Blog Archives

Grace in a Bottle, by Ed N. White

20/11/2020

The nurse said, “I’ll put the final report in with her belongings.”

When I picked up the bag, I expected an envelope, or maybe a disc. What I found was a small glass vial with a cork stopper. It looked like a nineteenth-century Laudanum prescription. Or something that could be carried as an amulet.

I wound the paper tighter with a bent paper clip and tweezers and fished it out of the bottle. It was her EKG flatline.

I unrolled the tape and saw eighty-three years compressed into a thin black line. Sixty-three of those years were ours. It’s over.

School Prank, by Bex Gooding

20/11/2020

It had been Billy’s idea but I’d eagerly gone along with it. With a small piece of sodium metal procured from the chemistry lab, we’d sneaked into the staff toilets, thrown it into the toilet bowl and ran like the wind back to our classroom. The resounding boom confirmed our prank had been a complete success. Judging by the state of the Professor’s wet clothes, his thinning hair plastered to his forehead and beads of water dripping from his nose he must have been in the next cubicle when the toilet exploded. There was only one thing to say – awesome!

Waiting, by Don Tassone

20/11/2020

The woman sat on the bench waiting for her train. She had vowed that if she hadn’t fallen in love by 30, she would leave her hometown and seek a lover elsewhere. Tomorrow would be her 30th birthday, and she was still alone.

Her train glided down the track and screeched to a halt. Filled with guarded hope, she rolled her suitcase through the open doors.

Inside, a young man sat alone. As she walked down the aisle, he looked up at her and smiled, and she felt a warmth in her heart she had never known.

“Hello,” he said.

Sprung, by Jennifer Duncan

20/11/2020

The French fry bounced on the cold pavement. On springy yellow feet, the seagull jabbed, drew back, swallowed. He caught my eye but I turned away.

My heart was still thumping. No more job. Who was I?

He squawked as a heavy raindrop plopped on his grey back. I threw another fry.

Soon a rival came, then another. Fries, more fries. Scattered left, strewn right. Finally, no more.

The challengers flew away. He stayed.

We stared at each other; our needs sprung together.

"You did good," he seemed to say.

Me Too, by Sue Clayton

20/11/2020

“Can you play?” Mr. Cavendish nodded at the upright piano.

“Not, really,” I sat on the stool, my fingers tinkling the ivory keys.

“Come in and wait,” he’d said. “She won’t be long.” I’d cycled two miles to play with my friend but she’d gone into town.

“Let me show you how.” He leaned over, hands sliding down towards mine, caressing my eleven-year old breasts on the way. Stubble rasped at my face. I wriggled free; escaped.

“You’re never going there again,” Mum swept it under the carpet.

Many years have since passed. ‘Me Too’ came too late for me.

New Career, by Susan DeFelice

20/11/2020

She is a 1970’s version of Audrey Hepburn: intelligent, lovely, bold but distracted because of her sudden divorce. She’s broke so takes a job folding clothes and dusting off washing machines and dryers at the laundromat. She wears fuschia lipstick, bell bottom patchwork jeans and a cowlneck sweater. She curls and teases her raven hair as though going to a party.

Her kids wonder why she is doing it, since she has a master’s degree. She doesn’t tell them there is no demand for art teachers. Instead she tells them the job is fun and she is meeting nice people.

The Malady of Thomas, by Doug Bartlett

20/11/2020

Thomas woke up early and began walking around, deeply breathing in the fresh air on his farm. He watched as the golden rays of sunlight began to peek over the horizon. He was proud of his farm. He had lived here his entire life, as did his parents before him. He raised his family here. He had many fond memories. However, his memories would soon come to an end.

Tom didn’t realize it but he had a malady that would cause him not to live long enough to see another Thanksgiving or Christmas.

His fatal malady? Tom’s a turkey.

The Vanishing Act, by Sivan Pillai

20/11/2020

John was forced to board Maria’s boat as it was the only one in sight. He was its lone passenger.

The river was in spate, and none else dared to ferry passengers across it.

Even as the small boat was in midstream, tossed about by the rushing waters, a bulky log, hurtling through the belligerent river, hit it suddenly, overturning it.

As John disappeared into the swirling waters, Maria, clinging to the boat, removed the engagement ring and flung it after him.

“Unlike your vanishing act on the wedding day, this one is for good, I hope,” she murmured.

Who is at the Door? by Jil Hall

20/11/2020

You know what it’s like. The doorbell rings and you have no idea who might be standing there. It could be a neighbour or a friend (not so likely in these Covid times). Or it might be a chancer wondering if he could tarmac your drive or fix your roof or clear your gutters. I never agree to any of this.

Then there’s the religious zealots. Why they think this is the way to spread the word is beyond me. Yesterday two young men in shiny suits asked if they could share the good news about moisturising. Jojoba’s Witnesses, apparently.

Mother, by Brian Taylor

20/11/2020

"Hello? Hi, Mom...yes, I'm so happy to hear from you...again....yes, Mom...so happy...yes...you sound wonderful...yes, I'm keeping my appointments and taking my meds...yes, Mom, I know it's important...yes, I always say nice things about you...yes, Mom...it was naughty what I did...yes, only a wonderful mother like you could forgive and love so much after such a thing...I am lucky...no, Mommy, nobody but you...okay...can't wait to hear your voice again...love you too, Mommy...miss you...kisses."

I hang up, and for the thousandth time, I want to scream. But I can't...she'd call right back. She watches me closer now than before I killed her.

More Please, by Marjan Sierhuis

20/11/2020

Hello everyone. Pardon me if I don't stand up, but sitting is much more comfortable.

Move up to the glass barrier. You will see I am rather cute with my black and white fur coat. I am also known for my docile temperament. At least that is what the tour guide says.

Excuse me if I continue to eat my bamboo shoots during your visit. They are very yummy, and I never seem to fill up.

I see you are getting ready to leave. I would love you to stay.

Please come again.

Making a Wish, by Gordon Lawrie

20/11/2020

There was an email in the inbox.

"Hi Dave, I was wondering why my short story hadn't been accepted this week? Or the one that I sent the previous week? – Brian"

Dave – normally a patient editor – took a deep breath. He preferred to be nice to submitting authors. How could he break it gently? Brian's stories never hit the word count, read like stream-of-consciousness with no structure at all and were invariably appallingly written.

Dave closed his eyes and made a wish. When he opened them again, a miracle happened: slowly, Brian and his story simply faded away into nothing.

A Special Season, by Pamela Kennedy

20/11/2020

Were they being fools? Were they placing their hopes upon a dream that would never happen? After several attempts, it was time to wake up and face reality. There would be no PTA meetings, no soccer matches, no ballet nor music lessons. It would only be the two of them.

The season of giving, however, turned into a season of surprise. But they'd have to wait until late summer to receive their gift. In expressing their gratitude, they wondered why do some dreams come true while others do not. They didn't know the answer to that question-nobody does.

Ten And Romani in Europe, by Miya Yamanouchi

20/11/2020

Her charcoal eyes were still soft and sparkly, unlike the boys her age. A few meters away, two similarly cedar-skinned women sat on the pavement juggling rolled cigarettes and babies with crusted green under their noses. Their hardened eyes intermittently checked on the little girl in the crowded square, as she mechanically pulled on the elbows of passersby.

Pleading eyes looked up as she spoke, stern eyes looked down as they shook heads.

Another little girl, hand-in-hand with her mother, both dressed in frills, hopscotched past, animatedly discussing her upcoming birthday party.

“I shall have a giant cake,” she said.

A Survivor, by Kay Rae Chomic

13/11/2020

After the mall shooting my mother watched Clare Watkins, our neighbor with the denim blue eyes. Clare, a survivor, became reclusive. Mom watched Clare’s chubby body go thin, watched her calmness become twitchiness. The only routine Clare kept was drinking a cup of coffee in her kitchen’s nook.

Mom said, “If I don’t see Clare at the bay window sipping her morning Joe, I’ll know she quit being a survivor.”

Years later, Clare delivered a homemade strawberry cream pie for mom’s birthday with one piece missing about the size of a baby’s footprint.

“Poison test,” Clare claimed.

“Progress,” mom said.

Stage Fright, by Russell Conover

13/11/2020

Linda was shaking as she prepared to perform her first concert, in front of several hundred people. She knew her songs and played her guitar well, but now that the big moment was here, stage fright was sitting in.

She needed something to calm her nerves. She breathed in and out deeply, trying to relax. it wasn't working; she was as nervous as ever.

Wait. What was that technique her friends told her about? She couldn't remember.

Oh, yeah. Picture of the audience naked!

She doubled over in laughter. After that visual, the show should be a piece of cake.

Ghosts, by Michael Roberts

13/11/2020

After the funeral, we stop on the way back to the hotel.

Laura and I are flying out in the morning and this is the only chance to see the old neighbourhood.

The path is overgrown now.

No more kids to press it down under sneakered feet in the summer.

A few bent nails up in an old tree where the fort was.

“Can you imagine?” I say.

“Imagine what?”

“Getting away today with what we did as kids here?”

“I shudder to think how stupid and reckless we were.”

“But we survived it all.”

“This and a lot more.”

End of the World, by Bobby Warner

13/11/2020

On our last night, we knew the world would end. There had been signs of what was to come. There had been tremblings, and dark movements, and fear thoughts of rapidly approaching doom.

We had long felt the tide changes, the weather (especially within us) changing; what might have been groaning in the earth, or our inner selves.

"How can it be?" she asked. "God, I don't know!" I said.

We went to sleep that night, in separate beds.

Soon after, in Court, we heard the words of dissolution, and our world of forty years together came to an end.

Some You Win, by John Cooper

13/11/2020

“Never forget - numbers don’t lie.”

He remembered his father often repeating that mantra…

…And now no matter how he had tried massaging them, manipulating them, even re-counting them in different ways the numbers stubbornly remained stuck.

With a deadline looming he would soon have to admit that things had not turned out as he had hoped; that he had miscalculated and worse, would have to concede failure on this occasion.

“Damn 100 words is a tight target to tell a story!” He exclaimed to the empty room.

Inspiration, by Don Tassone

13/11/2020

Michael carved figures out of wood and stone that held people spellbound, figures of mothers cradling their babies and angels soaring.

His statues could be found in places of worship, homes and museums. Whenever people saw them, they stopped, suspended their thoughts and put aside their worries. They felt light.

Michael never etched his name in his statues or sold his carvings to anyone. Instead, he quietly gave his artwork away when no one was around.

His only interest was in elevating the human spirit. Having been torn down as a child, he devoted his life to lifting people up.

Bubba and the Election, by Brian Taylor

13/11/2020

In a small town in Oklahoma, Bubba and his MAGA buddies had discussed the election for months. How the libs were liars and crooks. How all they wanted was to bring our great president down and ruin America. But they'd cry again. Yup!

Because of 2020, the election dragged on for days, and the anxiety was intense. But late Saturday morning, the winner was projected. Bubba was alone at home, and his phone rang and beeped continuously, but he couldn't talk to anyone right then—he was too happy!

But soon, he'd feign outrage. He'd been pretending his whole life.

Bob, by Michael B. Keane

13/11/2020

One summer when I was little, I'd sit in the shade of our old garden oak and spend hours talking to my imaginary friend. He was a traveling salesman like Dad, and we'd swap stories.

One day he told me he had a good ghost story he'd share with me if I met him that night. I almost did. I remember hearing the breeze at my window and imagining it was him playfully calling. I remember the oak's soft groans.

Years later, after my mother and I moved, I heard news a man's bones had been dug up beneath it.

Call the Doctor! by Sandra James

13/11/2020

Look Lois, there’s Samantha. I haven’t seen her for ages. She looks terrible. Really tired.

Well Cynthia, you do know her husband has chronic valetudinarianism don’t you?

Oh no, poor Ralph! Poor Samantha! It must be terrible living with a serious illness. Do you know exactly what it is? It there a cure? Is it… um, terminal?

Yes, I expect it is terminal. He’s had it all his life. And, there’s another name for it… hypochondria!

Sweet Something in Slavia, by Miya Yamanouchi

13/11/2020

The sign on the door of the cosmetics store had icons for all the things prohibited inside. The ice cream icon was situated directly next to a picture of a gun.

I shook my head and moved a few steps away from the entrance, resolving to finish my double choc Magnum in peace.

I could see her in there, smiling at customers. Acting all angelic. Acting like she hadn’t broken my heart.

Throwing the ice cream stick in the bin, I walked inside and produced another Magnum.

This one was a 44.

Guess I really was never a rule follower.

Stricken off, By Padmini Krishnan

13/11/2020

Leena woke up in a panic. It was time to pick Zane from his Kindergarten. Forgetting her mask, Leena ran down the sidewalk to the school. Still disoriented and drowsy from her drugs, she searched for Zane’s name in his class register.

Leena noticed Principal Brown staring at her, “I am sorry; I am late, Mrs. Brown. I am not able to find my son’s name on the list.”

Mrs. Brown’s eyes softened and her lips quivered behind her mask. How could she convey to Leena’s muddled brain that her son’s name was stricken off the world three months ago?

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