Welcome to two new authors this week, Lee and Ceinwen.
Thank you as always to our readers. We trust you enjoyed the stories. For those taking time to comment — much appreciated. Speaking of which, here are a selection of this week’s comments.
Tag: short story
Just Going for a Cabbage by Diane M Dickson
When she left home Briony hadn’t meant to leave so – well, quite so permanently. She went to the shop to buy a cabbage. A medium sized drumhead was what she had in mind, although in fairness there was an option for cauliflower. Dinner was beef, already in the cooker, rich and redolent, herby and delicious. Beef, Beef in beer for Dick and to go with it mashed potatoes and cabbage. His favourite.
Continue reading “Just Going for a Cabbage by Diane M Dickson”
And the Rocks Came – by Lee Conrad
When my father came home from work and said we were going to a concert I was thrilled. It was to take place upstate along the Hudson River in a town called Peekskill. To get out of our stuffy Brooklyn apartment at the end of summer was heaven-sent. I didn’t know dark times were swirling around us.
“You’re going to love the concert David. Paul Robeson is going to sing,” said my father.
“Are you sure Frank? You saw what happened the other night,” said my mother.
“It will be fine. More of us will be there and we can’t let them get away with this can we? After all this is America,” he said.
The Old Man In The Park by Nik Eveleigh
“Of course you can talk to him, off you go.”
“Thanks daddy!”
I watch as Daniel sprints away. Head down. Arms pumping. Balance ready to fail him at any given moment. Adrenaline fires my heart as he skids on a pine cone at pitch-forward-and-split-head distance from the wooden bench. I breathe again as he thrusts his hands forward and climbs laughing onto the seat and gives the old man a hug who, in return, as usual, pats my son’s head and continues to stare at the trees lining the park.
“I got a book from the library today it’s about a dog and Charlie wanted it but I got it first and gave it to my teacher and…”
Evolution by Ceinwen Cariad Haydon
Life: what is it all about?
I’d left for the party minimally drunk and maximally desolate. Eva and I had argued earlier. “Laurie,” she’d said truculently, “why don’t you want to go? Who stays in on New Year’s Eve? Jenny and Pete are our oldest friends. But maybe you have your own reasons?”
Sanctions By Hugh Cron – Adult Content
“MR BELL!!”
“THAT’LL BE ME!!!”
The security guard walked over. Neil watched as the guard’s belly swayed from side to side. He couldn’t help himself as he began to gag.
Why the fuck do I imagine so many ugly people shagging?
“Have you a problem?”
Neil hit at his chest.
“No, not at all, I just have an attack of the dry boak.”
The guard pulled at the back of his trousers, “No, I don’t mean that, I mean your outburst.”
“MR BELL, I AM WAITING!!?”
“Oh, you mean like that?”
Len Cordy & The Lollipop Guild by Shane Bolitho
Toothpick balanced on his lip, just so. Hair slicked down with practiced precision. But despite the evil eye and air of menace he fancied he gave off, Rachel Duccini couldn’t help but smile. Gerard Marron, for all his sneering attempts at brooding ominousness, reminded her a hell of a lot of the Lollipop Guild Munchkins from The Wizard of Oz. The way he squinted, the pant legs too short to cover his ankles, and the way he had his hands in his pockets, thumbs out pointing at each other across his groin.
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Honey Pie by Tobias Haglund
It shone over Hayfield, South Dakota, and George Angus ran his hand through straws of Hard Red Winter Wheat. Cream colored leaves. He used his hand to shield against the sun and fixed his eyes on the old oak tree upon the hill. Then down again. Frail dryness. Like the touch of Mary’s hand. He looked at his own hands, dry but not frail. Quite sturdy. Sharp lines, trenches from a working life. He ran his palm over his scruffy wide face.
Three Weeks by Todd Levin
Nathan stood outside next to the elevator. We see each other sometimes across the floor while he smokes a rolled-up cigarette and sometimes drinks and I take out the leftovers.
‘Three weeks without a kiss,’ he said to me the last time I stood there last summer with my black bags, ‘but at least I don’t stink like you do right now’ and through the smoke he’d laugh, coughing roughly in the yellow glow.
The Number 26 – By Diane M Dickson
He was dead before his eyes closed. That they closed was a blessing, the whole thing was so devastatingly awful that to have him slumped in the seat with staring eyes would simply have added to the nightmare.
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