Blog Archives

Halloween Horror, by Gordon Lawrie

31/10/2018

A day or two early this week, in honour of the occasion.

Everywhere I turned there were reminders of Halloween. Piled high on supermarket shelves were witches' costumes, pumpkins, ghostly effigies, scary cats, skeletons, spiders' webs, plastic eyeballs and other dismembered body parts. An entire row was devoted to bags of chocolate bars and sweets for the annual festival where children are permitted to demand goods with menaces from unsuspecting neighbours.

Feeling claustrophobic as they looked down on me from above, I could stand no more. Terrorised, I turned to flee the store via the exit lift.

My blood froze. The route was barred.

"Not so fast," they said. "Trick or treat?"

Hitler's Ghost, by Sankar Chatterjee

29/10/2018

Ms. Devorah Gold, 95, survived the Auschwitz, but that didn’t diminish her sunshine personality. To neighborhood children, she was the loving grandmother. Past Thursday, she finished buying candies for this week’s Halloween.

Unbeknownst to her, Hitler’s ghost had followed her to US. Here the ghost met the native ghost of Jim Crow. Together, they found worship-platforms in the temples of white supremacists KKK and neo-Nazis.

This week, Ms. Gold was praying inside her own temple. A devotee of Hitler’s ghost finally tracked her down, spraying from an AK15.

Floating on her own blood, she was holding a bag-full of candies.

Therapist Chair, by Mark Tulin

29/10/2018

Dr. Reynolds felt exhausted as he sat across from his last patient of the day. He wished that he could share his misery for a change. He would go home to a lonely apartment with only books to keep him company. They didn’t take the place of close relationships, no matter how much he read. As Dr. Reynolds tried to pay attention to his client, he knew that there really wasn’t much difference between them. He struggled with life just as much. The only difference was that he sat in the therapist chair.

Walking with You, by John Cooper

29/10/2018

Here the hulks sit and rust, stuck fast in high creek mud, as water gently laps around those younger vessels further out from the shoreline.

Above, seagulls cry and shriek, using in-shore thermals to rise higher above the harbour, before wheeling down on the unsuspecting.

The sun in late afternoon casts shadows over the town walls, as we walk out through the quite boatyards, onto the mudflats.

You asked me once what made me happy.

I could not answer then, not knowing if anything really did; now I am certain, it is these walks alone with you and this landscape.

Abstract Art, by Russell Conover

29/10/2018

Jim dipped his brush in the paint, and walloped a glob of green onto his canvas. He did the same for areas of blue, red, yellow, orange. The more aggressive art fit his mood somehow, after some personal struggles.

He didn’t yet know what his final painting would become. At this point, he was just feeling out his direction for creativity.

The image didn’t look like much. However, the abstract nature also tied into his recent thoughts.

Art doesn’t have to be beautiful to all. Someone is likely to see something beautiful in any piece, though. Jim sought that person.

Peeper, by Steven Holding

28/10/2018

I love to look.
Television. The internet. You can view anything. Nothing is left to the imagination.
But what really does it for me is reality. Observing the world through a window, not a screen. Peering through half-closed blinds at my own personal soap.
I know all the cast. Intimately. All their comings and goings. All their secrets. I know the lot.
Just like God.
I thought I understood the plot. Could second guess each twist and turn.
Maybe not.
Today, shifting my curtains, what do you think I could see?
A woman, at her window, staring back at me.

Ideal Moment, by Ahmad Ackermann

28/10/2018

A beautiful crimson lit sky. The sun was at it's final terminal. Our view of the horizon was even more brilliant from our camp—atop a sand dune in the vast wasteland bordering the city.

Just i and him, curled up together made the freezing weather perfect. Watching the sky just above the bustling magnificient city. that's the definition of an ideal moment.

A shooting star makes its appearance. We both knew our wishes. He whispers it— to forever be with me.

The irony was that we got seperated forever just then.

The shooting star was headed our way.

Waiters Are People, Too! by Shawn Klimek

28/10/2018

Two flying saucers started across the room, towing between them a rather harried looking man in a white shirt and black tie.

That’s how hungry I was.

Actually, it was only our waiter, balancing two white dinner plates as he wound his way to us across the crowded restaurant.

“Baby lamb chops, with daikon sprouts, an apple fig chutney and red wine reduction?” he asked.

My date raised her hand. He smiled obsequiously and delivered the plate.

“Which means …” he began, helpfully.
Was he pretending to be stupid?

“The scientist brains are mine,” I finished impatiently, raising a tentacle.

Facile, by Jeffrey Paolano

28/10/2018

Welch, grips a chair back asking, “Lunch alone, Arlene?”
“Believe so; no one’s made an appearance.”
“May I join you?”
“Stimulating conversation spices any meal.”
“I agree with you. You look especially turned-out, special occasion?”
A slightly rumpled Louis appears greeting the two with, “Good afternoon, folks, is this private or can anyone join in.”
Before Welch can throw up a barrier Arlene responds, “Please join us.”
“Thanks” Louis’s seating strikes Welch as gratuitous kerfuffle.
Welch fishes for an approach to blunt the wily Louis. Arlene’s sandaled toes raking along his shinbone subdues him.
“Special day?” asks the benighted Louis.

Selfish Reasons, by Lisa MIller

27/10/2018

“Come, stay with me,” I’d proposed, selfishly preparing myself for the grief looming ahead. My brother had terminal cancer with two months to live.

So, we laughed until our stomachs hurt. Watched Jeopardy and cooked gourmet meals. We talked all day and into the night.

Then, we fought and didn’t speak for two days. Surprisingly, quarreling made things feel ordinary as we remembered us. The teasing, tickling and relentless arguments. The brawling till we screamed bloody murder. Conflict? Friction? Yes, our classic sibling rivalry. And I needed him for one last round.

Lanterns, by Gordon Lawrie

26/10/2018

The lanterns had her surrounded; she knew now that her fate was sealed. Steeling herself to die bravely, she looked their leader directly in the eye. But they could read her mind. Each of them.

"You wonder how our candles never run out?" they spoke in unison. "We use your human flesh as tallow and your bones as wicks. Your body will keep us all going for hours."

"You'll never conquer us," she said defiantly. "The leaders of the free world will never surrender!"

The lanterns grinned evilly. "That's just where you're wrong. We already lead your precious free world."

Some Memories Don't Fade, by Nicky Johnson

26/10/2018

Despite countless years of duty, Correctional Officer Roger’s heart broke every time. In the desolate room, he set the tray on a small table bolted to the floor, and said, “I’ll be right outside the door if you need anything.”

Tommy nodded and smiled.

“We can’t afford this. How did you get it?” Mommy objected.

“Darling, relax, it’s his birthday,” Daddy soothed.

“Is there really meat for supper?” Tommy asked with skepticism.

Daddy lifted the platter’s lid, revealing the ham. Squeals of delight ensued.

The chains clamored as Tommy sliced the comforting piece of nostalgia – his final meal.

A Spy Story, by Sankar Chatterjee

26/10/2018

In midnight, Ms. Jean Bellamy boarded a stealth spy-plane.

She was the main architect of unheard inhumane tortures on detainees captured in recent faraway unjust wars. In a male-dominated secret world of spies, she wanted to display her toughness and patriotism. She was rewarded for her achievement; now heading the same organization.

Overseas, a dissident peace-activist had been brutally murdered by hit-men from her motherland, creating an international uproar. Ms. Bellamy’s role would be a fact-finding humanitarian, while pursuing justice for the victim’s family.

The world waits to find out how a former torturer would bring current torturers to justice.

The Killer, by Ahmad Ackermann

24/10/2018

It was undoubtedly upon us, the day we anticipated most. After generations of robbing innocent lives; a panacea to cancer: the mortiferous killer, was to be announced.

The press gathers in front of the WHO office in Geneva. All eyes are on a certain man with the panel.

The effectiveness of his cure has been proved. What no scientist has ever done.

He begins, silence dawns on the delighted impatient crowd. Subsequently, a hole right in the centre of his forehead materializes.

I had the right sniper for the job. We couldn't accept the end of a billion dollar industry.

A River Flows Through It, by Sankar Chatterjee

24/10/2018

Professor Raja Mitra, away for decades, was visiting hometown. He had just walked into the Academy of Fine Arts, city’s premier arts center hosting a retrospective of a brilliant photographer. As he turned around a corner, a stunning photograph appeared.

The artist timely snapped a glorious sunset taking place on the other side of the ancient river. It was that calm stillness of orange-yellow glow augmented by the slow-flowing river conjured a lyrical image. An old-fashioned floating boat added an ancient mystery.

Overwhelmed, Prof. Mitra stood silently. He understood the country still remained mystic, even after becoming a regional powerhouse.

Photo: Gautam Chatterjee

The Real Deal, by Ceinwen E Cariad Haydon

24/10/2018

This is for real. When your fingers touch mine, I tingle. I know you feel it too. These are the best days, whatever happens next. Last night, I decorated my diary with hearts and wrote your name over and over again.

I doze, see your face beneath my closed eyelids. When I wake, you will have forgotten me? No, you never do, my love.

I am hungry. Shall we eat lunch together? Ann, my key worker, comes to wheel me to the dining room. I look across to you, ready to smile. I see you’ve slipped away.

The Man with the Gold Pocket Watch, by Guy Fletcher

24/10/2018

Jack entered the café which had been there for many a year.

"After you, Mary, my dear."

A dapper elderly gentleman ushered an invisible figure and then politely said "goodbye" to the staff.

On his table were two cups and a pot of tea. He had an elegant gold pocket watch which Jack envied.

"That's Gerald," said the waitress. "Every day he comes in here for a pot of tea and talks to his wife although she died years ago. He pours her tea."

"To him she is still alive then," I reply.

Heartbeats, by Drew Sable

23/10/2018

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Her hand was weak and frail in mine.

"I've never been more sure of anything." I smiled at her, my beautiful, tenacious, fading child.

The doctor’s face was grave as he asked if I was ready to begin the procedure. I nodded my agreement and lay back on the bed, still holding my daughter’s hand.

I watched the monitors as our heartbeats syncopated: my strength becoming hers; her weakness mine.

Spare Parts, by Sharon Boyle

22/10/2018

My husband started dwindling after our wedding, when his own hands waved him goodbye. Hands previously adept at housework now withered at the sight of a hoover.

Then his backbone went. I had a bell-ringing quarrel with his mother and wanted support but he skedaddled, leaving his spine sizzling on the floor.

The heart was next. Shattered after I slept with his brother.

Willow-bent, hubby embarked on whisky and Bang! went the liver. He had just enough brain cells to place a newspaper ad appealing for spare parts.

Over the page is another – requesting a whole new man.

Used Books and Me Too, by Eric Smith

22/10/2018

He stopped, blinking in the dimness at disparate shelves that forced him to wend his way to the counter. He marveled at the well-thumbed volumes with missing dust jackets no doubt relished and lent to friends or pulled from boxes in attics. He also spotted fresher tomes no doubt abandoned after a few pages.

“May I help you?” She’d yanked her hair into a painful-looking bun.

“I’d like Malory’s King Arthur book.”

“You don’t want Le Morte d’Arthur.”

“I don’t?”

“You want Geoffrey of Monmouth’s version.”

"Why?”

"He treats Guinevere better. It’s complex. Coffee?”

He headed for the door, fast.

The Evil Eye, by Mark Tulin

22/10/2018

Will was prepared for Gustav’s evil eye this time. Yesterday, Gustav gave him an unflinching look that made him fall apart like an invisible force rocked his soul. This time, however, Will wore dark sunglasses and the Hand of Miriam around his neck to ward off Gustav’s black magic. This time, Will would stand up to Gustav’s severe glance because he knew that if he didn’t his life would be in jeopardy.

Later that morning, Will received a text message saying that Gustav was in a fatal automobile accident.

After the Storm, by Jude Hayland

21/10/2018

He opens the door. "You're here?"

She looks down, shuffles her feet among autumn leaves, an onslaught from the storm. All night she stayed awake, listening to its ravages, a wild, untamed thing trailing destruction in its path.

Now it is spent. At peace.

She looks up at him, cautious, hesitant. Foolishly shy. "You don't mind?"

He stands back and the warmth of the place embraces her, its familiarity consoles, tends wounds. He says something, but sound is swallowed, heads burrowing animal-like, skin against skin.

Later, he asks, "Did you hear the storm?"

"Yes," she says, "but it's over now."

Room Service, by Steven Holding

21/10/2018

Annie stepped out into the corridor, trolley wheels squeaking loudly, when the man from number thirteen squeezed past her into the elevator. She sighed as the lift doors closed. He was top of her cleaning list.

Fumbling with her pass, she let herself into his room. The curtains were drawn. Opening them revealed the extent of the mess. Tutting, Annie began to tidy, when something in the bathroom caught her eye.

A huge bag, sitting on the floor. She paused.

The bulging suitcase seemed to be seeping.

Annie gasped as she suddenly remembered; the man had not checked in alone.

Conflagration, by Jeffrey Paolano

21/10/2018

“Lara, smell smoke? Tossing the duvet, Dave’s running as his feet touch flooring.

“Where’s the alarm? Shrieks Lara flinging the covers while simultaneously, bolting Pell-mell for the kids.

“Jennifer, Jennifer,” bellows Dave attempting to pierce the engulfed hallway.

“Christian,” Lara screams into the flames that bar her from her son.

Lara grabs Dave’s t-shirt arresting him from his dive through the blaze, “Good God no, I need you.”

Twisting free Dave leaps into the inferno.

As Lara flies the stairs, screams assault her sequentially, each distinct, identifiable first her tiny son, then his elder sister and last her impetuous husband.

About Ties, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

21/10/2018

Executive. Wore stripes, dots. Predominantly blue.

His bedroom pulsed with ties. Silk. Polyester. They pulled him into meetings. Flung him into social circles. Man of power. Distinction. He was an aficionado of man’s fundamental accessory, the tie.

One day, a tie didn’t cooperate. It ended lopsided. He tried to retie but the tie didn’t properly tie. He arrived at work cranky. Argued with coworkers, apparently without cause.

Scissors he took to his tie. Letter of resignation followed. He tossed the cutoff portion of his corporate tie out the car window.

Man of ties. Minus the job that had him tied.

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