Blog Archives

Harvey Cracks the Case, by David Lowis

30/12/2022

Editor's Choice

DCI Harvey stifled a yawn, inwardly cursing the restless night he'd had. He refocused on his interview with the last of three murder suspects he and his partner, DS Compton, had been interrogating that morning. Leaning back, he waited for Compton to ask her next question.

"So, what time did you board the train?"

The straggly-haired lowlife mumbled an answer.

Harvey yawned, prompting Compton to do the same.

When the interview ended, Harvey turned to his partner and said, "It's him."

"How can you be sure?"

"No empathy. Unlike the other two suspects, he failed to yawn when I did."

He Comes and Goes, by Pamela Kennedy

30/12/2022

He wears the same face day in and day out…. Seeing his punctilious movements brings a sad countenance to many because momentarily all will be gone…. gone forever into that infinity of memories.

But as many say their "Goodbyes", some with regrets, some with relief, others say “Hello” to an unencumbered new dimension.

He’s elusive. Sometimes quietly, sometimes in a raucous way, he comes upon us. Likewise he leaves us. Most of us, though, can never get enough of him. He just flies by…. Old Father Time Three, Two, One….. HAPPY NEW YEARS, EVERYONE!!!!!

Cerebral Challenge, by Sue Clayton

30/12/2022

“Go away,” I entreat the cerebral challenge when its incessant interrogation begins to invade.

My daily life usually trundles along on a well-oiled track, and normally I’m of sound mind, until its insidious questioning again sucks at my sanity.

All through my life the challenge has befuddled my brain without delivering any answers, but when it leaves, my mind’s back on track.

“I’m old now,” I tell the cerebral challenge as it begins its final interrogation…

“Where to? Where from? Why? Is there?”

Soon my lifelong question will be answered.

Is there a meaning to life? Or not?

Christmas Dinner, by Malvina Perova

30/12/2022

“What are you doing? Just leave that!” I cry at my sister and run to the basement under the loud hoot of the air alert. She lingers in the kitchen, potting about, hoarding stuff.

Some minutes before the blackout she comes down with two cluttering bundles. I lit three candles on our improvised table, and grumble, “They could have killed you with a bomb.”

She huffs and unpacks disposable plates and plastic containers with salads and fried chicken legs. The smell of homemade food turns my stomach up.

“My ass they will. I won’t let them spoil our Christmas!”

Halley, Occam and Pachelbel, by Pete Lindemann

30/12/2022

“If we’re going to be attacked, we need to defend ourselves,” said Halley.
“Exactly,” said Occam, “Hey, Pachelbel, don’t you have an artillery piece we could use?”
“Yeah, I do,” he said, rolling it out, “I think this will soothe the enemy.”
“Jesus,” said Occam, “It’s a little rusty…does anybody have some cleanser like Ajax or something – hey, Halley, don’t you have something?”
“Yeah, I do,” said Halley. “But there’s some caked-on gunk in the barrel. We could use something sharp to scrape it with – Occam do you have anything?”
Then the earth groaned and swallowed them up.

The House Appears to Float Over a Field, by Todd Mercer

30/12/2022

Our house was carefully jacked up, set on wheels and relocated after we grew up and moved away. A visit home is always incomplete.

Which is correct? See the empty meadow where the house isn’t? Otherwise it’s three townships over, to the house’s newer site. It’s second post-us life.

So I see both, then re-compose the paired images like a stereoscopic illusion, pictures for a Viewmaster. The 3-D effect is nice. But it’s not possible to return to the beginning.

We lived in a meadow outside town, decades before they built the subdivision. Mom moved from Dad’s life insurance check.

Mixing with the Riff-Raff at Hogmanay, by Gordon Lawrie

30/12/2022

Golf Hogmanay Dinners can throw up odd combinations, and 2022 Champion Pete found himself seated between – and ignored by – Honorary President Lord Chinfree and Club Captain Frederick Brainshort.

Eventually, Chinfree turned to Pete. “I gather you’ve recently been on active service with the navy. HMS Edinburgh?”

Pete had actually served 2021 mainly in His Majesty’s Prison, Edinburgh.

“I don’t like to talk about it, sir.”

“Quite understand, old boy. Bravo.”

Pete didn’t mind. He knew his chance would come when they did that daft arm-crossing thing at Auld Lang Syne. Sure enough, he left two wallets and a Rolex richer.

Born Again, by Kathleen Trocmet

30/12/2022

He wanted all the doors to the rooms in the house closed. She wanted them open. In each season, he said it's to conserve the heating or cooling of the house; it did not matter if some rooms smelled musty. She said the house was alive and needed the circulation to breathe and refresh itself.

Whenever he left the house, she opened all the doors, then closed them quickly when his car came up the drive. In their fifty-fourth year, she finally got her way after the funeral. She and the house could live again.

A Doomsday Scenario, by Sankar Chatterjee

30/12/2022

Exploring coastal Portugal, Martha arrived at Tavira, a picturesque small town, founded by the Phoenicians, later ruled by the Romans and Moors, successively. One afternoon Martha entered inside an ancient ruin complex. The sun began setting behind a historic structure fronted by two naked trees. The evolving imagery appeared more like a doomsday scenario. She imagined ground underneath shaking. Next morning visiting the local museum, she learned about the recorded “Lisbon Earthquake” in 1755 that had devastated this area along with the nearby Algarve region.

A week later, BBC broke the news of a new devastating earthquake in that region.

(Photo credit: Sinjinee Chatterjee)

Mornington Crescent, by Lisa Williams

30/12/2022

Two platforms lured them away, promising an escape from the crush of bodies on the Northern Line down just sixty six steps. Phones had stopped working so no one knew the first explosion had been reported at Euston.
They’d felt it as it rocked the station, six panic attacks started Northbound, Southbound someone started to scream. Later the smell of charred flesh would creep down the tunnel.
Some had jumped. The precipice of the platform edge providing temporary relief then a respite on the train tracks until the eight twenty arrived on time for the first time in a week.

Wallflower, by Fiona H Evans

30/12/2022

If I were younger, I’d take your hand and draw you to the dance floor. You’d feel the warmth of my desire, the beat of my heart, my soul rising to meet yours like steam off hot coffee. You’re sitting alone with downcast eyes, your posture mirroring mine years ago as I attempted to summon the courage to ask a girl to dance. Would I have? I’ll never know. Instead, party lights haloed her hair like an angel as she approached and asked me. The love of my life, taken too soon. If I were younger, I’d give you that.

Post-Holiday Wish, by Don Tassone

30/12/2022

Try as he might, David couldn’t escape the noise and commotion. All he wanted was some peace.

He knew, of course, it came with the holidays. The constant stream of parties and guests, too much indulging and too little sleep, having his daily routine torn apart like wrapping paper. But it had worn him down. How he longed for a quiet morning.

Then, at last, the holidays were over. David slept in and made himself some coffee. He sat sipping it on his sofa, surrounded by silence. But he found the sudden stillness unsettling. He wished someone would swing by.

The Hobbyist, by Stephen Goodlad

30/12/2022

Dad gave me a train set for my third Christmas. He set it up whilst I played with the packaging. He didn’t show up for dinner.

On subsequent birthdays and Christmas, I got more railway presents; trains, track and miniature station buildings. They all got added to the growing trainset in the loft where dad would play. I would occasionally watch.

Even at University I got presents for the growing set in his loft. He was seldom seen outside. I got married and had children who rarely met grandad.

When he died, he left the set to a heritage museum.

A Crone of a Door, by Patricia Furstenberg

30/12/2022

They chopped the oaks during the full-of-the-moon only. To harvest their spirit. If the soul remained within the lumber whatever was carved out of it lasted.

Time and fire.

Once it’s been a princess with smooth skin, lustrous hair. Metal bracelets, especially fashioned, adorned her exquisite wrists. An iron belt passionately circled her lithe waist.

Now she’s as old as a crone. Grey, woolly rags cover her bare bones and two belts are needed to hold her together. Her face so wrinkled, one can barely see the slits of her eyes. Only her mouth gapes open. In prayer.

Or curse?

That Escalated Quickly, by Brandon Roy

30/12/2022

Tom and Gerthe had been together for two years now. Tom had always been a bit strange but Gerthe had always loved him. But then one day, Tom changed. He became distant and evasive. Gerthe had no idea what was going on until she found out he had been killing and eating other people. Horrified, Gerthe confronted Tom and he admitted he had been planning to do the same to her. She grabbed a kitchen knife and stabbed him to death. When the police came, she was found covered in blood, holding the weapon. Gerthe became what she feared most.

The Good Son, by Tom Baldwin

30/12/2022

‘Billy? Is that you, Billy?’

The old man’s voice was barely audible in the bustle of the ward. His near-sightless eyes peered up, then closed as he lay back, his breathing fast and shallow.

‘Yes, it’s me.’

‘I’m frightened, Billy. Don’t leave me, son.’ He stretched out a gnarled hand to be held.

‘It’s OK. I won’t leave you.’

The old man’s breathing slowed, slowed and finally stopped, his hand releasing its grip.

The nurse stood at the bedside, arms folded. ‘You’re not his son, are you?’

‘I was for a few minutes,’ said the orderly.

The Killing, by Robert Wilcox

30/12/2022

He was dead. A fraction of a second after the bullet had left the barrel of the Winchester .270 rifle it was embedded deep in the body with a rapidly growing pool of blood spreading around the prostrate figure.

Seventy yards away his killer emerged from his hiding place and cautiously moved forward, his gun still pointing towards his victim.
.
Once he was satisfied that there were no signs of life, he put his gun down on the ground and took out his phone.

He took several photos before they took the body away to prepare the various venison products.

Spoiled, by Dorian J. Sinnott

30/12/2022

When you promised me forever, you never mentioned it had an expiration date—like fresh milk—now spoiled and clotted. Left out in the mid-summer sun. How rancid our love became. Potent. Bitter. Sickly on the tongue.
But how sweet it once was...
Smooth and light. Back when love was more than just a word wasted on lips. A word forgotten. A word now just as spoiled as the milk.
Rotting.
You once said, “Til Death Do Us Part.” But now, my soul’s long since void and desolate. Decayed.
Spoiled.
So, tell me dear, is that good enough for you?

Discount Dessert, by Jennifer Duncan

30/12/2022

Stephanie saw Ellen and her husband Don picking up a dessert from the discount rack in the grocery store. Three kids certainly had left Ellen saggy. What was Don's excuse? Stephanie thought of her boyfriend still handsome, fit at forty-five.

Checking her organic almond milk out at the cash, she congratulated herself on her new promotion to CEO. No discounted food for her.

As she slid into her BMW, she noticed Ellen and Don leaving the store, holding hands as he pushed the cart to their old Honda. Quite the under-achieving couple. So why did she feel envious of them?

Organ Recital, by Cindy Patrick

30/12/2022

Am I getting bigger or is the place getting smaller? It is getting crowded in here. I have to keep saying “pardon me” to me cohorts.
Pastries and pies consumed, plus every flavour of cookie that I would once say , “no thanks” to.
I guess I have gotten bigger. So much pressure on my friends sitting beside me. They shouldn’t have to tuck themselves in, especially because there’s no place for them to go.
My companions, Spleen and Pancreas, have to take what I give them and sort it out for the next. Being a stomach is no picnic.

Moving, by Jaden Hong

30/12/2022

We pack our things as our house was destroyed by another thunderstorm. This time we are moving all the way to John’s coffee shop, a two-day trek for our family. Our house was a wreck with the roof being torn off and all the different parts of the house that was blown away. Curse our human neighbor Jimmy’s for buying the super duper soaking water sprinklers. I guess living near humans is always going to be tough for us ants.

Naughty List, by John M. Carlson

30/12/2022

It was the week after Christmas in a rare place where Santa also brought gifts for adults.

“I wonder if Santa put coal in Greg’s stocking?” Ann said.

“He’s the most likely person in this office to be on the Naughty List!” Sheila said.

“I must admit I admire how he can find good in a bad situation. Although he creates so many bad situations!”

“What a Christmas!” Greg said, entering the office. “Santa gave me a mountain of coal!”

He was on the Naughty List! Sheila thought.

“How thoughtful!” Greg said. “Santa wants me to stay warm!”

Smarty Pants, by David Milner

30/12/2022

‘So, stuff your faces with all the deep-fried shite just like mother used to make – whose mother, you may well ask? Pile the plate high. Overworking, out of work, don’t wanna work? Eat like you’ve earned the God given right. Don’t ask. About the waste. Nor your waistline, Mrs Butter-my-crackers-well, Hohohohahaahahaaa, please y’self. The Waste, beneath our feet, battered prawn to kidney. Everlasting.’

Smarty Pants is the name of the glove puppet my Reverend employed this year to deliver his Christmas sermon.

My Reverend was forced to resign, reasons unspecified. Smarty Pants had a nervous breakdown.

The Bundt Cake, by Janice Siderius

30/12/2022

I am not going to be defeated. I will try again to make that molasses bundt cake, but this time I will succeed in getting it out of the pan in one piece. Third time lucky.

After baking the cake, I turn it out on a rack. Success! It is not perfect, but it is in one piece and can be iced. Victory is mine. I place the cake on the table.

“Sherlock!” I scream at my Great Dane. “Get away from the table.”
By the time I got to him, one-half of my precious cake was gone.

Decluttering, by Clodagh O Connor

30/12/2022

Mom has a job for me to do.

She says, “Gather them all up and we’ll throw them out.”

I grab some clips from her bedside table and start to stick them in my hair and she smiles, then.

I name all the spaces – bookshelf, dressing table, chest of drawers, locker, medicine cabinet. I’m not allowed to touch the medicine cabinet though. When my hands are full I move to the bin. I let go and watch the clips fall.

“But won’t your hair grow back, Mom?”

“No dear, not this time. This time I have to let go.”

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