.

I gently pushed the pot, its lid open, towards the advancing snake.

After lapping up the café-au-lait, it crawled away.

It was World Snake Day.

Writing a Love Story Today, by David Croll

11/9/2020

We haven’t seen each other in almost six months. It felt good to finally see a person, especially her. Of course we talked via Zoom, but this proximity is magical.

We laughed and talked about our dreams, now that the worst was over. After dinner we walked back to my place. She kicked off her shoes as I poured a glass of wine for us. We smiled and both knew where this was heading.

We both put on our face masks. I moved the box of condoms out of the way as I reached for the infrared non-contact forehead thermometer.

The Gilded Harp, by Deborah Shrimplin

11/9/2020

Thomas, recently terminated in disgrace from his position as an orchestra conductor, nervously picks the backdoor lock of the Harp Manufacturing building. Stepping into the dimly lit showroom, his heart races. The golden details glow on the exquisitely decorated harps. His hands tremble as he caresses each harp's elaborately embellished frame.

He pulls a chair into position to play. Gracefully, he raises his slender hands, closes his eyes and begins Mozart's concerto. The heavenly music fills his remorseful soul with joy.

When the security guard enters the showroom, he witnesses a light from above surrounding Thomas and the gilded harp.

Miss Fortune, by Al Watt

11/9/2020

This old dear came to my door saying she’d read my fortune if I crossed her palm with silver and gold. As luck would have it, I’d a £2 coin in my pocket. She told me I’d been going through some bad times, but there were changes afoot. I took her advice and went out to celebrate. I ended up in a Chinese restaurant. As I broke open the fortune cookie, my phone went off, it was the police saying I’d been burgled. I looked at the slip of paper from the cookie and it said, beware of false prophets.

Bob's Bare Bottom, by Mark Tulin

11/9/2020

Bob was sick and tired of all the restrictions on his civil liberties and just wanted to be free. He took off his clothes and strolled naked on the beach.

“This is not a nude beach, sir!” yelled an angry woman under a beach umbrella.

“It’s a free country?” Bob said in a bitter tone.

“You can still be free,” she replied, “but you’ll have to put on your clothes first."

Bob kept walking with the sun shining on his bare bottom.

Ten minutes later, Bob, covered in a blanket, walked by the woman, escorted by two police officers.

Run Little Rabbit, by Mary Wallace

4/9/2020

He moved across to the window, gently pulling the curtains aside and watched the house across the street. Yesterday she came outside with her head bowed, trying to hide a black eye.

He could see the gap in the venetian blind as she looked for the school bus. A children's book in the window was their code; Your father is still home! Go to Nana's. "Run Little Rabbit" screamed its warning.

The blinds were jerked violently. Bashing her again, probably. He's going to kill her one day. Someone should do something. He shook his head and closed his curtains.

The New Head, by Youssef Rakha

4/9/2020

At last I was holding my head in my hands. I still had a head on my shoulders but here was an exact copy of it, just as I'd imagined. It was the right weight, shape and texture. Like a 3D vanity mirror I turned it round in my hands, inspecting blemishes. There was no sign of cutting. The skin was warm, the muscle limber. The face had the same slightly harried expression that I’d learned to recognize myself by. But when I smiled at it – that was the first shock – it didn’t smile back.

World On Fire, by Angela Carlton

4/9/2020

The world is on fire, another match is lit and someone in the street screams. A girl with braided hair, pink lip gloss stands there, stiff; eyes wide, like a bomb sits at her toes. She came here for change, for peace, they said. Bam, a red truck explodes in the night, its fragments burst up in the sky, a heavy glow. For a moment, she is still, fixated by the eerie sight. The embers are pushing-pushing-pushing up into the darkness and rise with fierce-heat, rage before she whispers, “help me.”

Equine Equilibrista, by Mary Daurio

4/9/2020

“Stellar performance Stella.”
“Not funny, James, as per usual.”
He owns the circus, and me, because there is nowhere else in the city to earn keep for a Voltage horse like Cloud. So he thinks!

As a student, I can’t afford both the horse board and tuition, so the circus is the perfect fit. Only trouble, James, wants more than an Equilibrista performer. I’m on a tightrope, between Cloud’s back and James’ hot-hands.

Delivering my paycheck later, he’ll get his last grope. City Carriage Company opens tomorrow. Cloud and I have a new gig; we ride out tonight. Stellar!

Murder Take Two, by Sandra James

4/9/2020

It’s murder, she said between gritted teeth.

Don’t be ridiculous, he laughed. Where do you come up with these silly ideas?

Silence reigned for the rest of the long journey to attend Aunt Sylvia’s funeral and for half the return trip until they stopped in a small town for a toilet and coffee break.

She saw the bookshop and stepped inside while he ordered coffee.

Back in the car she opened her purchase and pointed to one particular entry. Murder: a group of crows.

He grunted, focussed on the road. Above a passing murder of crows cawed with laughter.

Flight of Fancy, by Michael T Schaper

4/9/2020

Alan’s one of the smartest guys I know. He identified the great cloud that blackened the sky straight away.

“Wild cockatoos. Lovely. Hate seeing them in captivity.”

“Just birds, then.” I said. “Future pets.”

“They’re not just any birds. They’re the smartest ones. Opposable digits. Live more than 80 years. Vocalise like humans. Intelligent.”

“Not as clever as us.”

“Perhaps they are. We’ve never just realised it.”

“You think?”

“Absolutely. Could probably rule the world if they wanted to.”

He was right. And prescient. These days he’s got a much better cage, more space, than the rest of us.

Changes Over Time, by Russell Conover

4/9/2020

James and his girlfriend were two of a kind. For years, they were happy together--doing fun activities, sharing interests and hobbies, and practically finishing each other’s sentences. Life was grand.

But as time passed, cracks in the relationship started to show. They communicated less. One stayed out much later than the other. They squabbled over petty things. Nothing huge was wrong ... just a combination of little things.

James was shocked when she abruptly said she was moving out. He didn't want to lose her, but realized it was a lost cause. He knew he could only move on.

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