The story of the week for November 25 to 29 is…
Spring ’89 by Charlinda Banks
and
Abduction Sarah Gane Burton
JANELLE SEABOCK: Old Voices
He recognized the tape recorder in his childhood bedroom. He rewound the tape and pressed play, listening to his young voice chattering about whatever came to mind. When his mother’s voice joined in, he paused the tape, heart aching with nostalgia and loss.
He had forgotten. How had he forgotten?
Janelle Seabock is a writer with a love for horror, fantasy, and animals of all kinds. She currently resides in Florida.
ELIZABETH WING: Delilah
They said I did it for money, or clout, or spite.
It’s true. I envied you, sprawled out maned and muscled as a sleeping lion in my bed. How I wanted it, a golden tassel.
But no one ever guessed the truth: that I wanted your strength for my own.
Elizabeth Wing is a writer and trail worker based in Portland, Oregon. Her work has appeared in 7×7, Hanging Loose Magazine, The West Marin Review, and other venues.
SEVEN GOEKE: Are you choosing this?
I can hear the mountains whisper, the rain clouds call.
Come home.
I can hear the subway, heels click on Manhattan streets.
We do not need you.
I close the plane ticket tab on my computer.
Sometimes you don’t have to like it, you just have to do it.
Seven is a writer living in Brooklyn (for now), who knows there is more for them to do before they can find their way home.
CECILE PECORARO: The Escape
He manages to sleep through the ruckus and wake up on time. In the morning, he retreats to his safe place: his friends, a hot breakfast, and his books are there, waiting for him.
His parents have that same argument over and over, every night. It is their safe place.
Cecile lives in Northern California where she enjoys writing to the sound of the gentle rain.
SARAH GANE BURTON: Abduction
Marilyn went to sleep next to her husband of sixty-nine years and woke up next to an alien. White eyes. Grayish skin. She pondered the imposter.
Carefully, she laid down and covered them both with the blanket. Perhaps the ship that had taken her husband would come back for her.
Sarah Gane Burton is a freelance writer living in Michigan with her husband, two children, and a dog. Her poetry has been published in “Medical Literary Messenger” and “Third Wednesday.”
CATHERINE HARNETT: Baby Doll
Julie Harrington’s mother made her into a living doll, blue eyes open, staring into space, hungry for invisible food, she never wet her diaper or cried: such a good baby, talking only when her string was pulled: I love you, let’s play, may I have a cookie, you hurt me.
Catherine Harnett is a poet and fiction author from Northern Virginia who has published three books of poetry and a number of short stories which appear in national and international magazines and anthologies. See more at catherineharnett.com.
CHARLINDA BANKS: Spring ’89
For hours from Missoula to Calgary, Jake didn’t drive straight. He zoomed past those empty cop cars that are meant to scare you into compliance. He liked that you couldn’t know they were empty until you passed them, but you could know you were a black boy, crying, laughing, speeding.
Charlinda Banks is an emerging writer currently living in Boston, MA. She mainly writes about family, gender, sensuality, and ghosts through poetry, fiction, and creative essays. When Charlinda isn’t writing she is working in the nonprofit arts, reading, or lighting a candle.
SUSAN HEISNER: And Your Hair Falls Out, But Who’s Complaining…
You’re bludgeoned with (arguably) the scariest diagnosis you’ll ever receive. Parts of your body are chopped off, dissected, catalogued, banked. You’re tethered, drips saturating what remains with killer chemicals. You lie bare, pinpointed radiation beams burning tender fresh scars.
Finally to hear: “If you die of something else, this worked.”
Susan Heisner, aka the wyowordslinger, writes for fun and connection.
CALLA SMITH: Washed-Up Mermaids
Sometimes you cry in the kitchen; sometimes I do. Our teeth grew sharp and our legs tails; we didn’t have a choice as the saltwater rose. But together we can dance in the waves that almost reach the ceiling. Two of a kind. Bound together by something stronger than blood.
Calla Smith lives and writes in Buenos Aires, Argentina. She enjoys continuing to discover all the forgotten corners of the city she has come to call home. She has published a collection of flash fiction “What Doesn’t Kill You”, and her work can also be found in several literary journals.