Blog Archives

Weather Forecast, by Jenny Logan

30/12/2022

It took days to transfer the dates into her new diary – the festivals, birthdays, anniversaries.

Two to cross out. One aged relative—natural causes—and one, died by suicide.

“Goodbye, old chum.” Her hand hovered over his birth date.

But ... one new entry from 2022 and one to come in the summer.

“One in, one out.” She poured a whisky toasting the names in her little black book, past, present, future. “To us all.”

Her husband looked over her shoulder.

“Winter frost on New Year’s Eve? How can you possibly plan for that?”

“It says, ‘fast’.”

Boy and the Box, Aidan Park

30/12/2022

The boy lived in a box.
It was cold outside, but kept the boy warm.
It was dark outside, but kept the boy safe.
It was raining outside, but kept the boy dry.
The box sheltered him until the cold, the dark, and the rain were gone.
And then the boy left.
Many years later, a man returned to the corner the box used to be.
He smiled warmly at the faded box.
“Thank you.”

The Chimes at Midnight, by Tony Covatta

30/12/2022

The new couple invited us to their New Year’s Eve bash.

The guys sported tight bright slacks, open collar shirts and gold chains. Their glittery girls wore short skirts or tight shorts, tight blouses or short tops. Lots of bling, booze, food. As the hour approached, girls locked onto hot guys, guys toothsome girls. Not spouses. Try something new. At twelve long kisses, tight clinches.

We left at 12:05.

“Did she get a nice feel of your rear?”

“Too nice. Your ‘friend’”?

“My elbows win again. His ribs will ache tomorrow.”

“Next year?”

“We are at home, asleep by ten.”

Grateful, by Alyce Clark

30/12/2022

Rachel sits wondering how to spend this New Year’s Eve.

Resolutions list? Vision board? She was invited to what is sure to be a remarkable party. Maybe she could have a fun girl’s night in?

It’s been an incredible year. New job. Mother’s surgery went well. Her uncle’s loan was approved. Their family business will open next year…

There’s much to be grateful for, she realizes. So many wonderful blessings have been sent her way.

Suddenly, she realizes exactly how she wishes to spend the evening:

She gets down on her knees, clasps her hands together and began to pray.

Hallie’s Holiday, by Alyce Clark

23/12/2022

Hallie’s grateful. Surrounded by photos and family memories. She’s excited about Christmas dinner- finally mastering Dad’s candied yams and Gran’s ham. She misses them terribly, but they remain ever-present in her heart.

Her table is beautifully set for one. Lights adorn the windows. YouTube plays a festive café scene adding to the room’s ambiance.

She opens presents. (Collected from spontaneous shopping trips throughout the year.) She’s forgotten most of her purchases, adding an element of surprise.

She’s made it. Her first year since the last of her family passed. Decorations, presents, wonderful meal… Next year there may even be friends.

Hitting The Trail, by Brian Mackinney

23/12/2022

“Nice wine.”
“I don’t know,” said the man. “You’re drinking mine.”

“I’m so sorry. I’ll get another glass from the table. My name’s Liz.”
“That’s kind of you. Mine’s Ray.”

After the Rep outlined the tour of the USA National Parks they joined her husband in the diner across the six lane highway. They all got on so well, having 5000 miles of never ending splendour and fun sporting their cowboy hats.

Downtown Cody, the empty spaces of Wyoming, spouting Old Faithful, snowfall in springtime, Grand Canyon, the tables in Vegas were all remembered when they met up back home.

Frenemies, by Jenny Logan

23/12/2022

“He’s gone back to his old behaviour.”

“Then it’s justifiable for you to.”

“It would be such a step backwards after rehab.”

“Screw that! He’s the one that needed rehabilitating.”

“Are you actually encouraging me to go for it?”

“Pay cash for your product and the room. You don’t even have to stay all night.”

“I’ll feel like a junkie.”

“Well, if the cap fits, sweetie. Just kidding. It’s harmless – always was – just a distraction. No harm, no foul, et cetera.”

“You’re just churning out clichés. Where?”

“Usual place? I’ll see you there. Bring two bottles. The good stuff. Domestos.”

'Twas Ever Thus, by Tom Baldwin

23/12/2022

‘Dear Mr Smith, Thank you for submitting your manuscript. We are sorry…’

‘Dear Mr Smith, We regret…’

‘Dear Mr Smith, I am returning…’

‘Dear Mr Smith, Thank you for sending us your manuscript. We found the story fresh and exciting, beautifully written, with well-developed characters and an intriguing plot, and we would love to publish it.

‘Unfortunately this company has just been placed in liquidation, and we are returning all unpublished properties to their authors. We hope you can find another publisher soon as this delightful book deserves a wide audience.

Yours sincerely…’

Christmas Tears, by Peggy Gerber

23/12/2022

Jenna dried her tears before driving to the mall to buy a holiday gift for a needy child. It was her tradition, donating presents in memory of the daughter that passed long ago. This year she learned of a little girl at the homeless shelter who needed a winter coat and picked out a lovely, pink down jacket with matching gloves and a hat.

Across town, on Christmas morning, a little girl tried on her new pink coat and squealed. She looked in the mirror and began to twirl.

“You look beautiful,” her mother crooned, drying her tears. “Just perfect.”

You Said, by Suzy Rosen

23/12/2022

Editor's Choice

You said: “I bet you look good on the dance floor.”
I said: “I want to hold your hand.”
You said: “Feel like makin’ love.”
I said: “True love waits.”
You said: “Just say yes.”
I said “Will you still love me tomorrow?”
You said: “I will always love you.”

You said: “Love will tear us apart.”
I said: “You give love a bad name.”
You said: “What’s love got to do with it?”
I said: “You’ve lost that loving feeling.”
You said: “If you love somebody set them free.”
I said: “Bye bye love.”

I'm showing my age by liking this story – Editor

Belief, by Richard Kirk

23/12/2022

The small boy wiped his tears away on his sleeve.

‘What’s wrong?’ said his father, gentle concern in his voice.

‘One of the boys at school told me today that Santa isn’t real.’ Fresh tears welled in the child’s eyes. His father, kneeling before his son, placed a caring hand on the boy’s shoulder.

‘Tell me,’ he said, wiping away a tear with his other hand. ‘Do you believe in Santa?’

‘Yes,’ mumbled the boy, his gaze downcast.

‘Well then,’ said his father with a smile. ‘That’s all that matters, doesn’t it?.’

The boy looked up and returned the smile.

The Last Birthday, by Sivan Pillai

23/12/2022

The inmates of the old age home awoke to learn that Elizabeth had died.
They had celebrated her 80th birthday the previous evening.
Her son had sent a massive cake with a note that he was sorry he was held up elsewhere. Like last year, some remembered. And the year before last.
"She was quite healthy, wasn't she?"
"But silent most of the time."
"She was found holding an old photograph of her son feeding her a birthday cake."
"Her eyes were moist with tears."
"The police found an empty bottle of sleeping pills under her bed."

Christmas Memories, the Greatest Gift, by Tony Covatta

23/12/2022

Caribbean Christmas, 1982. We chartered a small sailboat to nearby Mustique. Glowing, radiant sun, invigorating waves. Merry, but marred by daughter Hannah’s puking her guts out the whole way.

The captain allayed my distress as we anchored. “Here mate. Take a peek.” His binoculars revealed a yacht: dude on bridge reading the Financial Times, goddess below toweling off her curvaceous naked body, nymph in string bikini lolling on stern. Wow.

Christmas, 2022. Where are those girls? Not with Hannah: “Darling, Hannah called, in tears. She totaled her car. Not hurt, but she let her insurance lapse.”

Ah well. Christmas memories.

Small World, by Don Tassone

23/12/2022

Robert awoke early, shuffled down the hall to his kitchen and brewed a cup of coffee.

He sat sipping it and looking out his window. He thought about his life before his world had become so small, about his family, his job and making big decisions, when people looked up to him and treated him with respect.

A truck stopped at the end of his driveway. Robert watched the driver get out and head his way with a package.

He hurried to his front door and opened it.

“Good morning, sir,” the delivery woman said.

“Good morning, young lady.”

Minuscule Misunderstandings, by Rani Jayakumar

23/12/2022

All this time we’ve roamed galaxies in search of new life. It took a misunderstanding on Gaios where the inhabitants weren’t sure who was addressing them. We explained about mouths, but the confusion was greater than that. We never knew, until we saw in their quantum microscopes that all these millennia, as we developed, another civilization was growing under our very noses, at our fingertips. We said we come in peace, but Gaiosians could not trust us while we crushed them under our fingernails. Then tiny Terrans said hello, and we found that we had not been alone all along.

A Bicycle with Love, by Sankar Chatterjee

23/12/2022

Manish Sen was a child of India’s independence to refugee parents, forced to leave their birthplace due to country’s overnight partition by departing British-Raj. Resettling, his struggling parents did their best meeting their children’s needs. But Manish never had his dream bicycle.

Now a successful IT-entrepreneur, he and his fellow bicyclists, on a roundtrip, arrived at temple-town Bishnupur, but flooded with religious refugees fleeing persecution in a neighboring country. A shy teenager, emerging from a tent, approached them appreciating their shiny modern bicycles. Memory retracing, Manish handed his bike to the youth.

Then, he boarded the last train to Calcutta.

That Old Man on the Pavement, by Gordon Lawrie

23/12/2022

Sitting on the pavement, back against the shop fronts, Nick felt the cold seep through him. But for the warmth from his constant companion, he’d have passed out long ago. Nick was grateful for his thick coat, and the unkempt beard that protected his face.

He wondered how many more years of this he could manage. People often seemed nice at Christmas, but each year brought more assaults, poverty, disease and war.

The clock struck midnight.

“Come on, Rudi.” He stood up and tied his red coat even tighter. “Everyone else has the day off. We’ve got work to do.”

The Steam Train, by Sue Clayton

23/12/2022

The vintage locomotive steams out from the station pulling its antiquated carriages; a seaside tour organised by the Restoration Railway Society.

Many years have passed since Geraldine last rode a steam train to the coast. As a tunnel’s black maw yawns she leans against the window, remembering halcyon summer days.

Ozone tickles her nostrils. harness bells tinkle on a donkey ride along golden sands. She jumps waves, dress tucked into her knickers.

The light at the end of the tunnel grows nearer.

“She’s gone,” the train’s tour guide searches for a pulse, but Geraldine’s run out of steam.

Decadence, by S.R Malone

23/12/2022

The bitter sting of rejection hit Darrell, eyes glazing over the email onscreen. The job was to go to someone else.

“Typical.”

But he still had Decadence.

Quests had been missed, meetings, character restructurings unattended. The interview had taken precedence, a choice now curdling his stomach. Too much time dividing him and the software.

He turned back to the screen’s glow, to Decadence.

His game counter was over 1,800 hours. Darrel winced.

He eyed the job rejection, deleted it. A rush of endorphins flooded while logging on, hint of a migraine shoved back.

Pixelated society made more sense. Darrel submerged.

Nothing But Memories, by John M. Carlson

23/12/2022

He’s still in bed at 10 AM on Christmas morning.

He thinks of Christmases past. Bright Christmas trees. Colorfully wrapped gifts. Festive dinners.

Today, his family is gone. Friends are busy with their families. His Christmas is nothing but memories.

His phone rings. Someone remembers me? he thinks.

“Sharon?” a woman says. “Dan gave me a wonderful gift!”

“Wrong number!”

“Sorry!” Then, cheerfully: “Merry Christmas!”

He hangs up with a snarl and buries himself under the covers. He’ll eventually have to get up to go to the bathroom. But until then, there is no reason to get up.

A Break in the Bedtime Routine, by Laura Besley

16/12/2022

‘Night, Grace,’ I say, then slip the phone into my apron pocket.
A woman nearby lights a cigarillo. ‘Want one?’
‘No, thanks.’
She turns her head, blows away the smoke, her bauble-sized earrings sparkling. ‘God, these events are tedious, aren’t they?’
‘Needs must. There’ll be no more shifts come January.’
She returns the half-smoked stump to its box. ‘What will you do?’
I shrug. ‘I really don’t know.’
*
At the end of my shift, my boss hands me an envelope. Inside is five hundred pounds and a handwritten note – To tide you over in January, and for your daughter.

It's the Thought, by Laura Besley

16/12/2022

When I see Sharon from next door walk up the driveway with a card and a box of chocolates, I think about hiding, but can’t because the kids are downstairs watching telly.
‘Merry Christmas,’ she says.
‘Thank you.’
Tom got laid off in the summer and I don’t even have much for the kids, let alone anything for the neighbours. ‘Hang on,’ I say. In the kitchen I rummage in a drawer and find a card, scribble out a message.
‘Here you go,’ I say, handing it all over. ‘What are the chances – I got you the exact same box.’

Tarradiddle, by Steven Holding

16/12/2022

It’s surprising that someone with so few vices would choose to chastise themselves in such a manner. But, in their eyes, the punishment fit the crime.
It was about honesty. Truth versus falsity. They wanted God to recognise they no longer practised the mendacity most others idolised.
They began their task: to document each time they’d lied (even the little white kind) inscribing them upon a piece of rice. A grain for every example of their guile.
When the rice ran out, they improvised.
Found a beach. But it takes a steady hand to write upon a grain of sand.

The Gift He Gave Me, by Alyce Clark

16/12/2022

“Homeless. Please help if you can,” the sign reads. My eyes meet his and can’t turn away. My hot lunch- in its safely seal packaging, weighs heavily in my hand.

“Sir,” I say, “I don’t have any money, but if you’re hungry, I just bought lunch.” His smile says it all.

I hand him the bag… and start talking. He shares his story with me- hopes, dreams, plans for the future.

His stomach and my heart now full. We part ways.

Instead of helping, I was helped. He poured into me. Smiling, I go along my way. A better person.

Ivy, Ivy, Ivy, by Steven Holding

16/12/2022

A prickly kiss upon his bristly cheek stings a little: THIS’LL DO, she thinks.
IF ONLY WE’D GROWN; LAID DOWN ROOTS. A thorny issue that’d always nettled her. When the Doc leaves, it’s a relief. She no longer needs to pretend that she isn’t climbing up the walls.
The poison Ivy feels, flowers. Scratching that itch is no rash decision, even though she knows the time has arrived to tend to her garden.
It’s just another bed in another nursery. Another vegetable.
With a snip of a stalk, Ivy finally rids herself of a plant that’s in the wrong place.

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