The story of the week for June 26 to 30 is…
The Buddy Bench by Miranda Keskes
All posts by Tim
CHANDRA SUNDEEP: The Pattern
We’ve got a pattern.
You break. I fix.
You plead innocence. I forgive.
But this time, you’ve crossed all limits. You broke your promise and my heart. Tell me how to fix them. I’m struggling.
Can’t you plead for your innocence from the other side?
I want to forgive you.
Chandra Sundeep is a BIPOC writer living in Kuwait. She is an avid reader and loves reviewing books. Follow her at @wordsopedia.
GENE NEWMAN: Discombobulated
I am usually intimidated by fussy institutions.
City halls, motor vehicle departments, IRS offices, banks, and libraries
always turn me off, often turn me down and sometimes actually turn me out.
They make me feel like an amateur kazoo player who is trying to audition
for the New York Philharmonic.
Gene Newman was a USAF cryptologist during the Korean War and is a retired engineer and journalist, including stringing for the N.Y. Times, being a crossword puzzle creator for the New York Times and USA Today. That’s it for now unless he gets better on the kazoo.
MIRANDA KESKES: The Buddy Bench
Miss Addie said if I sat there, a friend would come.
Sally came and pulled my braids. Leah stuck out her tongue. Bobby kicked my shoe. Danny called me ugly.
When recess ended, Miss Addie sat beside me and placed her hand over mine.
Miss Addie always tells the truth.
Miranda Keskes is a writer and educator whose fiction has appeared in Pigeon Review, EveryDay Fiction, Bright Flash Literary Review, The Drabble, and the anthologies, Heart/h, Hysteria, and 100 Ways to Die. She lives in Michigan with her husband and their two rambunctious boys. Learn more at KeskesInk.com. Follow her on Instagram at miranda_keskes_writer.
LINDA BRISKIN: Word Envy
She envies the poets. The cadence and repetition, the rhythms, the tapestry of tangled words—unexpected and sometimes incomprehensible. They send her mind wandering and wondering. Word play to slow her mind’s chatter: palindromes and alliterations, onomatopoeia and allegory, allusion and bricolage, paradox and parody. Desire blooms in her heart.
Linda Briskin is a writer and fine art photographer. She is drawn to writing about whimsy, fleeting moments, and the small secrets of interior lives. Her writing has appeared in numerous literary journals. As a photographer, she is intrigued by the permeability between the remembered and the imagined, and the ambiguities in what we choose to see. See more at lindabriskinphotography.com.
CHELSEA ALLEN: Flowers from 1870
The last hour of the musky Edinburgh afternoon, she stopped discussing Byron, treaded more slowly, inhaled more deeply.
“Goodbye, Todd.”
I stopped.
She smiled, misty-eyed, as I tucked the flowers behind her ear. “I’ll write to you,” I said.
She nodded, quipped about getting on a time machine, and left.
Chelsea Allen wrote this story as a sequel to her piece The Librarian and the Time Machine, previously published here on 50-Word Stories.
STEVEN HOLDING: Squab Story
Post-cremation: she says he’s nearby. The evidence? White feathers, heaven sent upon a breezy sigh.
Each appearance signifies an angelic presence, closer than a whispered farewell.
Only I comprehend the truth. Each quill, proof of my cowardice.
Late nights, absurdly plucking birds.
Serving pigeon pie. At least twice a week.
Steven Holding lives in the United Kingdom. Most recently, his work has appeared in the magazine The Stygian Lepus. You can follow his work at .stevenholding.co.uk.
KRITHIKHA RADHAKRISHNAN: The Judgment
As the guilty verdict was announced, the victim’s mother was filled with a feeling of emptiness as she lost the only thing that had kept her going.
Amidst the cheering crowd, the defence attorney suppressed a smile of relief at his loss, thanking his stars that justice had finally prevailed.
Krithikha is a little bit of everything. A designer and advertiser by trade, Krithikha is interested in books, travel, photography, plants, and anything else that strikes her fancy.
ALEXANDER HOLCOMB: The Firefighter
The smoke attacks his lungs as the blue Salvador Dali clock ticks above him. But he continues looking for anything—no, anyone left.
“Anyone here?” he yells to the embers. Burning faces of stuffed animals glare in silence.
He hears the cry and wakes to find himself in bed, yet again.
Alexander Holcomb (he/him) lives in Knoxville, Tennessee with his wife Olivia and has written fiction featured in Wrong Turn Lit, Bright Flash Literary Review, and various other presses. His other work can be found at alexanderholcomb.substack.com.
EO HARGREAVES: Where the Cardinals Go
I found it as a kid–a pine grove in the woods with a gap just big enough to squeeze through; the place where red and orange feathers floated down every Spring like fuzzy rain. There, dozens congregated and gossiped.
It was my secret once.
Now it’s a parking lot.
EO’s not really a tree-hugging hippy, but is nonetheless annoyed when small towns get over-developed. After all, who really needs THREE grocery stores in one location?