The story of the week for December 14 to 18 is…
All Sales Are Final by Daniel Slaten
A fun metaphor with some emotion behind it, like a solid meal with light flavors!
MOHINI MALHOTRA: Father
I have watched families light the temple pyre to wish their loved ones farewell. Other people’s people; their spires of smoke.
Now I light the pyre and sprinkle rosewater on you. Your ashes will float down the river but my memories of you will hover—suspended, like a dragonfly—forever.
Mohini Malhotra was born in New York, grew up in Nepal, Thailand, India, Italy, and lives in Washington DC. She runs a social enterprise that promotes contemporary women artists from emerging markets and invests profits to better women’s and girls’ lives. She loves words and flash fiction and just had her flash story Blink published by The Writer’s Center.
KAREN POMERANTZ: The Discoveries of Tiny Hands
I watched, awestruck, as my baby daughter’s chubby little fingers slid across the surface of my smartphone. Roads and landscapes shifted beneath her touch. She pinched, and the map zoomed out.
A photo of my husband drifted past, betraying his GPS position.
Wait… That’s not the location of his conference.
Karen doesn’t claim to be Wonder Woman, simply a wife, mother, writer and roller girl, in addition to a day job as an Electronic Design Engineer. You’re invited to draw your own conclusions. Her debut release, an eBook titled “Trapping Honey’, is available now. See more at karenpomerantz.uk.
CANDACE KUBINEC: An Open Letter To My Cat
In spite of your exalted status, you are not invited to sit at the dinner table.
We will not save you a chair or set a place for you, and you will not be considered a centerpiece.
I left the letter on the table where I knew she’d find it.
Candace writes from a comfy chair since the cat is using the table.
DANIEL SLATEN: All Sales Are Final
He plopped his broken heart down on the counter and angrily demanded a refund.
“I can’t help you,” said the clerk. “Read the fine print in your contract. They all break at some point.”
“What am I supposed to do with a broken heart?”
“Be patient. It gets stronger. Eventually.”
Daniel Slaten writes short stories and poetry in small notebooks and on sticky notes.
LEE DeAMALI: Holiday Paddy Wagon
Cop cars escort an open flatbed truck, stopping at every block with bullhorn announcements.
Residents of all ages come out to cheer as frightened youngsters are enticed to climb aboard the fat stranger, pose for pictures, and take his candy before he’s hauled away in a whoop of flashing sirens.
Lee DeAmali resides in the Los Angeles area with grown children who claim to have fond memories of this annual local tradition.
MICHAEL JANAIRO: What’s on the Menu?
We starved in the fallout shelter, awaiting winter’s end, with limited and repetitive rations.
One day, someone yelled cruel words: “Fresh-baked bread! Whipped butter! Crispy calamari! Spicy cocktail sauce! Grilled teriyaki salmon! Freshly brewed iced tea!”
When the kicks and punches started, I finally realized: the crazed person was me.
Michael Janairo’s last name is pronounced ha NIGH row. His writing is forthcoming in Star*Line Magazine and has been published in Long Hidden: Speculative Fiction from the Margins of History, among others. He lives in upstate New York with his wife, son, and dog, and blogs at michaeljanairo.com.
LL MADRID: The False Positive
Three minutes.
Elise stares at the stranger of her reflection. She doesn’t want to be married. Or divorced. Elise wants a do-over.
But locked in a bathroom, waiting on fate, there are no second chances.
Ding!
A pink plus sign, faint yet certain, appears.
“Well?” he asks.
“False alarm.”
L.L. Madrid lives and writes in Tucson. She resides with her four-year-old daughter, an antisocial cat, and the occasional scorpion. Her work can be found in places like Literary Orphans, The Furious Gazelle, Dali’s Lovechild, and shoe boxes under her bed.
SALLY DAVIES: Jaws of Life
When he regained consciousness he was still in the car. A distant voice said, “I can almost reach you.” There was the sound of tearing metal.
“Thank you,” he managed weakly.
The laugh was closer. “You think I’m here to help you? Well, it will be a release. Of sorts.”
Sally cannot draw or paint, so this is what she enjoys doing with her time.
LEN KUNTZ: Miscarried Mermaids
It was their first vacation afterward.
She felt daring, dove off a cliff, the free-fall like a sort of second death.
Far under the sea, she saw her baby there—blue but alive, gurgling air bubbles, hands and legs splayed, looking like it only wanted to be held, mouthing, “Momma.”
Len Kuntz is a writer from Washington State and an editor at the online magazine Literary Orphans. His story collection The Dark Sunshine debuted from Connotation Press in 2014. You can also find him at lenkuntz.blogspot.com.