– I’m really sorry, said the paramedic.
– But there’s no blood, I said.
– No. No blood, said the paramedic. You might need to talk to the police.
The Green Light by Ximena Escobar
Eleanor’s siren hair streamed like moon rivers on her shoulders, livened by the bluish hue emanating from the television. Simon lay on the couch, stretching his nape just enough to kiss the glass on his chest. The lime-green light on the baby monitor remained still. And I, as usual, didn’t pay attention to the movie.
Literally Reruns – The Time My Dad Chewed out a Cop by James Hanna
This Sunday Lelia Allison has chosen a story by a regular contributor and friend of the site – James Hanna and well and his Dad I guess – this is what she said:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – The Time My Dad Chewed out a Cop by James Hanna”
Week 216 – Pub Discussions, Headlines And Funny Tasting Orange Juice.
Here we are at Week 216.
The weeks are fair flying by. This time tomorrow it will be a fortnight on Monday!
I looked for something interesting about the number 216 and I found that it was a Harsad Number. I checked that out and wish I hadn’t, don’t look folks, it really isn’t worth it!
Continue reading “Week 216 – Pub Discussions, Headlines And Funny Tasting Orange Juice.”
Stalingrad Hearts by Jeb Greenberg
Mr. Johnson watched as the class shuffled in lethargically, their enthusiasm tempered by the warm spring weather and impending commencement ceremonies.
The Making of a Love Letter by Richelle Co
Natalie’s legs are splayed on the floor, flexing up and down as she rubs a crayon against a sheet of pad paper. Most of her crayons are snapped into countless pieces, grimy from rolling across the floor. But not this one. It’s the prized pink crayon reserved only for princess’ dresses and decorative hearts, and today she is working on a heart that is too difficult to fill. Still, she does not flinch as she grips the crayon, diminishing it layer by layer onto the paper.
Continue reading “The Making of a Love Letter by Richelle Co”
Satsuma by Rachel Davies
Mother is sitting on her sofa peeling a satsuma or clementine, or some other small, orange citrus fruit. She has removed the skin in small, finger nail-sized pieces, and is now carefully removing quivering strands of pith, and placing them with precision next to the teetering pile of skin on the arm of the sofa. I will be clearing them off later.
Wanderlust by Floriana Gennari
They said I could go anywhere, so long as my blood was there first. In hindsight, I really should have questioned the deal, but I wanted to travel, and they were handing me a key to the world, no flight reservations required.
Loose Lips by Steve Sibra
From a prompt by Sari K Continue reading “Loose Lips by Steve Sibra”
Literally Re-runs – Blessed are the Little Things by Leila Allison
Sharon Frame Gay has sent in a couple of suggestions for Reruns. The first is by Leila and this is what she said:
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literally stories 