Blog Archives

To the Rescue, by Don Tassone

24/9/2021

During the pandemic, restaurants, hotels and theaters had to close. Then, with the vaccines, places began to open up again.

But not for long. Workers quit or simply didn’t come back. Jobs everywhere went unfilled.

Employers offered greater pay, but it didn’t work. People had begun to rethink their lives. Many decided work was no longer a priority.

But everyone still needed food, shelter and clothing. Who would provide such basics?

Out of desperation, borders were opened, and immigrants came to the rescue, first as laborers, then as business owners. Eventually, they hired the sons and daughters of the unemployed.

Trick or Treat, by Victoria Hares

24/9/2021

"Ding dong~"
With a Jack-o'-latern brimming with candy, I greeted the children.
"Trick or Treat!" They sang in unison with sweet excitement.
I smiled warmly, patting their little heads as they took candy from me.
Delicious.
One of the children asked, "Lady, what are you supposed to be?"
With plain, ordinary office outfit, I answered. "I am a Witch."
"You must be very bad at dressing up as a witch then." They scurried away to the next house while laughing.
Closing the door, I resumed reading, a article titled "Diet for Witch: human emotions".

Escape to the Future, by Ed N. White

24/9/2021

The young lad lay with his head sandwiched between two clutched pillows, trying to shut out the noise. The arguments penetrating the thin wall. The thud of things thrown, sometimes sounds of broken glass, then a slamming door, and it was over.
At these times, the lad rode on a great gray steed into battle at Agincourt. Or swam the Amazon, walked a wire with the Wallendas, climbed the highest mountains, or explored the dangerous jungle with a machete. Anything, anything to get away. Escape from the reality of his youth to the fiction of adulthood. To become a writer.

A One-Time Mother, by Sivan Pillai

24/9/2021

The toys she had collected over the months seemed to laugh at her. She thought she heard a tiny voice joining them.
The newborn baby did not survive beyond a few hours.
“We’ll have another baby soon,” her husband consoled her. He even brought a cute little dog with a black coat, her favourite colour, for her to pet.
She did not dare to tell him what the doctor had told her: She would not be able to bear another child.
That night she had a vision of her husband leaving the church with another woman in a bride’s costume.

An Undesirable Property by Allison Symes

24/9/2021

The house was empty because the walls seeped. Not blood, that was expected in Transylvania, but pumpkin juice.

The estate agent frowned. How could he sell this to clientele who liked their drinks originating from other species? And the boss punished failure terminally.

The agent re-scanned his database. Why hadn’t he considered her before? He got out his mobile (smartphones get everywhere) and dialled.

‘Hello, fairy godmother, I hear you’re looking for a country place now Cinderella is settled. I’ve found a place with your name on it. Transport yourself over and I’ll show you around.’

On the Spot, by James A. Tweedie

24/9/2021

Bob Marlow was an 82-year old prostate cancer survivor who had never run for public office before. When his turn came to speak at the rural townhall gathering with the other candidates for County Commission er he was, as he put it, “scared spitless.”

It didn’t help any when the teenage son of one of the other candidates baited him with a question once asked of then-Presidential candidate, Bill Clinton.

“Mr. Marlow,” the boy asked. “Do you wear boxers or briefs?”

Bob knew the question was ageist and rude, but his answer tipped the election in his favor.

“Depends,” he answered.

The Lesbian in the Bath: A Cautionary Tale, by Ruby Rose

24/9/2021

Brenda was adamant she wasn’t homophobic, but discovering a lesbian in her bath one morning was a shock.

The lesbian looked at her coolly, stretching out its long, hairy legs.

Brenda shrieked.
“Gerald, come quick! There’s a lesbian in the bath! It’s enormous!”

Gerald grabbed a cup like a hero, but shuddered when he saw just how large and hairy the lesbian was. Skilfully, he placed the cup over the lesbian, sliding some strong card underneath. Holding the cup at arm’s length, he approached the open window.

“Bugger,” muttered Gerald. “I dropped it.”

Brenda fainted.
She WAS homophobic after all.

The Weather Saloon, by Greg Vander-Haeghen

24/9/2021

Mr. Tornado swirled in through the ceiling of the Weather Saloon that was located in the upper stratosphere and ordered a fifth of Jack Daniels.

Then Ms. Hurricane hurled herself through the window.
Mr. Tornado commented, “Hurricanes are not allowed here.”
Ms. Hurricane said, “I’m just here to warn you about the intense meteor shower tonight.”

Mr. Tornado quickly exited the Saloon and was last seen burrowing into the center of the Earth.

Chuckling, Ms. Hurricane replied “sucker,” spun on the bar counter and shared the bottle of Jack with Mr. Monsoon, her new interest.

Meteor shower, what meteor shower?

Elegance, by Sterling Warner

24/9/2021

Anne, my sister, cut loose after high school, moved to Santa Cruz, and worked at a 7/11. We spoke by phone frequently but didn’t see each other until the family met in Campbell for Thanksgiving. Despite Anne’s liberal use of Cover Girl, she couldn’t conceal the small crater on her left nostril. Though curious, I said nothing.

The following week, I paid her an unexpected visit. “How’d you get here?” she smiled.

“Bus,” I replied, noticing her ruby nose ring.

“Like my nath, bro?”

“Elegant!”

“Our secret! Okay?”

“Don’t kid yourself; Mom will know.”

“Of course, Sherlock. She pierced it.”

Vanilla or Chocolate? by Lynn Messing

17/9/2021

Chocolate or vanilla ice cream? Which should I choose? Chocolate is my Dad’s favorite, vanilla is my Mom’s. They took me to our regular ice cream parlor shortly after letting me know they were separating. I guess they thought it would soften the blow. Or maybe they want me to choose between them, as usual. Mom or Dad? Vanilla or chocolate? Which will it be?

Finally, I make my choice: chocolate vanilla swirl. I want it all.

Elephant in the Pool, by Millie Poplars

17/9/2021

“Let’s not mention the elephant in the pool!”

The cackling laughter follows her as Brenda ploughs on, breasting the chlorine-smelling water, leaving them in her wake. She manages eight lengths this time, a personal best.

“You are telling yourself these things,” remarks her therapist, gently. “How could we reframe that?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Pathetic middle-aged woman exposes overweight body in public?”

“Brave woman courageously takes up swimming to improve her physical and mental health.”

“Oh yeah. That.”

They are there again the next time. She smiles, walking past, and jumps in, splashing their perfect dry bikinis.

Pasty Season, by Fliss Zakaszewska

17/9/2021

"What are you doing at the weekend?” Dan asked me.

“Going Pasty Hunting on Saturday.”

“Yeah, hilarious. What’re you really up to?”

“Told you. Out hunting pasties...” Long-suffering sigh from Dan. “…it’s September. It’s pasty season.”

“You don’t hunt pasties. You buy them in a shop.”

“Exactly. You seen the number of visitors to Cornwall this summer? In every bakery, not a pasty to be had. I’m starting at that well-known pasty hideout, Martins’ Bakery, then the Corner Bakehouse. Visitors have gone back, and bakeries won’t run out by ten. Reasons to love living in a seaside town No112, mate!”

Riding High by Shona Lawson

17/9/2021

My greatest joy turned to a reminder of my growing maturity. When I clambered up the mounting block hoping the light of my life wouldn’t move until I hauled myself onboard I remembered when I could lightly spring up from the ground.

My knees flinch with pain as I aim for the stirrups and my fingers won't grip as they once had when I tried to tighten my girth.

As I straighten up and hold the reins I think about the fun I had wonkying knees, accumulating aches and pains. I wouldn't change a thing.

Four Underscored Red Lines, by Sankar Chatterjee

17/9/2021

Diana Frank, a foreign exchange student in Berlin was strolling inside the museum Topographie des Terrors that showcased recovered documents and photographs from Germany’s hellish Nazi past. An exhibit displayed a yellow document with a few lines in the middle underlined red. A young docent explained that the page came from a document, prepared for Hitler at the end of the infamous Wannsee Conference, attended by top Nazi leadership. That underlined section suggested the complete annihilation of the Jews.

Suddenly, those lines morphed into the shape of fire-spewing crematoriums of Auschwitz where Diana’s both sets of Jewish grandparents were murdered.

In the above document, Eichmann had proposed murdering a total of eleven million Jews living in different parts of Europe. At the end of Nazi-era, six million Jews lost their lives. (Photo: Topographie des Terrors, Berlin)

Write What You Know, by Bill Cox

17/9/2021

The Writer read the reviews for his latest crime novel and they weren’t good - ‘Lacklustre’, ‘An unbelievable villain’.

‘What do they expect?’ he thought, ‘How can I understand how a killer thinks? An author can only write what they know. And I’ve never murdered anybody…’

His next novel was an overnight success. Sales were stratospheric, reviews were glowing - ‘A terrifying insight into a murderer’s mind!’

‘I don’t know how you did it’ said his agent, ‘but don’t stop!’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ The Writer smiled. ‘Once you get a taste for certain things, you just can’t help yourself!’

Saltburn-By-The-Sea, by Nick Tomlinson

17/9/2021

We smelled wild garlic and salty seaside. We followed the miniature railway track to the old Ha'penny Bridge. Children ran beside the train, waving at wind-blown passengers whilst copying the "choo" "choo" sounds, as their arms, mimicking pistons, pumped back and forth.

I didn't know when the moment was, if it was at all.

Were you anticipating something, or just content to walk?

So we didn't kiss beneath the Ha'penny Bridge (which stands no more.) Perhaps you would have recoiled. I'll never know, but whenever I smell wild garlic, I think of you and Saltburn-By-The-Sea.

My Son, by Teresa Tallman

17/9/2021

Jacob tore off his collar, shoved a grimy door open, and trudged into the village tavern. Gray haze mingled with a rare hush caused Jacob to pause. Bloody smeared boot prints overlay the pitted floor. In a murky corner, three gnarly patrons clutched a sobbing man. Jacob knew him. Seth. Jacob had just seen his mother. Eyes swollen shut, broken arm and a ventilator was her story. Father Jacob elbowed past the group, knelt at a crumpled lifeless body and draped his priestly stole about his shoulders. Violet. For last rites. For Seth’s father.

Virtue, by Ed N. White

17/9/2021

He sat in an uncomfortable-looking straight-back wooden chair. Hunched over a yellow legal pad on his lap—writing furiously with a felt tip pen.
When she entered the room, she said, “What are you doing?”
“Self-treatment for my self-diagnosis,” he replied. And he kept on writing without looking up.
“For what?”
“My mental disorder.”
“What mental disorder?”
“Clinical impatience.”
“Give me that!” She grabbed the pad out of his hand.
Row after row of his squiggly script read, “I will not be impatient.”
“Why didn’t you do this on your computer?”
“The thing was taking too long to boot up.”

Virtual Reality, by Shelley Kirton

17/9/2021

There are beautiful things for sale online, artfully arranged.

Designer fashion, jewellery, shoes. Reasonably priced. Your credit card action must be swift as they are quickly sold to a perspicacious buyer of similar good taste.

I see the slight scuff mark on the cedar chest that they are set on, the wall they hang against. The white shelf the shoes are standing on.

They are my clothes. My shoes. My jewellery.

Photographed in my house. Disappearing from me. Piece by beautiful piece.

I did not photograph or advertise or sell them.

I live alone. I have the only house key.

Lake Swim, by Jennifer Duncan

17/9/2021

Savannah was delighted at the sight of the lake. After easing herself down the ancient rock that grew out of the lakeshore, she pushed off into the spring-fed water. She gasped with the cold jolt that helped her to refocus. Quiet breast strokes sent her gliding over the pristine surface. Floating on her back, she soaked up the unlimited blue of the sky. Slowly she let her legs sink, treading water in a circle of stillness. Her mind serene, shivers finally sent her on shore.

Suddenly she shrieked in alarm. A bloodsucking leech was stuck on her leg.

Hindsight, by Pamela Kennedy

17/9/2021

The four walls of our home had become a war zone fraught with disagreements, disappointments, and unfulfilled expectations. Truces never lasted long enough for us to have seen beyond our differences. Yet, we just couldn't turn our backs on each other.

On that rainy night, two officers arrived at our door. Solemnly they announced that you were killed by a random drive-by shooting. For me, peace had become my unwelcome companion.

Often I reflected upon what had held us together during those turbulent times. Possibly, quite possibly, we were simply two loons still in love, but never realized it.

Laughter is NOT the Best Medicine, by Sandra James

17/9/2021

‘It might be just a rumour but I heard one of those FFFers killed poor old George.’

‘Really? I thought they were a decent bunch, just filling their days scribbling 100 word stories, poems and such.’

‘Yeah, well he died laughing after reading one of the funny stories someone posted last week. He was eating his dinner as he read through them and laughed so hard he choked to death.’

‘Ha! My money’s on the wife. A lousy cook and she knew he loved comedy. I bet she used a pseudonym.’

Warming and Glowing, by John Cooper

17/9/2021

The fifth thwack landed more heavily on his bare cheeks already starting to redden from the previous four smacks he had taken.

This time tears welled in his eyes and he had to choke back a small whimper of exquisite pain.

Heaven was truly here in the Mistress’s boudoir, where for £100 you could get half an hour of gently administered discipline.

To his mind there truly was no better way to spend your Tuesday lunch break from the High Court bench.

The Portrait, by C.S. Vance

17/9/2021

The Duke of Westland smiled down from his portrait.

Walter studied the painting, admiring the duke’s powdered wig and frilled cravat. His eyes widened as the duke stepped out of the gilded frame and strode towards him, extending a bejeweled hand.

Walter accepted the duke’s handshake. Looking down, he noticed that the rings now adorned his own fingers. Puzzled, Walter looked up and met his own gaze. His other self winked, turned, and left the room.

Walter called out and raised his hands but his glittering rings thrashed against the inside of the canvas, causing his powdered wig to slip.

Me Time, by Sue Clayton

17/9/2021

“She’ll be an Amazing Mum” the customary quote from Hello magazine showing photogenic celebrities in designer brands cradling their bumps, until…

They give birth.

Stagger from bed at 2 am to stick a cracked nipple into a bawling infant’s mouth.

Change nappies filled with something that looks and smells like a volcanic eruption.

Is he/she fast asleep? Worries. Prods. Wakes.

Teething; incessant crying, nothing pacifies.

The word ‘sleep’ vanishes from the dictionary.

First steps, words; the terrible twos. ‘Me Time’ abandoned.

Mums survive; cradling their children in cocoons of love and support.

Who needs ‘Me time’. We are all amazing.

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