The story of the week for September 26 to 30 is…
Wounded by Matthew Eichenlaub
There is so much story told around the edges here, great work using the margins to imply deeper character and meaning.
All posts by Tim
MARK KONIK: Coffee with the Vines
Tarzan sat and gulped his coffee. He could hear Jane calling. If she was cornered by the lion again, it was her own ridiculous fault. He agreed with himself that she was beginning to be high maintenance.
Tarzan finished his coffee, rubbed his face and thought about what he’d do.
Mark Konik is a writer from Canberra, Australia. He mostly writes short plays and short stories.
MATTHEW EICHENLAUB: Wounded
As a child, he knew this part of the house, accessed only through a cave-like closet, was special.
Now, newly discharged, he lives here.
Sometimes his mother pushes through the musty coats and newly hung uniforms: “Coming through!” But feigning sleep, turned away, it’s only his rhythmic breathing she finds.
Matthew lives in Hope, Maine.
CONNELL WAYNE REGNER: The Returnees
A hundred years on, tumble-weeds race along deserted interstate highways and a gigantic crater tells of unimaginable destruction. As we land and take readings of the surroundings, we discover our home is barely habitable.
“At least it’s recovered more than the red planet.”
“We’ll start terraforming this one first, Adam.”
Connell wrote this late at night.
TEJASWINEE BARUA: Silver Linings
Melancholy clung to him like skin. An abusive father, a difficult childhood.
Into his cloud of sadness, she walked in. His silver lining.
The sun was just melting the cloud when death snatched her away.
A new cloud of sorrow. The tiny baby in his arms, his new silver lining.
Tejaswinee Barua is an Engineer by profession and a writer by choice. Visit Tejaswinee’s blog.
JASON HUYNH: Not Just a Clean Getaway
Wearing freshly laundered gloves and coat, none of his body was exposed. He strode to the teller, slid a note across the counter, and unveiled his polished weapon.
“Use this attached hand sanitizer first, then hand over only clean, new bills.”
It was dirty work, but he made it hygienic.
Jason wonders what would be more difficult for him to become: a “germophobe” or a vegan.
DL SHIREY: Barbarism
The first one gets a careful trim; blade running along edges for a new, neat, well-sculpted line. For the second, I cut off the lobe completely. I hear people scream in reaction to my work.
There are worse things to do in a retirement home than reshape jigsaw puzzle pieces.
DL Shirey has had several flash fiction pieces published, most recently in Pound of Flash, Fewer Than 500, and The Literary Hatchet. He writes from Portland, Oregon, where it’s now raining, most likely. You can find more of his writing at his blog.
DEBBIE L MILLER: Abigail
She strokes the talisman as the wind howls. She kisses the rosary and climbs into the musty bed. Branches assault the battered house; rain pelts the bolted windows.
She dreams of icy lips.
The shadow beneath her bed shifts, stirs. A bony hand strokes her auburn hair. “Abigail,” he whispers.
Debbie L. Miller is a Brooklyn, New York writer. She writes short stories, plays, monologues, personal essays, memoir, flash fiction, features, and humor pieces.
JOHN KEELEY: The Monster
Awoken to the screams of my neighbors about the monster at the door, their fears for their survival echoing.
I heard his knocking, wanting to join us, his voice not a roar but one pleading.
Opening my door, I found my old friend, Change, and all his wonderful new opportunities.
John Keeley is a New York City native who believes it’s wrong to fear change. It should be embraced for all its hopes.
ELIZABETH ACCORDINO: Hiding Mental Illness
Hiding
Fear,
Depression: Sadness.
Pain,
Struggle: Symptoms.
Hiding; to function,
work.
Conflicting: thoughts=
you=
delusions=
you.
Where does the illness end
and I begin?
Tell me!
Mr./Mrs. Society?!
Where do I begin,
and the illness end?
Blocking.
Blocking, medicating a piece.
A piece of the whole.
Of me.
Hiding.