Blog Posts

Last night I dreamed I was married to my high school English teacher.

I was crying. He wanted to comfort me. I told him I didn’t want to talk about it.

Later, while making love, I changed my mind. I stopped moving and asked, “If I retire from writing, will you love me anymore?” He was the first person to believe I could be published.

He cupped my face with his broad hands. “I love all of you, not just your writing.” He kissed me.

Relief curled through my body.

Finally, I was not the story. I was just me.

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Border Standoff, by Mary K. Curran

22/9/2023

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Frank's old black Labrador wandered across his next door neighbor's lawn and was fatally shot. The police were called and documented the neighbor's excuses that he had every right to protect his home as the land was posted, the dog was a menace and the gun permit was up to date.

Frank erected a chain link fence between the properties. He got another Labrador and the grandchildren came over to play outside with the new puppy. The neighbor sat on his porch with his rifle and watched them. Frank sat on his porch with his shotgun and watched the neighbor.

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Cliche Alert, by Stephen Goodlad

22/9/2023

Every bin has a liner they say. In Alice’s case, much of the rubbish in Gran’s attic was binned. Her expectations were low when she came across a canteen of very tarnished cutlery. She searched the drawers for a suitable cleaner but found nothing appropriate.
-Where there’s a will…. there’s an estranged relative crawling from the woodwork, thought Alice, left with the task of emptying a house she would never own.
She found only some old condiments in the larder and used that to clean.
They revealed a silver hallmark.
Where there’s muck there’s Branston’s, she thought.

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For Whom the Till Rolls, by Christa Loughrey

22/9/2023

Josh is in a souvenir shop, looking for trinkets to take back for his niece. He picks up a colourful little glass robin hanging from a long silk ribbon; the sun from the window glows through its faux diamond eyes, its ruddy breast feathers.

Julia would have loved that. If it glittered, gleamed or shone, Julia treasured it. Her house had been stuffed with pretty things, all long since donated to charity.

Josh sighs, and replaces the robin on the shelf. He can’t buy souvenirs for his niece. He can’t see past Julia.

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Ripple, by Nichole Turnbloom

22/9/2023

I promised myself I would stop hating you. I sent kind thoughts to embrace what is genuine, but the wind was strong that day. It blew my intention off-course where it landed as mist upon the mustard sweater of some stranger as she entered her car, evaporated in the heat that blew slanted from the dashboard, released whiffs of jasmine that reminded her of a childhood friend long lost. At lunch, a birthday cake in the dimmed break room. The spiral-torches burned long tips as her co-workers sung, she thought of her childhood friend. Cast her wish into the wind.

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Looking Forward To Lunch, by Andrew Ricchiuti

15/9/2023

Susan checked her phone, but, no messages.
She sighed and handed the waiter her credit card.
“I guess my old friends aren’t coming,” she said. “I feel terrible. They contacted me after almost twenty years. I’d loved to have seen them again, but...”
“Maybe you should hold the card. Look behind you.”
“I just finished my football draft,” her husband Don said. “Since these chairs are empty, I’m going to join you for lunch.” He looked at the bar and waved. “The boys are here too.”
“Family instead of friends,” Susan said to the waiter. “I”ll take it.”

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MS Found in a Cabin, by Tom Baldwin

15/9/2023

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I could see the writing on the wall. While the Supreme Court was deliberating, I bought all the survival gear, ammo and canned goods I could afford and drove to my cabin deep in the woods. It is well-hidden, with a clean water source and good hunting.

A week later the decision came: the Court had been persuaded that all gun controls be removed, reasoning that when everyone was armed gun crime would be greatly reduced, due to fear of retaliation.

As I write this I can hear possible intruders outside in the dusk. I will defend myself to the

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Piles, by Teri Wright

15/9/2023

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Hilda winced as she turned into her street. The shopping bags were heavy, the straps cutting into her palms. She spotted Maggie tending to her roses in her front garden and waved.

“How are your piles today?” Maggie asked.

“Still as huge as ever,” Hilda replied. “It’s getting to the point where I need to get professional help.”

Hilda staggered on, until she reached her own home. She entered, placed the bags on the floor and began sorting the contents.

“Crime, Historical Fiction, Memoir,” she muttered, whilst adding books to the gigantic ‘to be read’ piles that lined her hallway.

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Pamvira, My Love, by Paul A. Freeman

15/9/2023

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Mortality corrodes me daily. I’m oxidizing, wrinkling, ageing. Yet if I’m made ever youthful, I could rule the night, even though my heart and soul are frigid.

Pamvira’s waiting, keen to gorge herself so we might be together, evermore, from dusk till dawn. She frequents the threshold of my abode till my will crumbles, that I might be reborn.

“Welcome, Love! Slake your thirst,” I tell her. “Nocturnal creature, traveller of my dreams, imbed your fangs, the otherworldly portals to a life undead. Imbibe two bloody streams.”

No more a sibling of the sun, I’m drained, pale, my transformation done.

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Nightmare Neighbours by Peter Geddis

15/9/2023

“If your dog defecates on my lawn again, I’ll kick him where the sun don’t shine,’ Terry called to Vince.

The day slipped into darkness, and moonlight cascaded onto the remote town.

From his pristine porch, Terry watched the midnight hound sniffing his lawn. Its silhouette resembled a large, unkempt greyhound. “Git,” he said, rushing into his garden.

The hound growled while holding a severed human arm between its jaws. Terry backed away, tripping over his hosepipe.

Vince appeared from the dark. “Look, Terry.” He grinned. “Cerberus is curling one out now. Why don’t you give him your best shot?”

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In an Unexpected Hour, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

15/9/2023

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They agreed not to meet again. Years of promises to love forever reduced to nothing.

Next day the woman visited a park, to forget him. She tried to read the book she brought but the words glared back at her. Images of him in better times filled spaces between the lines.

Mallards landing, splashing on the water had her look up. A male led the flock with boisterous quacking. Its cheerful temperament lifted her mood.

While she attempted to read again someone approached her.

“May I share your bench?” he asked. “Marvellous, aren’t they? I visit nature whenever I’m down.”

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No Objection, by K.G. Song

15/9/2023

Tonya decided to get married before the end of last year. The fact that she wasn’t even dating anyone didn’t discourage her. She went ahead with the wedding preparation with full force despite her family and friends’ protests.

On the day of the wedding, Tonya stood with the mortuary director and his wife in a small chapel at the cemetery. The first time a wedding took place at the chapel in its history.

Tonya married Mr. Nelson. He was perfect. First, he wore a nice tuxedo. Moreover, he didn’t object. That afternoon, Tonya attended Mr. Nelson’s funeral at the chapel.

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It's Not Listening, by Gretchen VanOstrand

15/9/2023

I popped over to the pharmacy yesterday. Thermometer, cold meds, extra vitamins, Covid test kits, just in case. Masks were sold out and they only had off-brand test kits left. Where once was a plexiglass shield at the register was now open space. Awful, germy openness. The cashier coughed and I lunged backwards. Covid is surging again, they say. Those plexiglass shields won’t be going back up. I’ll be the lone masked shopper, once again. People talk about the pandemic like it’s a distant memory, but Covid is a toddler covering their ears, stomping about, determined to get their way.

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My Best Friend's World, by Brian Taylor

15/9/2023

His whole world, destroyed by us both. Mostly her. She seduced me! I tried to resist...

(Liar! You'd wanted her since he introduced you to her!)

God, I just wanna forget...

Him coming home early, catching us. Betrayed, insane eyes. That awful screaming...him and her! Him getting his gun and shooting her. Me cowering, he barely looked my way. Him going to another room, and...

Why didn't he shoot me next? I deserved it!

Maybe he felt this was worse punishment. Daily torment... nightmares...until life ends.

But this won't end there. I know he's waiting for me. So is she.

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The Mountain Man, by Sankar Chatterjee

15/9/2023

Inside the park rangers’ office, John collected trail maps, filled up his empty water bottles and applied sunscreen. He had been planning to summit Mt. Hood (4km) for a while. While exiting the office, he heard an approaching noise.

A fierce-looking heavyset mountain man appeared, inquiring John’s destination. Hearing his response, the gentle beast shook his head, uttering “Aren’t you following the consequences of climate disasters? Past few years’ drought wiped out all vegetation up there, making me homeless too.”

John looked up; the summit appeared bald under a blue sky but scorching sun. He channeled Pogo “Enemies are us.”

(Photo credit: author)

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The Spot, by Padmini Krishnan

15/9/2023

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Editor's Choice

My mom did not pick me up that day. It had been 3 hours after school. At last, a neighbour came to collect me.

Policemen were bustling on the ground below my apartment. I was whisked to my unit on the fifteenth floor. My grandmom was there, sobbing.

‘’Your mom has gone to Bangalore,’’ she told me.

My dad stood on the balcony, staring down.

The next day, I saw a red spot on the ground where the police stood.

It has been two years now. The spot is still there. And my mom has not yet returned from Bangalore.

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Potted Delight, by Sue Clayton

15/9/2023

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“Did you bring it?” Jacob, a doddery octogenarian, shuffled to meet me.

“She’s turning ninety, you know.” He grasped his special order—a potted pink petunia, the number 90 painted on the pot

Daphne still saw Jacob as the ‘stud’ who had sauntered into the aged care home twenty years ago. He had scanned the room, ‘eyeing up the talent.’ The beautiful sprightly seventy-year old had caught Jacob’s eye.

Walking frame and wheelchair rolled towards the residents’ lounge, the potted delight’s heart shaped petals trailing the sweet scent of love, the fragrance masking the sanitised smell of old age.

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Time Travel, by Allison Symes

15/9/2023

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Miriam time travels every afternoon. Exploring photo albums takes her back. Graham can’t time travel. He made a one way journey some time ago. She’ll see him again soon. If only their daughter could time travel with her instead…

‘Mum! Danielle here, have you got the photos?’

‘Do I know you?’

‘I’m your daughter. Come to natter. Like I do every day. The carers will bring in tea and cake soon.’

Miriam could’ve sworn it was her carers visiting daily.

‘It’s not been great today, has it, Mum?’ Danielle takes Miriam’s hand.

Miriam likes this. This would do for today.

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Dragon Fighter, by Juyeop Park

15/9/2023

A silent student was immersed in his imaginary world. In every class, he did not participate but just stared at the field or sky. In his world, he was a hero who fought with a fire-breathing dragon.

Someone said, “Focus on the real world and don’t waste your time imagining strange things. It’s not helpful.” Today, he is a brave firefighter who saves a lot of lives against fire. “My imagination allowed me to become a firefighter and I’m very pleased that my imagination has become reality.”

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Thin Blood, by Mimi Grouse

15/9/2023

Shortly after his heart attack, Tim, who had neither wife nor children, wrote his Will and had it witnessed by strangers at his only brother's birthday lunch.
'I'll go home now, if you don't mind,' he said, troubled by odours from the kitchen.
'No, you won't. You're staying for Helen's fish curry otherwise she'll be upset.'
Reluctant to offend, Tim made himself eat everything on his plate.
'There's turmeric in this, isn't there?' he choked as discomfort finally overwhelmed him.
'Why? Don't you like it?' snapped his sister-in-law, anticipating criticism.
'I'm taking Warfarin...'
'You should've gone home, then, shouldn't you?'

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Writing with Children, by Angela Lam

15/9/2023

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You wake up before dawn. Your fingers dash across the keyboard. A story comes to life until someone knocks on the closed office door.

“Just a minute.” You continue typing. “Mommy’s writing!”

“I hate you writing!” Feet scurry down the hall.

Guilt lashes at your hands, and the story falters. You go find the child and make breakfast.

Now, an empty nester, you write with the door open.

No one knocks.

You write, “The End,” and text your children.

No one responds.

When your writing students ask for advice, you tell them, “Hold your writing close but your family closer.”

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Wishing Ain't Getting, by Cheryl Dahlstrand

15/9/2023