It wasn’t the diagnosis of strangled bowel, nor the low survival chance to vital surgery that tore at his heart.
It wasn’t the palpable frailty of his hero, his mother, hooked up to machines, though these things were traumatic.
No, it was those five words: Can I come home now?
Absorbing the Donegal hills from distance only now, Perry McDaid’s creativity subsists on nature’s palette and scents. Unfortunately this sometimes involves silage.
Wild Edibles Cafe. We’ll see if they’ve improved.
Meadow Salad: two-stars, fresh but terrible dressing
Venison: one-star, overcooked
Wild Mushrooms: five-stars, delicate, flavourful, delicious
Wine: two-star, bland
Dessert: one-star, horrible
Gastogne’s last review was under his obituary.
The restaurant owner reflected as he read. Ironic that he loved the mushrooms.
Paul Hock is an author, songwriter, and storyteller from Ontario, Canada. See more at paulhockpublishing.com.
It had been two years since Olivia’s world fell apart.
Two years since she mailed Adam the letter.
Two years of waiting for a reply.
Then, one day, the letter simply reappeared in her mailbox…
“INSUFFICIENT POSTAGE”
Sadly, she placed it on the desk, right next to Adam’s wedding invitation.
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories and cartoon captions, but she rarely writes a letter.
Her first tattoos were memorials. Then an image, then a symbol of sobriety. Each enriches her story. She embellishes her canvas with great care; her children are amused but shrug.
She is making a burning bowl of her skin.
One day everything she is will rise into the morning sky.
Melody Leming-Wilson teaches poetry in Portland, Oregon. She is about ready for a new tattoo.
She’s painting white against white. It’s an octopus—I know from illuminated glances, stolen when the desk lamp lights each colorless ridge and layer—but to the passing eye, it’s just an empty frame on the textured wall. She shuts the door against me to add another layer of madness.
Gretchen has an octopus painting on her wall, but she supposes you do, too.
The story of the week for March 9 to 13 is…
Winter’s Child by Casey Laine
I know I need to talk about the way I miss you so. Yet I keep the words within me and say I’m in control. I tell myself I’ve dealt with all of the demons in my soul but 10 years on and despite myself, I cannot let you go.
Tommy Johnson is new to writing, having recently discovered the wonder of fifty-word stories. Now living in the North East of England, he has previously lived in Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, and Australia.
Mrs Kaminski hugs the purple, sequinned cushion she’s just had to buy back from the charity shop. Her interfering bus driver daughter had donated it.
She spots the 52 on its way down North Road.
In the middle of the zebra crossing she lies down, cushion positioned under her head.
Tricia is a high priestess of micro-fiction.
The Story of the Month is chosen from the Story of the Week winners announced from the past month.
The finalists for February were:
Next Day’s Receipt by Andrew C. Nosti
Your Pills by Jennifer L. Freed
Palindrome II by Pontius Paiva
Shelf-mates by Amanda Quinn
How Long Do You Wait? by Ursula Hoult
The winner of the February 2020 Story of the Month, and the $10 prize, is…
Your Pills
It’s been a while since we received new work from Jennifer, and she delivered a characteristically powerful, evocative, poetic piece.
Next Day’s Receipt and How Long Do You Wait? were both also excellent stories, easily capable of winning, but Jennifer managed to outdo them with her use of language and the message she delivered.
At the supermarket the toilet paper was out. Shelves were bare. I got home and the news was suggesting that the toilet paper hoarders were using it to protect themselves.
It suddenly occurred to me that there was no need to worry about a zombie apocalypse amidst a mummy one.
Connell apologises for writing a non-fiction story on a fiction site.