Blog Archives

Happy Anniversary, by Stephen Goodlad

24/11/2023

She said she’d always wanted to see the aurora, bathe in the Blue Lagoon, cycle the Golden Circle, visit Thingvellir, and witness a pod of whales.
So, he booked the bucket list holiday for their milestone anniversary. A last resort to attend to two parallel lives, drastically drifting apart.
Things had been dormant for years but beneath the surface, lines of flowing, white-hot umbrages were beginning to move, fissures were showing on the surface and at random moments a seething, raging torrent of seismic proportions would explode to the surface smothering everything in a red mist.
And meanwhile in Iceland….

Her First Car, by Bev Joselin

24/11/2023

Do you remember your first car?

For her that was a brain strain. It was more than seventy years ago!

The car was a standard, about eight years old. Her mechanic father made some ‘adjustments’ and, oh my, it drove easily.

At the testing appointment she remembered her father saying the brake pedal was important to keep in mind.

The tester said she drove well but the car had been ‘helped' so no licence was allowed.

Another test appointment the next week went much better.

That day she drove her cousin’s car, so that test went well.

Oh happy day!

Hose Pipe Ban, by Clare Skorpla Emery

24/11/2023

The garden hose snaked around the man’s body, holding him fast to the lawn chair.
He wriggled as the black-clad man shoved the nozzle into his mouth and secured it with tape.
Dorothy placed her knitting on her lap and fanned herself.
‘You shouldn't wash your car every weekend,’ she smiled sweetly, ‘there is a water shortage, you know.’
She waved a finger. The man’s desperate moans intensified and he writhed until the chair fell backwards.
The black-clad man turned on the garden tap.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as Dorothy resumed her knitting, ‘sounds like rain. That’ll be nice.’

A Guardian Angel at the top of the Christmas Tree, by Lisa Williams

24/11/2023

Last Christmas Paul had been in hospital having heart surgery so the family were going all out this year and marking every single Christmas tradition they possibly could.

It was an odd December, peppered with power cuts, but by Christmas Eve Paul was the last man standing in the family Whamageddon game. As soon they got back from Midnight Mass “Last Christmas I gave you my Heart” played on the radio before the lights flickered and the power went off again.

Paul’s heart gave a flutter and he wondered if, this year, he’d had some help to win the game.

Cherish The Thought, by David Milner

24/11/2023

Ten minutes she’d said and he’s tapping his toes on the terracotta tiling at the front porch. Patiently waiting. Ten minutes on her eyebrows and the many little finishing touches she simply must complete before she’s good and ready. She’ll turn on her heels before the dress mirror. Then decide she wants to wear flats. There might be an unruly strand of hair needs taming. Then a broach will be clashing with a scarf. He must, must remember to compliment her, which he does with a fruity whistle.

“The house keys!” He panics his pockets.

“Every bloody time!” She groans.

Two of the 380 Trillion, by David Sydney

24/11/2023

There are an estimated 380 trillion viruses in the average human body, a community collectively known as the virome. Mel was certainly an average human being. Viruses #87036952114 and #1683759421863 were two in his virome.
"Say, #1683759421863. Did you ever want to be something else?"
"Do you mean a virus with another number?"
"No. How about a bacterium?"
"I can't stand them."
"Or a fungus?"
"Who wants that?"
"Well, how about one of Mel's cells?"
"A human cell?"
"Right. Like a stomach cell or a nose cell?"
"Mel? His nose? What's the matter with you #87036952114?"

The Red Dress, by Gini Goldie

24/11/2023

Looking back, I felt disappointed those mornings when Vic asked me three times, “Did you see Nina?” Each time. I said, “No.” to which he would answer, “Yes, she was standing at the bedroom door wearing a red dress. I saw her very clearly.”

I missed Nina profoundly. I wanted to see her. Why didn't I?

Before Vic’s 85th birthday in November, he died peacefully almost smiling. Was it his acceptance of the rapid invasion of a rare, blood cancer or was it Nina in the red dress telling him, "It’s OK to let go!“ 

Does it even matter?

Love You to Death, by A. R. Field

17/11/2023

Editor's Choice

Coughing in the darkness, the man draws the cigarette to his lips, the tip of the flame close to his nose as he sputters.

Another draw, another cough.

He looks around, wondering if anyone else has made the connection. The thing that keeps him stable, that he calls to in times of need, is killing him.

Another inhale, another cough. Another wide, nervous look around.

He holds her hand tighter and wonders if anyone can also see it. Wonders if anyone notices that as breathes the air next to her, his lungs scream, his heart stutters, his vision gives out.

The Pact That Would Not Be Broken, by Peggy Gerber

17/11/2023

Dull gray walls reflected the doom in the waiting area where Jackie sat poised to hear the results of her daughter’s surgery. She shoved tear-stained tissues into her pocket as she silently beseeched God to transfer the illness to her. She would give anything to switch places with her sick child.

She glanced up at her young son-in-law pacing the floor and nodded to him that she would honor their nearly impossible pact. All the crying would be done here and now, and when her daughter was brought back to her hospital room, she would be strong. They both would.

A Little Peace and Quiet, by Tom Baldwin

17/11/2023

My neighbours are incredibly noisy, playing non-stop loud music, slamming doors and arguing at the tops of their voices.

If I complain they say that if I don’t like it I shouldn’t listen. Sometimes I wonder how much more I can take.

This morning was blessedly quiet, for a change. Then late this afternoon a lot of police arrived, with people in white overalls and hoods. They sealed off and searched the house, and now they’re ringing my doorbell.

I’m sorry, of course, but I’ll tell the judge that all I wanted was a little peace and quiet.

Shattered, by Angela Carlton

17/11/2023

I thought I knew you, this man, educated, stable. But then again, I thought I knew myself. I came undone, when I learned she was in a room, that cheap motel with you. The truth is, you think you know people, you think you have your life mapped out in straight lines, but usually, you don’t. Maybe it’s my fault, a romantic, I rushed in.

I fell for you because I was broken. I come from people who are shattered, lost souls who couldn’t find a map. I fell for you because you were safe, until the lines got blurred.

A Toddler's Threat, by Padmini Krishnan

17/11/2023

You smiled at me like a devil would. I smiled back because I knew nothing else. I got the first glimpse of my little sister protruding from my mother’s bloodied womb. You moved adeptly, shooting and stabbing everyone, shouting your God’s name. Your eyes, fanatical and drugged, held no humanity. Then you tore my tiny body for everyone to see.

It is not over yet, and we are no longer vulnerable. Let me tell you something. Your God will not officiate your judgment day. My unborn sister and I will. Do you know the afterlife in store for you?

Out of the Mouths of Babes, by Libby Belle

17/11/2023

(Image credit: the author)

Eight-year-old Becky attended her very first funeral.

Standing alongside her grandmother’s open casket, her mother said, “Rest in peace, Nana.”

Becky reached inside the coffin and felt the soft pillowy lining.
She remembered how the miserable old gal often complained of her dreadfully hard bed, her wretched bad back, and her husband’s constant snoring.

But instead of the usual etched frown, Becky saw a rare smile lifting her grandmother’s painted wrinkled lips.

Looking up at her mother’s tear-filled eyes, she whispered, “Nana looks like she’s enjoying her new soft bed. I think she is finally resting in peace now, mama.”

Marital Sex, by Angela Lam

17/11/2023

It’s been 62 days, 3 hours, and 57 minutes since I’ve made love to you.

You say you’re not in the mood anymore, but we both know the truth.

You haven’t been the same since prostate cancer. The pump, the pills, the implant didn’t work.

At night, my old lovers crop up in dreams, taunting me with what I’m missing: lustful gazes across a table, sweaty hands on a noontime walk, swaying hips to the latest music, and deep kisses lingering long into the night.

It’s been 63 days, 3 hours, and 57 minutes since I’ve made love to you.

Rainbow Rescue, by Brian Mackinney

17/11/2023

It was hard to believe that Forest had been so dominant establishing a two goal lead against a top five team as Villa attacked and attacked but we managed to keep them out with low blocks, fingertip saves and last ditch tackles. They were not deterred as the onslaught continued.

The sky changed colour. A rainbow burst out, floating down in front of the goal, sprinkling its gold dust as a defensive wall giving the goalkeeper longer arms, the defenders stronger legs and the crowd louder voices.

Forest held on to claim a significant victory and climb up the league.

Mansion at the Beach, Cabin at the Lake, by Brandy Reinke

17/11/2023

Eight years before me a person convinced you your insides should not show on the outside. You agreed. When you tell me I think of your shoulders, so broad, so beautiful how they curve, how precisely they fit under my palms. I thought you made them so I could anchor myself to you. I guess in a way you did. When you tell me, 'No, in fact, they were made out of survival.' I no longer want to drape myself across them. They no longer seem like they can bear my weight.

An Unanswered Question, by Sankar Chatterjee

17/11/2023

(Public domain)

At the push of a button, the missile took off, subsequently hitting a dense enemy neighborhood. Hours later, the ground force entered the ruins, transmitting images of their glorious achievement to outside world.

In one, a commander was checking his sophisticated machinegun inside a devastated pink room with a shattered painting hanging and a hairless doll lying on bed, indicating a child’s room, not a hideout of an enemy combatant. However, there is no sign of the child, alive or dead; not even any bloodstain. But from when did a child become a collateral damage?

The world awaits the answer.

Danny, by Jo Riglar

17/11/2023

You know why I'm here Danny....

Yep.

You could pay the fine.

No! I'll go to jail if I have to.

You could come with me now.

Will you be on duty after the mart?

I will.

After I sell the calves. I need to get Henshaw to take the dog.

Grand Danny. Are you sure now? If it’s the money …?

No Sergeant. Cooney must see me go. His bloody fence is to blame.

Right.

There hasn't been a fence on this mountain since the time of the Celts. And my cows supposed to know not to cross it!

Result, by Teri Wright

17/11/2023

The tick of the clock.
The click of the kettle.
The scrape of the chair along the floor.
The slosh of water, the clink of the spoon against the mug, the splash of the milk. The thud of the tea bag dumped in the bin.

Small sounds which echoed in the empty kitchen.

Four days since her visit to the hospital. Still no news.

Fiona resumed her position at the dining table.

The tinny tune pierced the silence.

Fingers fumbling, Fiona accepted the call.
“Hello? Yes, it’s me. That’s fantastic. Thank you.”

The scream to celebrate her getting the job.

Time To Go, by Andrew Ricchiuti

17/11/2023

““You have to go sweetheart. It’s time.”
“I’m afraid,”
“Don’t be,” the grandma said. “You’ll be loved.”
“Will I see you again?” the baby said.
“Not for what will seem a long time. I’ll be watching you though. Always. I just can’t be with you.”
“Why are you sad?”
“I’m going to miss you. C’mon. Get ready. Your mother is waiting. Go to her.”
“Who are those people around you?”
“ Family, friends. Mine and yours. I returned to them after my time finished, Just like you will. Go. Now."

Giving Thanks, by Paul A Freeman

17/11/2023

The traitorous human prison guards exchange my jumpsuit for the clothing I was arrested in, my wallet and my cell phone. I walk out of the prison gate, breathe in a heavy dose of fresh air and make a call.

“I’ve been pardoned by President Xixus,” I tell Helen, my wife, thankful our alien overlords have embraced another American tradition in addition to adopting our national holidays.

“And your comrades? The others accused of plotting against the… visitors?” Helen asks. “Have they been pardoned, too.”

Only one turkey ever gets pardoned at Thanksgiving,” I remind her. “The rest get eaten.”

Knit One Pearl One, by Sue Clayton

17/11/2023

“Not another baby?” Jed sneers. “Soon as someone’s bump appears out come the knitting needles.”

The sniping continues until I cast off.

“Knit me a jumper for Christmas,” he demands.

“I only knit for babies and toddlers. No patience for adult garments.” A punch lands. “Knit one, pearl one,” I mutter. A red bead dots soft pink wool.

Instead of my usual Christmas gift card there’s a colourfully wrapped coffin shaped box, six feet long by one foot wide.

“No excuse now,” Jed smirks.

Might end up in a coffin when I tell him the knitting machine’s been returned.

No More, by Alyce Clark

17/11/2023

Ailene’s never experienced a kiss like this… One that leaves her breathless and wanting more.

“Can a glass of wine do that?” She wonders, looking for a reason to downplay the obvious.

“Yes, he’s handsome,” she relents. “Thoughtful, intelligent. But…” taking him in, she loses the thought.

Eyes. Lips. The rise and fall of his chest…

His eyes meet hers. Sensing her hesitation, he smiles patiently, kisses her forehead, and stands.

She reaches for his hand.

“Stay,” she says, the word barely a whisper.

There’s no doubt he’s the one. They love each other. There’ll be no more holding back.

Seriously? by Scott C. Holstad

17/11/2023

When you buy a gun, you have to answer background check questions. Two are “Are you a felon?” and “Are you a mental patient or ever been committed to a mental hospital?”

I lied.

I waited 10 days. The gun was ready when I went to pick it up, but I had to answer again “Are you a mental patient or ever been committed to a mental hospital?”

I lied again. Why not? How stupid were they?

I walked out with a new semi-auto and 400 rounds of ammo.

Scary, isn’t it, that they let people like me buy guns?

Strawberry Smoothie, by K.G. Song

17/11/2023

The hotel room looked familiar. The same feeling that I get when I eat at McDonald’s all over the United States.

Staring at the ceiling in the dark room, I couldn’t recall where I was and for what reason I was there. Not wanting to get up and look at the hotel brochure, I took comfort in knowing that I was on the earth.

Then I couldn’t recall what I was on the earth for. Why do I exist? Does my life really matter?

Panic swept over me, forcing me to call for room service for a large strawberry smoothie.

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