The story of the week for June 9 to 14 is…
Twenty-minute ticket to thirty years hence by Jez Poynter
Category Archives: Stories
RICHARD KOSTELANETZ: Tap Once For
Thanks to a severe attack of laryngitis, a woman loses her voice completely for two days.
To help her communicate, her husband devises an elaborate system of taps.
One tap means “Give me a kiss”, two taps meant “Yes,” seven taps means “No.”
Ninety-five taps means “Take out the garbage.”
Richard Kostelanetz wrote this story, which is from A MODERN DECAMERON, a book in progress.
SUSAN HOFFMAN: Dream
I had a dream, which didn’t seem like a dream, more like a vague reminiscence. Beyond the shadows of my darkened room stood a man. I knew him. He had charmed me once, long ago. Now half awake with perishing memories I try to unravel the enigma of past happiness.
Susan Hoffman is retired from careers in sales, design, and art consultation. A creative person with a keen sense of beauty and harmony, she reads, writes, and occasionally, when the muse beckons, she paints. Among her favorite pastimes in no particular order are: reading, writing, gardening, sewing, and cooking. She lives in Toronto with her husband. They have a daughter who currently lives in San Francisco.
PATRICK EADES: Some Kind of Gardener
She used to dream, once. Peace, love and unity. Beds for the homeless, futures for the poor. A daughter’s cooling hand upon earth’s fevered brow.
Over time, she dreamed of a different green.
Now, microphones creep towards her like weeds. She feeds them fresh manure and shuts her eyes at night.
Patrick Eades is a writer from Sydney, Australia. When not pondering failed political aspirations, he writes humour and fiction on Medium.com and is working on his debut novel. You can find more of his work at patrickeades.net.
ANGELINE SCHELLENBERG: To Keep Warm
Parents pull children from rubble, hold them to their breasts, kiss dust from tear-stained cheeks. I push the beam off my own chest. I’m shivering. From the cold or from sobbing, I can’t tell. My father finds me. He leans down and lovingly wraps a signed cheque around my shoulders.
Angeline Schellenberg is the author of Tell Them It Was Mozart, Fields of Light and Stone, and the 2024 release, Mondegreen Riffs. Her 50-word story was selected for Best Microfiction 2024. She is a spiritual director and host of the Speaking Crow open mic in Winnipeg, Canada. angelineschellenberg.wordpress.com
BELINDA SAVILLE: Heavenly Creature
Prepare yourself, warn the books and the midwives; they will not look as you expect.
My body breaks.
Ours cries, harmonious.
Your eyes see me for the first time.
And you, pulled from my dreams and painted true.
Breathtaking.
Resplendent.
My Sun.
I glow, blessed to bask in your light.
Belinda’s daughter/muse/editor asked why she always writes sad stories. So she wrote something happy, for her, with love. 16 years after their eyes first met, she remains the most beautiful thing Belinda has ever seen.
JENNIFER BUSCH: Liebe, actually…
Backpfeifengesicht: “face that’s begging to be slapped”. How they’d laughed, learning that, still high on the promise of a new life abroad, bonding over the oddities of the German language. Now, as he corrects her pronunciation for the fifty-millionth time, she feels the full force of the word. Backpfeifengesicht, indeed.
Jennifer Busch rather enjoys the oddities of the German language. Her other favourite German insults include Warmduscher (someone who takes warm showers), Schattenparker (someone who parks in the shade); and the indulgently overlength Handschuhschneeballwerfer (someone who puts gloves on before throwing snowballs).
LYNN KOZLOWSKI: Swimming Lessons
The old man recalls his father’s curt lesson—an unexpected toss off the deep end of the dock. Watching his son-in-law wade in for classes with his little son, the old man ponders the long distance between “sink or swim” and blowing bubbles in the shallows of a heated pool.
Lynn Kozlowski’s writing has appeared in such places as 50-Word Stories, The Quarterly, The Malahat Review, Poetry Breakfast, and failbetter.com. He has a volume of short pieces, Historical Markers.
RAN WALKER: Popcorn
Their fingers will touch in the small popcorn bucket, and they will smile. She will then eat a handful and lick the salt and butter from her fingertips before getting more.
For the rest of the afternoon, he will ponder if it is too soon in their relationship for double-dipping.
Ran Walker is the author of over 30 books, including his latest, Four Suits: A Deck of 100-Word Stories. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University and lives in Virginia with is wife and daughter.
JEZ POYNER: Twenty-minute ticket to thirty years hence
Unnoticed, I behold your future self from across the bistro.
Interactions are forbidden, but just to see you – all grown up – is grace immeasurable. Goodness, you’re the image of your mother.
I inform her, back in the present. She weeps by my hospice bed, rocking you gently in her arms.
Jez Poyner lives in Manchester, UK. He writes on his phone at night, whilst his wife sleeps beside him. His daughter also looks more like her mother than her father.