December 24. It began today. At the grocery store, I saw a man whose hands had disappeared seem to levitate a cantaloupe into his cart. Looked through a woman’s head in the bread aisle. Haven’t run out of SeeMe myself, so no invisibility infection yet. Going to write in my journal every day. Think it’ll help get me through this.
Jack Posner, licensed clinical psychologist, PhD. from Berkeley, serviced corporate lawyers and stock and bond traders from his private plant-filled smoke-free office on the fourth floor of the Paulsen Building downtown. He consoled guilty consciences with a phrase he muttered under his breath for his own benefit as well as his clientele’s: EVERYTHING’S O.K., GO BACK TO WORK, over and over, like a Vedic hymn, until even he was fooled by it.
It all began perhaps eight or nine years earlier, in a peaceful sleep, when a thin, shoelace-like string of pressure went around his chest for the third time in a week. Sixty-two year old Max Cargo paid attention to that string. It was three o’clock in the morning and his wife Pamela stirred casually at his touch. In less than an hour they were in the Emergency Room of the local hospital.
“We try to be flexible here at Literally Stories and when we have authors who send work outside our word count guidelines we are still willing to give them a fair shot. To get through in that case they have to be a bit different and stand out in some way. Adam sent us this and we were all really taken by it. It is way below our normal lower limit but being Adam he also sent in some art work to bring the thing even more to life. So, for one night only at a website near you we are proud to present Words and Images by Adam Kluger in “Are we Both Broken.”
The benches in the New York City Clerk’s office were hard and uncomfortable. The wood was worn and shiny from nervous and impatient squirmings. The room was dim and shabby, wearied from processions of the city poor, eager to pay the few dollars for the privilege of marriage, or not eager, but complying with demanding families, resenting the notices of do’s and dont’s, murmuring to the indifferent walls. And behind barred windows, clerks in funereal voices, never calling names fast enough to spare the nervous couples the glances of others. The eyes that have seen it all before; waiting, birth, death, the history of in-betweens, waiting.
My Grandma often told us about an adventure that she and Grandpa had in Winnipeg soon after my dad was born.
Continue reading “The Fifty Dollar Sewing Machine by Mitchell Toews”
“You nearly beat me that time William.”
“You’re very good Sir.”
“Sir…I like that…Tell me why you’re here?”
“I’m not sure Sir. I love this place. It’s just that, after you came to my house that night, I knew that I wanted to be with you. And I thought that you felt the same way.”
My body had been dead for two days. I could hear my brother monks chanting the Mantra of the Dead the whole time: “Go to the Light. Do not be distracted by the demons of the Bardo…” If this was the Bardo, it certainly was not what I was expecting.
Ethan and Renfield Stoker-Belle have been married six months. Although the future is always uncertain, one should think that the Stoker-Belles have the ingredients necessary for an eighty-year marriage. Of course the future seems easy, Early On, when both parties are fresh and pretty and full of happy surprises; before the erosive winds of time blow in and expose the true sizes of the “little things.” So far, however, Ethan hasn’t found Renfield’s verbal catchall “Right?” anything less than charming; and Renfield has yet to detect sarcasm in Ethan’s “Aye-aye, you’re the captain” whenever she’s driving. Only 1/160th into the mortal portion of forever and ever, optimism is high with the newlyweds. So high, that they have decided to test the strength of their vows via the insane act of buying a house.
Continue reading “Seekers of the Wow Signal Emoji by Leila Allison”
Charlie locked his bedroom door. There was no need, Mum was down stairs watching her television and she never came in without knocking. He had managed to train her in that at last. Anyway, turning the key and dropping it into his pocket was all part of the experience, part of the build up.
Continue reading “Memories are Made of This by Diane M Dickson”
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