Birdie was the strongest, bravest, most determined girl in her neighborhood. Everyone knew it; her big sister Charlotte said so. Birdie loved her home. She loved the way the honeysuckle perfumed the sidewalk outside her apartment. She loved the plant’s delicate flowers, the tiny explosions of pink and red. She even loved the cooler months, when flowers lose their bloom and fall, and paint the ground in Technicolor. Most of all she loved her sister. Charlotte was so beautiful. Her hair curled and zig-zagged, and her eyes reminded Birdie of Momma’s homemade caramel.
Continue reading “Charlotte by Jeremy Akel”Leon’s Magic Love by Harrison Kim
On Saturday night, Leon and his friend Max “The Rhythm Wonders,” played guitar and sang at Tom Kosk’s stag party. Tom was engaged to Samantha Ciaccia, the wedding scheduled in one week. He was already living with her, in a double wide trailer in the bush under Mount Baldy.
Continue reading “Leon’s Magic Love by Harrison Kim”A Good Hen by T.G. Roettiger
You’re wondering about that? That old jar, yeah, that’s somethin’ I got years ago…
Continue reading “A Good Hen by T.G. Roettiger”Personal Growth by Ben Fitton
The hole was definitely growing.
Jonty could tell, having just woken from a nap, face tingling with grass imprints and a half-crushed flailing ladybird stuck on his eyelashes, to find the hole bigger and nearer.
Jonty was seen as a shabby, acceptable kind of aristo who loitered in gardens on dewy mornings, drunk or whimsical, misquoting Homer and asking for a crustless sandwich while he sat, as squat as a stone rounded by a forgiving sea, marvelling at the stains on his tie.
Continue reading “Personal Growth by Ben Fitton”Literally Reruns – Phil’s Last Journey by Diane M Dickson
Today we travel back to the early days of the site. Our own Diane M. Dickson wrote today’s replay, Phil’s Last Journey. This is a wonderful yet simple idea. Quite often simplicity carries the day, much as the sea carries away the unfortunate protagonist, whose death and natural burial swept past essentially unnoticed.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Phil’s Last Journey by Diane M Dickson”Week 509 – Stunning Place, Ralphie Glick And Two ‘C’ Words – One Worse Than The Other!!
This may go on a wee bit as my head is full of stuff. I should probably separate (I can never spell that sodding word!!) it all and make a few posts out of this or that or whatever, but what the hell, I enjoy writing off the cuff. (I need to check where that saying came from) First off, I need to say what a cracking four days with my lovely wife who I judge for staying with me!! We went to Skye. What a stunning place. Beautiful people. What a diversity of folks as well. I think I counted fourteen nationalities that I spoke to over four days. But fuck me, it’s expensive—I think only Paris could compare. However, it didn’t matter. We were together for forty years so we said ‘Sod it! Let’s go somewhere we have always wanted to see.’ Skye was that very place. I drank Talisker in Skye which is the home of Talisker. I had a few Drambuies, which was made for Bonnie prince Charlie. I got dizzy as every sodding place is so high. I ate superb seafood. Met an Aussie / Kiwi couple who were travelling half of Europe on their honeymoon and a wee mad mental Liverpudlian fellow who walked a bit weird. We both wondered if he had had an injury and he told us that he had. He jumped off a one hundred and fifty foot cliff, was blown back onto the cliffs. He broke all his ribs and shattered all of his mouth. He was a young guy and I asked him how his mum felt, he stated, and I will always remember this, ‘When I was well, she hurt me more than the broken ribs and fucked up teeth.’
All in all, I know that there are folks from all countries reading this…If you ever get the chance, go there, it is something that I have never experienced before. You just think two things:
1. Is this no a bit good!!
2. I’m insignificant. Mother Nature tops us all!!!
Continue reading “Week 509 – Stunning Place, Ralphie Glick And Two ‘C’ Words – One Worse Than The Other!!”Ghost by Margaret Wells
Text 9:40 pm “It’s not the same without you [shrug emoji].”
Text 9:41 pm, Spotify link, “Tu Orgullo” [Your pride]
Text 9:42 pm, Spotify link, “Estoy Aquí” [I’m here]
Part of me wanted to type, are you fucking kidding me, after four years, still with this bullshit? What part of “we’re divorced” is not resonating with you? The other half of me knew that there was no possible way to reply. Every reply would be the wrong reply. To respond to the substance—really, my pride was the problem, you cheating bastard?—would be to invite more back and forth. (That our split was all about my pride was one of his constant refrains.) To remind him that I’d asked him to stop sending texts like these would bring the rejoinder that he knew that already, but couldn’t I see his true and beautiful love, a true and beautiful love that existed in and around the totally incidental cheating that went on sporadically ever since we got together when we were twenty-two? Couldn’t I see that he had given me every reason over decades to fight for him and for our relationship? What was wrong with me?
Continue reading “Ghost by Margaret Wells”Ghost of a Shark by Neil James
The monster on the beach lies on his side – bigger than a boat, sadder than the ocean. The seafront’s deserted at dawn, so I leave my bike in the empty car park, next to the tariff sign that upsets the tourists. My shoes imprint into the wet sand as I approach him, the creature from another world.
Continue reading “Ghost of a Shark by Neil James”The Crying Girl by Victor D Sandiego
Morning breaks the window open, sets sunlight to shatter on the floor, the scorpions to scatter. They run for walls, but Jordan climbs from bed, his dream head raw, brooms them to the door.
Continue reading “The Crying Girl by Victor D Sandiego”Scarcity by R.W. Owen
The forest held its breath, and so did Amelia, as she crouched in its undergrowth, heart hammering and a lump rising in her throat. She silently swore off the next fiery ache that coiled in her thighs. She listened for the delicate puff of air that would bring the spores, echoing across the pines and oaks as they descended in a curtain of death that would fell the living, leaving in their wake only the eerie, absolute silence of death.
Continue reading “Scarcity by R.W. Owen”