You presume the palm trees surrounding the cabana block my view of your fingers as they trail across his thigh. Preoccupied, you fail to see the ocean inhale water from the beach.
I consider calling your attention to the towering wave approaching, but the palm trees stand petulant between us.
Tom Barlow is the author of Welcome to the Goat Rodeo and I’ll Meet You Yesterday.
I was lying in bed when the phone rang. Sleepily, I picked up the receiver to answer it, and realized something was wrong.
I put the tube of hand cream down on my bedside table, put my glasses on, and picked up the real phone, instead.
It was nothing important.
Anne Lever is recently retired and is a mature student at ChristChurch University in Canterbury.
I could do no more for her body, which had progressed from lithe toddler to this wooden being, joints forever locked.
Eye contact. We were transported together beyond Earth, beyond time, somewhere beyond… Then back in the clinic, stunned.
Dad quietly stated, “She does that to me all the time.”
Jacqueline Mast is a pediatric physical therapist and kid whisperer.
She sank back into her bleak reality, removed her sensory visor, and switched off the game.
How she wished she could be destitute and live by her wits, surviving unscrupulous landlords, pimps, and drug dealers in her real world.
“Alas,” she sighed when her chauffeur came to pick her up.
Connell wrote this after he stopped being inspired by others, but just how long this will last is anyone’s guess.
He was drunk. Staggering drunk.
I was the only guy, so I walked him to the bathroom, holding him up every step of the way. And every step I wondered just how much help he would need.
Fortunately, not much. I held him up while he peed on his shoe.
Harry Demarest has retired after careers encompassing scientific research, teaching at a university, software development, web application development, and voter database compilation and distribution. He is now spending his time with his grandchildren and writing memoirs and short stories.
The 35 miles per hour sign whizzes past.
“Maybe we should…” is drowned out by the squeal of rubber on wet blacktop and thunder resulting from metal fracturing 20-foot wood poles.
Wires spark and flail with activity no longer present within the car. Traveling faster than the speed of life.
Gary Zenker enjoys the challenge of making people think and laugh. He runs the Main Line Writers Group and the Wilmington Writers Group where they encourage both.
“Earth shattering.” – “Sheer madness.” – “Yearbook material.”
Those were the words which described the Cannesville Cows mascot’s triple-spin double-somersault slam dunk during the pre-game show, the first time in the history of the school.
Unfortunately for Kyle, it was also the first time the mascot had been stretchered into an ambulance.
Joey wasn’t interested in writing while at school but has been writing on his own in recent years, mostly to amuse himself. He has been published at The Story Shack and Needle In The Hay. He likes roast cows but dislikes trampolines.
The guard we call “Snake” saunters over to my cell door, opens the bean slot, and snarls, “Due to unforeseeable circumstances, Sweetheart, your execution will be held on your birthday,” then slams the metal door shut, like it was a guillotine.
I can almost taste my favorite flavor cake frosting.
Brad Rose was raised in southern California, and lives in Boston. Links to his poetry and fiction, which appear in print and on-line, can be found at bradrosepoetry.blogspot.com.
The African explorer stopped his topless Land Rover when he saw the approaching grass fire. Hundreds of terrified baboons were running directly towards him.
Baboons lighten their bodies when running from danger.
After they leapt over his vehicle and continued fleeing, he deeply regretted leaving his Pith helmet in camp.
Michael Coolen is a composer, actor, performance artist, pianist and writer who lives in Corvallis, Oregon.
It’s midnight and I still can’t sleep. I imagine lying down beside you, your arms around me. You slowly lull me to sleep, making me smile all the while. But in the end, it’s just an imagination. You’re still ten feet below me, sharing an eternal embrace with your mistress.
Le-an Lai Lacaba is an eighteen-year-old girl from Tacloban City, growing up in between everyone pressuring her to grownup and wanting to be a kid. She fills her blog, Imperfect is Beautiful, with her poems and short stories. Le-an has won multiple essay-writing contests in both local and regional competitions. She is studying for a B.A. in Communication Arts at the University of the Philippines, and struggling to become the writer she dreams of being.