Nothing is certain: the woman feels hurried; the town, crowded.
I hear skinder, loosely narrated; newspaper prints anonymous obituary; neighbor discovers their spaniel dead; maid finds pillow in trash.
Only if the children are to be believed. They find the ghost of her husband on the outskirts, snoring too loudly.
Mandira Pattnaik’s work has appeared in print and online journals in fifteen countries. Find her at mandirapattnaik.com.
The story of the week for April 18 to 22 is…
My Suitcases by Roya Nouraei
The silence shuffles. His heart leaps to his throat.
He dares not turn, lest the package rustle, but he twists his eyeballs till they hurt and there stands Big Sister.
Heart slides back to his toes, eyes squeezing shut… never to see the manicured hand also creeping for a taffy.
Marigold Packwood is just a plain girl. Lover of writing and all things written.
Only after he died did I find the mask. The cracked, clay façade my father put on every day. Put on to appease the world. To earn their mercy. Their bigoted praise. But how broken he was underneath. Weeping to be loved, given justice for who he had always been.
Dorian J. Sinnott is a graduate of Emerson College’s Writing, Literature, and Publishing program, currently living in New York with his two cats. He is a proud member of the Horror Writers Association and Horror Authors Guild. Dorian’s work has appeared in over 200 literary magazines and journals around the world and has been nominated for the Best of the Net and Eric Hoffer Book Award.
How fast the clock’s hands run to the finish line of my motherland’s life.
How innocently my belongings gaze back at me, like orphans, begging me: “Please, pick me.”
My suitcases, these memorable treasures, have become the smallest bags in the world.
Why won’t all of me fit into them?
Roya is a mother of three who immigrated to Sydney Australia eleven years ago. She has more than 100 poems, stories, and plays. Her academic education is in statistics and planning and she has more than 20 years of experience in data analysis and management.
It’s a habit:
looking out my kitchen window.
Checking to see if my neighbor’s car is parked.
Relief when I see it,
Knowing he’s safe.
Irene never returned
from the trip to PA
for her chemo treatments.
Hit a tree.
Took days to discover.
Broke in to rescue her dog.
Ruth Mannino is testing her hand at writing poetry for April’s poetry month. She learned more about Irene after she died, than when she was living next door. Isaac, her dog, was adopted by a good man and his family.
I browsed the rack of photos and flicked through the plastic wallets for something suitable. Perhaps a meaningful word this time? The end of a relationship should be marked in some way.
“See anything you like?” he asked. I caught his eye—bright blue, long, dark lashes.
“Not today, thanks.”
Jenny Logan lives in Edinburgh. She has stories selected for Dark Rose Press anthologies and is featured in Friday Flash Fiction. Jenny enjoys watching grand sumo and cross stitches mini-masterpieces.
“Hey, idiot!” boomed the voice from the kitchen. It bombarded Mary with disparaging remarks. She felt trapped, insecure. A rotten stench arose with each insult.
Fed up, Mary stormed the kitchen, tore off the lid, and took out the trash. She kept walking, free and refreshed. She didn’t turn back.
Christa Planko, MA, is a professional writer with a passion for creative expression. She has had her poetry and short stories featured in several publications, including River Poets Journal, Tanka and Haiku Journal, Poetry Quarterly, and Every Day Fiction. Recently, her story, “The Olde-Tyme Village,” won the 2021 WordCrafter Short Fiction Contest. Christa resides in South Jersey with her feline muses. For her bio and list of published works, visit the website christascorner.godaddysites.com.
“At your age I cherished the Magic Hour—the rotund warmth of widening day, kneeling before the advance, ah! of night, caravan clouds towing it aloft in a shush of cool air the trees exhaled in unison.”
He paused, teary.
“I’m sorry you will never know that swell of sweetness.”
John Joseph Ryan’s work has appeared in River Styx, McSweeney’s, Mystery Weekly, Suspense Magazine, and in several international anthologies. John’s collaborative short, “Hothouse by the River,” was published by the University of Iowa Center for the Book. He is also the author of a crime novel, A Bullet Apiece, and a contributor to the textbook, Teaching Lincoln: Legacies and Classroom Strategies.
Without believing, I let out
Prayers like popcorn
Begging for angels to be real.
After the darkness and the quiet,
small stones of ceiling plaster
continue to fall
Teeth from heaven.
I am covered.
the roof and floor
groan for me.
my prayers are softer now,
each one a surprise.
Cindy Cherry grew up in Northern Mexico and the Southwest. She writes poems and stories in her head, while walking a labyrinth with her two dogs. She also loves her job working with blind infants; teaching them new ways to “see”.