Today she is wearing yellow. Yellow dress, yellow hat, and a buttercup yellow scrunchie around her ankle. Today is a good day.
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Tag: aging
Shadow by T H White
Tom Mitchell had lived alone for longer than he could remember. His wife, Lily, had passed away a decade ago, and their children had long since moved away, caught in lives of their own. The house, once filled with laughter and warmth, now echoed with a quiet, unrelenting stillness. Even the walls seemed to breathe differently, like they were holding their breath, waiting for something – or someone.
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Tiny Dancers by P A Farrell
In her nursing home bed, petite Margaret, just four feet tall, stared at the ceiling under the dim glow of fluorescent lights, her face devoid of the vibrancy it once held. Legs that had leapt across a sound stage lay thin and mottled with brown age spots. Feet that had slid into dainty slippers now stood as small, rigid reminders of long ago.
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Steroids and Cottage Cheese by Rachel Sievers
Mr. Morton needed a new pair of shoes. That was quite obvious to Mrs. Morton but since he had started this health kick she couldn’t convince him of anything. She shot a glance at the runners out of the corner of her eye, afraid they would jump out and get her if she gave them her full attention.
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Confessions 1:07 by Kendra Yvette
This is my confessional right here. Instead of an old wooden box full of stale air, I sit on a rickety old concrete porch at a rusty metal table with a stained-glass top. I always stay in room 107. The seashell wallpaper makes me want to die, and the air stings with the putrid stench of vomit, but this room has a perfect view of Main Street. This motel is the only part of this hick town that’s worth a damn. I fill my glass ashtray, stained yellow with wear, with cigarette butts as I spill my sins and people watch.
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At Spences Bridge by Harrison Kim
Cody uploads the video of his day from his phone to the computer and does a voice-over.
“Other people try to draw us into their nightmares,” he states, “My video will show you what it’s like to travel alone.”
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Katrina by Richard Krause
What is immoral is simply what we don’t want people to do. If anything is expeditious to us, of benefit, if it accords with our own plan, we will not only sanction but applaud what would otherwise outrage us.
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Helen’s Kitchen, 3:30 a.m. by Brian Clark
Returning from the bathroom for the second time that night, her eyes heavy with sleep, Helen squinted down the dark hallway at the faint white glow coming from the kitchen.
Did I forget to turn off the light? she wondered.
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The Narrow Gauge by Ed N White
On this first day of May, I return to the abandoned farm I once owned and stand in a pasture now overgrown with creeping jenny vines and clumps of brilliant yellow buttercups. Slatey gray clouds collide above me and fold into each other in a birdless sky. A whispering breeze ruffles the tops of the leafing red maple trees. Half a century ago, I found an abandoned narrow-gauge rail track set on hand-hewn locust ties at the back of the farm. I was unaware of their presence until months after the purchase and could only guess their purpose. Shuffling several ideas, I thought they might have been used to bring wheeled carts of fieldstone or firewood to the bottom of the hill. Or, perhaps maple sap to boil in large vats for spring syrup. I enquired at the local historical society and asked my neighbors, but no one had an answer, only more guesses.
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Garf and the Purple Pickles by Landon Galliott
When Garf opened his refrigerator, he saw a jar of purple pickles beside the carton of expired milk. This was strange as, only yesterday, they were green. Garf stood in his itchy annoyance before the refrigerator, his red, black-striped robe hanging off his slumped body like an old, worn-out curtain.
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