Hiding; to function,
Where does the illness end
and I begin?
Where do I begin,
and the illness end?
Blocking, medicating a piece.
A piece of the whole.
I’d spent enough time at the bar already. My mind was made up. I was the first to say “I love you;” it was only right for me to be the first to say “It’s over.”
I arrived to an empty house, her wedding ring laying coldly on the table.
Ellis says: “I write whatever I can, whenever I can.”
The story of the week for September 12 to 16 is…
Surrender by Gwendolyn Jacob
The most effective twists completely change the emotional tone of the story. Sometimes they walk the line between the initial emotion and the after-emotion and blend them together in amazing ways. That’s what this story has done. I love plumbing into its depths!
Cool grasses cradle my back. Fireflies flicker. I inhale the sweet, damp air, at peace for the first time in five years, three months, and nineteen days.
I could lay here beneath the black sky for eternity. Instead, I rise and kiss my husband’s tombstone before slipping into the shadows.
Mandie Hines writes in the Rocky Mountain region. She’s driven to create pieces of fiction that capture moments of human vulnerability. Visit mandiehines.com for more.
My chest pounded as I stared at the bed. There lay floral sheets, closed eyes, and my mother’s frail fingers still warm in my hand.
“Let go,” she had said.
“No,” I had told her.
When the fingers grew cold I heard her voice again. That’s when I let go.
Gwendolyn Jacob is rediscovering her fictional roots and has several works in progress.
Well over forty, my biological clock has almost stopped.
My ideal man is handsome, plays sports, drives a Porsche, and holidays in Mauritius.
My next “date” sits opposite me now.
“I’m Cecil,” he lisps. “I like bird watching and stamp collecting and I live with Mummy.”
Close enough, I think!
Denise Jones is 65. She lives in England and has dabbled in creative writing for over 10 years, mainly short stories, reader’s letters, and poems published spasmodically in a variety of publications.
She excitedly told her friends about the cat stalking her unfinished sculpture on the kitchen floor.
As it materialized one could feel the amazing spirit of the piece infusing inanimate plaster with life.
It wasn’t until years later she laughed about the dead mouse she eventually found at the centre.
Grace Kary is a playwright and filmmaker. One of her scripts won the K.M. Hunter award. Her work has been screened and mounted in Canada, the US, Mexico, and Australia. Currently her short film “Last One At The Party” is premiering in Oregon.
Celebrating Great Ermina’s 98 years of life,
The Mariachis sang the song of the Dead
Father Hector harmonized during the mass
Her children chimed praises for their inherited wealth,
Eulogizing her sly charms that built a fortune
No guilt, just secrets and a final confession…
Her haunting fear of Purgatory.
Carole Nese enjoys reading people and writing fiction, creative non fiction, editorial prose, and sometimes poetry. She belongs to a group of great writers, is challenged by them weekly, and credits them in part for her motivation and inspiration.
If all the misbehaved, screaming children in restaurants were eaten for dinner.
If tailgaters grew tails, and road-hogs were butchered for bacon.
If lying politicians were publicly flogged by their constituents.
If gossipers were muzzled.
If what goes around really came around, and karma decided the fate of future existences.
He was tall, solid, heavily tattooed, an image of aggression. Even when he slept, naked, sprawled on the bed, there was a tenseness to him, a readiness to attack at the slightest provocation.
Now he was immobilized by the light touch on his belly. The spider, unaware, was also still.
Jan Owens lives in South Australia, retired from education and nursing and now happily playing with words.