Blog Archives

The Exterminators, by Ann-Louise Truschel

30/11/2017

“We have to catch those mice. Our company will be here tonight, for heaven’s sake!”

“I know, I know. I’ve been trying to do just that, but no such luck.”

“How could you be so careless – waiting until the last minute?!”

“Don’t blame me. After all you could have helped too, you know.”

“I was working all night - as usual.”

Let’s not fight. We have to work together to get this done before our friends arrive.”

“Look at this! We finally caught some mice.”

“How many?”

“Four!”

“Whew, just enough. That’s one each for Fluffy, Whiskers, Tigger, and Kitty.

A Solid Excuse, by Russell Conover

26/11/2017

“C’mon, Dad. Come with us shopping!” Jill encouraged.

“No, thanks,” Randy responded. “I don’t need anything.”

“Oh, it’ll be fun. And today’s the biggest shopping day of the year!”

Randy sighed. He did love his family. But the thought of braving the crowds on Black Friday? Taking a nap sounded much more appealing.

But how to decline his seven-year-old’s request without disappointing her? THIS was going to be tricky. Then, Randy smiled as he had an idea.

“Sorry, Jill. I’d love to, but this year’s Thanksgiving post-food coma has knocked Daddy back. I’ll be with you in spirit. Have fun!”

Some Bits Carried Over, by Ron Guell

24/11/2017

The airliner is in a steep dive, just seconds from slamming into the ocean. Michael, seat belt buckled, follows instructions and braces for impact. No one should suffer this kind of all-consuming fear.

There is a white space. An angel kneels before a white shimmering veil. Michael slips through the veil into the angel’s arms. Her wings fold into a warm embrace, an embrace like a thousand comforting arms.

He comes out of his hypnotic trance and sits on his doctor’s couch. Doctor, ‘How do you feel Jason?’ 'I have a story to share with you, and a few questions.'

Portable and Remote-controlled Technology – Of Course! by Fliss Zakaszewska

24/11/2017

Danny looked at the products in the shop excitedly. “This one’s remote-controlled AND portable...”

“Right…” Libby’s expression could only be described as dubious.

“…with a range of sixty meters!”

“Useful as a chocolate kettle.”

“Seriously, it’s great!”

“Ohhhh-kay… when you’ve made the front door portable and we want to ring our doorbell remotely…”

“You can programme the chimes from your phone remotely, and port the speaker anywhere.”

“The point being? Buy a doorbell that goes ding-dong, stick it on the doorframe which doesn’t move; job done.”

“Huh! You take the fun out of everything with your iron-clad logic!” he muttered.

Inside The Black Bag, by Gordon Lawrie

24/11/2017

On the Friday he was born, an elderly aunt gave James Milverton Wilson a large black cloth bag with tie-string fastening. Inside was a folded note, and another identical bag.

His parents were instructed to read him the note's contents (a 100-word-long fairy story), and retain only the inner bag.

Each Friday thereafter revealed another 100 words, plus another bag. Eventually, he read the notes himself – stories, advice on spending or girls, recipes, anything at all.

Exactly 4,253 Fridays later James Milverton Wilson was found slumped in his armchair. On his lap sat a black bag – and a blank note.

A Thanksgiving Grace, by Gordon Lawrie

23/11/2017

With genuine best wishes to our one-time colonial cousins.

Dear Lord

Today we give thanks for being American, and to give thanks for those early days when the settlers were grateful for the assistance of the Native Americans; when they we were nicer to us than we are to them now.

We give thanks that America is less in want than any other nation on Earth, albeit that many Americans seem to not to receive their fair share.

We give thanks that that America is safer through possessing more and better weapons than any of our enemies.

Most of all, Lord, we thank you that we are not turkeys.

Grave Robbers, by Charles Boorman

23/11/2017

Clouds scudded across the full moon. Somewhere an owl hooted.

As the bell tolled midnight they crept into the cemetery. It didn’t take long to find what they were looking for. They went to work immediately, scraping back the turf on top of the freshly dug grave and then digging down into the loose soil. The excitement rose as juicy worms and bugs wriggled towards them.

Early next morning, Widow Watkins’ heart skipped a beat as she surveyed the scene of devastation at her late husband’s grave.

“Grave robbers!” she tearfully complained to the caretaker.

“Badgers!” he replied with resignation.

Small World, by Ian Fletcher

23/11/2017

“Was it boring on the weekends without the Internet?” my daughter asks.

“Sure was,” I say, thinking of how one could safely wander outside into the countryside.

“How could you get information without iPads?” she asks as I remember how I knew the names of all the plants and trees passed down from generations immemorial.

“And no TV after midnight!” she says as I recall staring out of my bedroom window in wonder at the stars, still visible before air pollution had veiled them.

“It’s a small world she inhabits,” I think, looking pityingly at my daughter clutching her smartphone.

Grateful, by Don Tassone

22/11/2017

Growing up, there were deep woods near his house. He would ride his bike there. He would find a sturdy branch to use as a walking stick, plunge into the woods and explore for hours, balancing himself on fallen trees, listening to birds, wading through creeks. He felt so comfortable there, so grateful to be alive.

This morning, he drove to a park near his house. Using his cane, he walked slowly to a trail at the edge of some woods and gingerly made his way into the trees. He felt so comfortable there, so very grateful to be alive.

The ‘Inevitable’, by Tony Sharma

22/11/2017

Wrinkles don my face as I wait for the inevitable. My mind time-travels into the past... I eagerly wait for stepping into high school, next my convocation… As I step into manhood, I wait for my first job, a perfect girl, climbing the ladders of success. Finally, I wait for my retirement.

But… I never waited for the inevitable! I earn the Ph.D of life with prefix of ‘Late’ before my name. I smile from heaven as I see my ‘Cycle of Waiting’ reverberate through a millions lives on the blue planet, waiting… to earn Ph.D of their lives.

The Blood-Red Sun, by Guy Fletcher

21/11/2017

The blood-red sun was alluring, appearing the same size as the full moon only without its silvery hue.

Thin grey clouds drifted over like ghosts.

Then I saw my lover with another man. It was like a parallel universe with the sun and my lover caressing someone else.

The scene was surreal. Shock had not yet poisoned my system and I wandered home as if in a dream.

Before I entered the house I glanced up again at the sky. The sun had returned to its traditional yellow but my world would never be the same. I'd remember the blood-red sun.

Woe! by Harry Kellerman

20/11/2017

Bitch!—he shouted as he shot and she fell to the floor. Bastard!—she shouted as she shot and he fell to the floor. Razed!—they shouted as they shot and they fell to the floor...DEAD!

Sparkle, by Don Tassone

20/11/2017

He pulled open the door of the Elbo Room and peeked inside. The afternoon sunlight through the doorway made the bottles behind the bar sparkle like rock candy.

It made him think of the penny candy in a long row of square glass jars just inside the front door of Seeger’s, the corner store in the neighborhood where they grew up. They were childhood sweethearts. They would walk there, holding hands, on Saturday mornings. He happily covered her root beer barrels and lemon drops with his allowance.

Now he would give everything to see the sparkle in her eyes again.

Pang! by Catalina Carpan

19/11/2017

The sound of glass shattering startled her. ‘That damned cat!’, Laura thought as she started sweeping. She had detested that vase for as long as she could remember. In fact, one of her earliest memories was that damned raffle where instead of the beautiful ‘celestial blue’ dress she won this ugly pot. She was five and that was a tragedy. Forty something years had passed and there it still was, disappointing as ever, incessantly mocking her … until today!

As she dumped the last of the glass into the bin, Laura grinned with satisfaction like she was five all over again.

A Generation Thing, by Fliss Zakaszewska

19/11/2017

The man twitched his tie and straightened his jacket as he looked sternly at the guy in jeans and a tee-shirt.

“What precisely are your intentions towards her?” he asked.

The guy grinned and took his hands out of his pockets. “Totally dishonourable.”

“Tch!” He turned to the woman. “You?”

She shrugged with calculated indifference. “Pretty much the same, I guess.”

“You GUESS?”

She smiled and pulled a hair off the man’s suit. “Son, I don’t want another husband. If I want to have a lover, I shall. As you were fond of saying, ‘get over it’.”

Little Swimmer, by Maura Yzmore

19/11/2017

"Sweetie, what's wrong? Why are you upset?"

"Gillian said today that I’d never be a good swimmer."

"What? That's nonsense. You’re just a bit younger than her; your feet still need to grow. I bet, by this time next year, you’ll swim faster than her."

"You really think so?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Don't worry. Now let's go get some lunch. How about tuna?"

"Tuna sounds great!"

Bubbles sucked clean salty water into her gills and grinned, revealing four rows of teeth. By next year, the webbing on her feet will be complete, and she will swim as fast as Mom!

The Purchase, by Ann-Louise Truschel

19/11/2017

The phone rings. He looks at caller ID and sees it’s his friend Alex.

“Hi, how are things, Al?”

“Fine with me. I wanted to check with you about a rumor that’s circulating that you’re the guy who bought that da Vinci for $450 million.”

“Wow! Word sure travels fast, and I wanted to keep that info under wraps.”

“So much for privacy. Why’d you do it?”

“Impulse. Pure impulse. I had a $500 million dollar bill in my wallet, and I just had to have it. Told the auctioneer to keep the change!”

“Enjoy your masterpiece, Baron von Münchausen.”

Minimum Pricing, by Gordon Lawrie

17/11/2017

This week, the UK Supreme Court ruled that the Scottish Government's plans to introduce minimum pricing for alcohol was legal.

Imagine if...

They've not been in bed long when he leans across. She knows what he wants.

"That'll be fifty pounds," she says. "Minimum pricing, remember? New legislation – whoever asks has to pay at least fifty pounds."

"But we're married, for goodness' sake!"

"Doesn't matter. Government says it makes sure one partner never takes the other for granted."

Handing over the money, he grumbles, "Political correctness gone mad."

"Nevertheless, no money, no me."

"Couldn't we just agree to ask each other in turn and pass the money back and forth?"

"No. I'm saving for a new car." Smiling, she reaches for him.

The Cat Dance, by Susan Church

16/11/2017

My knees crunch and my back sends a little jolt of pain up my spine. Just a friendly reminder that I will soon be 70. My devilish cat, always on the lookout for mischief, decides to walk slowly in front of me an then stop short. Now we do the cat dance--I try not to step on him- I do a little shuffle and hop, hoping to clear his languid body. This is the thanks I get for all that tuna? Next time I may just step on his fat tail!

Hit And Run, by Charles Boorman

16/11/2017

The police appealed for information after the “hit and run” incident. A man delivered to hospital with cuts and bruises claimed he had been knocked down near the bird sanctuary. The perpetrator failed to stop at the scene.

The police issued a description of the suspect. He is thought to be white, about 1.5 metres in height and portly with a waddling gait.

The police also said the suspect could be wearing a ring on his left leg and warned the public not to approach him. “Mute swans can be very aggressive, especially big cobs like this one”, they said.

The Brioche, by Kim Gosling

16/11/2017

The abandoned Brioche lies lonely and half eaten on the train to Exmouth. It’s only friends are the Pepperami wrapper and the grains of sand that have fallen from a tourist’s bucket and spade. The Brioche looks around, paralysed, contemplating its short-lived life when it spots her.

She is gnarled, clothed in a shiny poncho of blue plastic with a cap to match. In one hand, a mop. In the other: The Sponge.

Rumours have spread viciously of her manipulation of the Mop and Sponge, together scrubbing away the fallen, sweeping their prey from existence.

Their next target:

The Brioche

Disconnect, by Don Tassone

16/11/2017

He drove to the end of a street which did not exist forty years earlier, when he was a boy.

Then it had been a field. He had trekked through it countless times, willing to risk a scolding for the thrill of reaching the creek just beyond.

More than anything else in all his life, playing in that creek — wading in the cool water, jumping from rock to rock, finding crawdads — had made him feel connected to the earth.

Now he got out of his car and looked around to get his bearings. There was no sign of the creek.

Memory, by Sankar Chatterjee

16/11/2017

In a foggy December morning, Ranjit Mitra, MD a heart-specialist in US was driving to his hospital. A day-long surgery was scheduled to reconfigure a young man’s abnormal heart. Suddenly, a little school boy carrying a blue backpack while holding his dad’s hand appeared at distant. Dr. Mitra realized that he had been drifting into memory. In his childhood in Calcutta, he used to walk with his dad through winter fog to catch a British-era trolley to go to school. Suddenly, his car-phone rang bringing the deep voice of his elder brother.

“Dad just expired after suffering a massive heart-attack.”

The Rough Sleeper, by Guy Fletcher

15/11/2017

"It's been many years Graham. I won't ask how you are. I can see."

Graham was huddled in a shop doorway with a damp sleeping bag, crippled with arthritis and Seelenmord (death of the soul).

He stared at the woman in the wheelchair. It was Mary. He had caused her injuries and killed her friend, driving carelessly whilst drunk.

It was such a long time ago and yet only seconds, the scene constantly replaying in his tortured mind. Only cans of Special Brew could briefly wipe the pain away.

No, I've never left that terrible day behind," said Graham sadly.

Never Assume There Is A Tomorrow, by Shanna Lowe

14/11/2017

My husband and I used to write little messages on sticky notes and hide them around the house. “I love you” in the dresser. “Good luck at work” on the bathroom mirror. I gave each note a quick kiss before crumpling them up and tossing them in the trash. There’d always be more tomorrow.

A month before our sixth anniversary, my husband fell from a thirty-foot ladder. A spiderweb chiseled his x-rayed skull. Now he gurgles and swings his arms in aimless circles as I dress him for bed. Eyes glazed and vacant. I wish I had kept those notes.

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