The weary traveller unburdened his luggage and looked to the receptionist for welcoming comfort.
“Sorry Sir, I can see your wife is heavily pregnant, but we are fully booked. I can only offer you our stable-themed suite outside, but we’ll waive the upgrade charge as a show of good faith.”
Kai Gaitley is an upbeat pessimist, a talkative loner and a devout existentialist.
We gathered in small, always changing groups.
Strangers, family, and friends.
Uncounted words filled the room with copies of the same conversation.
Regrets mingled with the pebbles of ordinary life, to gave rise to our victory cry. Hand-in-hand, we proclaimed, “Life still goes on.”
Thus we denied death his victory.
John Fowler served twenty years in the US Air Force before retiring
and starting a second career in the IT field. He is also a Lay Pastor
serving a small church near his home in Texas. His hobbies include
reading, golfing, writing, and now oil painting.
Despite what he’d been told, Billy Donaldson still believed. They just had to be wrong. Santa was real.
He fell to his bed, weeping into his pillow. Only the action figures on his shelf and his puppy heard the mournful cries.
But the rustling on the roof gave him pause.
David Galassie is a fruitcake enthusiast and a history buff. His blog, chronicling the history and foibles of his old hometown, is at menashabook.blogspot.com.
The story of the week for November 27 to December 1 is…
Never Grow Up by Ksenia Bezvikonnaya
Taking off her eponymous heels, Spanx, push-up bra, contoured make-up, doll-face lashes and hair extensions, she complained bitterly that he wasn’t honest with her, while, oblivious to irony, he admired his reflection in his favourite mirror, applauding his own insight on the importance of artistic integrity in the New West.
Kai Gaitley is an English student in Hilo on the Big Island of Hawaii who understands that an obvious reference is only obvious if you lived through Madchester too.
The Robotic Revolution was celebrated by some.
I received six rejection notifications today. My feet pounded the pavement from door to door in search of work. The stipend I receive feeds my family, but not much else.
Everywhere I’m met with the same message. “Now Hiring: Humans Need Not Apply.”
Anthony works with numbers by day and words by night. Happily married in the heart of Kentucky.
Holly never cooked or prepared anything, so when I found some eggs pickling in a jar in her kitchen I was surprised.
“What’s with the eggs?” I asked.
“Just tryin’ something out,” she replied.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her you’re not supposed to leave the shells on.
He smiled while his baby was tapping something on his phone. Children are nearly born with it…
He still tried to sustain her, though she moved perfectly herself. He couldn’t get over it.
“I’ve fixed the connection,” his daughter said. “Incidentally, I got a promotion, so I can move out.”
Ksenia is a beginning Russian journalist with a sense of proportion.
“Goodbye Patrick.” Cindy moved in for a half-hug and cheek-peck, but he held her until she pulled away.
Patrick fit bulging duffel bags into her rusty Mazda, shut the hatchback, then stepped away as she reversed and turned.
The car crunched down the gravel driveway, red taillights glowing in accusation.
Susan Wackerbarth is enjoying her foray into flash fiction so much that she may never go back to writing novels.
“No, they do not teach you in school. They don’t teach you how to find the art in your name, and how to speak of that art. No, they don’t teach you to love your beautiful warm, brown hands.
“They only teach you to love black on everything but yourself.”
Angelica is a Kenyan writer who seeks to educate the world about the New Afrika she grew up and lives in, through the stories she weaves.