If I’m born again as a man instead of as a woman, I will aim the silly-looking mushroom waggling between my legs and shoot my stream so it splashes dead center in the toilet bowl. Bullseye! Bango! How hard can that be?
Continue reading “The Second Husband by Cris Aboobaker”Tag: aging
The Call of the Bacchante by Matias Travieso-Diaz
No retreat offers someone more quiet and relaxation than that into his own mind, especially if he can dip into thoughts there which put him at immediate and complete ease.
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
She was foaming at the mouth. Her eyes dilated rolled.
Her mind was gone–possessed by Bacchus– she could not hear her son.
Euripides, The Bacchae
Marcus sat alone, cross-legged, in the quiet of his studio, having dimmed all lights. He sought to set his mind at rest by deeply inhaling and exhaling; as errant thoughts floated into his mind, he considered each one for a moment and dismissed it.
Continue reading “The Call of the Bacchante by Matias Travieso-Diaz”James and Pruina by Mitchell Toews
James put another piece of birch on the fire, the stove hinges creaking with hot dryness as he closed and latched the door. The papery bark crackled immediately to life, curling black and sending smoke and flame up the stovepipe. On days this cold, the single-paned glass in the old cottage windows looked triple thick owing to the rime coating the inner surfaces. He reached out to touch the slick, silvery skein, feeling his fingertips numbing and a rivulet of meltwater running down and then along the underside of his hand. The bottom panes were frost jacketed, those higher less so, the hot, rising air from the stove keeping them clear.
Continue reading “James and Pruina by Mitchell Toews”Tiny Squares by Shannon Murdoch
Today she is wearing yellow. Yellow dress, yellow hat, and a buttercup yellow scrunchie around her ankle. Today is a good day.
Continue reading “Tiny Squares by Shannon Murdoch”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.
Continue reading “Shadow by T H White”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.
Continue reading “Tiny Dancers by P A Farrell”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.
Continue reading “Steroids and Cottage Cheese by Rachel Sievers”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.
Continue reading “Confessions 1:07 by Kendra Yvette”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.”
Continue reading “At Spences Bridge by Harrison Kim”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.
Continue reading “Katrina by Richard Krause”