The story of the week for June 8 to 12 is…
These Things Are Yours by Bob Thurber
What an amazing encapsulation of a character’s back story and relationships in a single moment, a single act. Another great contribution from Mr. Thurber.
All posts by Tim
JOANNA M WESTON: Cold Feet?
My paper boats—one pink, one yellow—float in sunlight. I stand calf-deep in the lake, camera in hand.
A flood of ice cold water pours into my right boot. Do I give up and go home?
No. My laughter echoes across the lake: after all I’m seventy-five years old.
Joanna M. Weston is married with two cats, multiple spiders, a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader, Those Blue Shoes, was published by Clarity House Press. She has also published a book of poetry, A Summer Father, through Frontenac House of Calgary, and an eBook, The Willow Tree Girl, through her blog.
JANE DANFORTH: Red Dress
There is a red dress that hangs in my closet. I have touched it twice since last June.
Once, putting it atop the “throw away” clothes pile in the laundry room.
Twice, picking it back up when I realized my mother would ask why the top button is ripped off.
Jane Danforth is a high school junior who writes for the purpose of blissful procrastination.
DAVID WING: A Tempestuous Affair
Clinging to the cliff’s edge by his finger tips, James oddly found time to think. He considered his position and in retrospect, he regretted his decision to split-up with Tina near a waterfall. He was never a huge fan of water and was fast losing his love of heights.
Arrrggghhh…
David is getting older by the day.
ERIC BENSON: A Good Life
As I sit in handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit, I reflect on my life as a killer. All the lives I’ve taken, all the families I’ve destroyed forever. It’s mildly disconcerting.
I barely make out the judge giving the sentence of life without bail.
Oh well. Win some, lose some.
Eric has been writing for around a year with varying degrees of success but with unwavering joy.
JOEY TO: Spelling Lesson
“Mum, mum, may I have alphabet soup?”
“Of course.”
“And nuggets?” asked the boy as he plonked himself onto the sofa and grabbed the remote.
“Sure.”
Minutes later, she served the bowl of steaming soup.
Her boy frowned at the floating letters. “Sss… peh…”
She smirked. “It says ‘spoiled’, dear.”
Joey tries to write a little and is capable of making his own soup. You can find him and abuse him at joeytoey.com.
ISHITA AGGARWAL: Leftovers
I was finishing off Mom’s homemade brisket, Dad sitting quietly across the table from me. We listened to the scraping of our chairs on the linoleum tiles and the tick and tock of the oval wall clock.
And I realized: this would be the last time I’d ever eat it.
Ishita Aggarwal was born in New Delhi, India. She immigrated to Canada in 1998 and is currently pursuing a Bachelor of Science in Cell and Molecular Biology, Neuroscience, and Psychology from the University of Toronto. She enjoys writing, painting, and consuming copious amounts of sushi in her spare time.
BOB THURBER: These Things Are Yours
My good-for-nothing mother came back from the dead wearing a different dress than the one we’d buried her in. Her hair was dyed ruddy rose. In her cupped hands she held all my rage, all my grief.
She winked, spread her fingers, dropped all that old sorrow at my feet.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble”. Visit BobThurber.net.
CHRISTINE HYDE: Rats, They Don’t Last Long
“Violet!” I called, holding out her favourite snack.
Strange; no head poking out, no answer. She normally comes running out.
So I lifted up her house.
There she was, stiff and lifeless.
I buried her under a violet bush in the garden. I hope she decays to grow it well.
Christine Hyde used to be a tax adviser. Now she’s an aspiring writer and hopes to start a course in Psychology in September.
COURTNEY CASTEEL: Family Secrets
Josie couldn’t stop thinking about the trunk. Her grandpa had freaked and chased her from the room when she saw it under the bed.
Luckily, it was his bridge night.
Josie crept towards the bed, knelt, and pulled it out.
The lid creaked. She screamed when she saw the body.
Courtney Casteel lives in Baton Rouge with her partner and their three cats: the fluffy one, the fat one, and the one whose tail is out to get it. When she isn’t writing or reading, Courtney cooks, makes things out of yarn, and does circus stunts.