Tag: relationships

All Stories, General Fiction, Romance

The Impeccable Diver at the Pond by Tom Sheehan

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In a bathing suit, of a most direct design, Shelly Kearns was gorgeous and desirable all the way past dreams and, in the water, a sylph of the first order, and with every dive she took, explored the bottom of our pond for odd treasures of any sort, reclaimable for new duties or positive salvage. She kept her treasure of such objects on two shelves and a corner table in her home left by her husband Steve, dead from a high dive onto a half-sunken log that we assume made the trip on the river from the forest thirty miles upstream.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

Veil by A E Rocher

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It was a beautiful wedding. I knew it would be. After all, I planned it.

Held outdoors, next to a crisp, perfect stream in the Great Smoky Mountains where we loved to hike. Gorgeous fall morning, with blue mist gently rising, the crop of massive boulders on the bank looking quiet yet colossal, like waiting, sleeping giants.

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All Stories, Fantasy, General Fiction, Short Fiction, Writing

Legs Eleven by Hugh Cron

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She smiled as she heard his wail. He’d always been delicate and wasn’t as mature as the other kids.

…But she knew that would change soon.

He ran into the room with his fist clenched out in front of him.

“Now then Jimmy, don’t cry. It’s only a bit of blood.

…And it’s worth it.”

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All Stories, General Fiction

Suffocating Half Truths by Natasha Dalley

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Even with blurry eyes Kate could see it was just past six in the morning. She squeezed them shut, feeling hazy and warm like she did 134 days ago after her last briny vodka martini. Her stomach roiled as she smelled lilies. A few months ago, her husband, JJ, started with the flowers. He was up to at least three bouquets a week. Lovely at first, then morbid. She knew the lilies were white again even though he knew she preferred pink flowers and that she hated lilies. She slid her hand across the nightstand feeling around for her glasses, but they weren’t there. She laid her head on the pillow after she flipped it cool side up. She was alone.

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All Stories, General Fiction

A Bit of Storytime by Shoshauna Shy – TRIGGER WARNING – Disturbing Adult Content

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Linny moves in upstairs to apartment 2B, so finally, Nadine, my wife’s kid has a buddy for first grade. I put out Coca Cola and Oreos when Linny comes down to watch cartoons with Nadine. Cook them bacon for supper when the wife goes to sisters in Paloma, leaving me in charge.  Nothing sweeter than the smell of Linny’s nape – like peppermint Chiclets, fabric softener and perspiration all rolled into one.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, General Fiction, Short Fiction, Writing

Just Dad by Hugh Cron – Adult Content.

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“I’m no a bad guy.”

“I know.”

“But this. I need to do this?”

“What can I say?”

“And it’ll be you?”

“Yes.”

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All Stories, General Fiction

Coral, Not Pink by Rachel Sievers

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The cupcake frosting compacts and puddles in my mouth, slow and sticky going down my esophagus. I cough almost choking, shoving the rest of it in my mouth, and look down at the plastic container. It is hard to see in the dark of the closet but I can see neon pink sprinkles of three that remain.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Wrecking Ball by Stevie doCarmo

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“I’ve done it more than once. Which makes it possibly a bad habit.”  

 “What’s that?” Rama had asked.  

She’d been complexly twisted in her bus seat, patchouli-scented Jessica, pea-coated back to window, New Jersey gliding by behind her in what Rama remembered as a raw and drizzly November afternoon. “I just tell some people straight-out I’ll sleep with them if they want.”  

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All Stories, General Fiction

Uncle by Ralph Hipps

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My uncle was a substantial man, a man whom you could roll because his stomach curved like a ball. I often had the impulse to bowl him: there was something frustrating in the way he spent hours stitching old clothes. His painstaking labour jarred with my need for going fast at the time, which I remember taking the form of speed-reading. While I took a break, I’d find him in the kitchen, stitching lugubriously. I wanted to pick him up and roll him at speed. He was like a blocker, resisting my need to encompass his deliberateness. He was stitching, stitching, methodically bringing together; I, at that age, wanted to tear things apart.

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