The story of the week for December 9 to 13 is…
Lovely Greece by V. A. Wiswell
and
Essential Worker by Robert Ludemann
ATIQ BALAI WAZIR: Anaya Talks to the Moon
Hello, moon.
Don’t be sad, okay.
I just am going to the village shop with my father.
We won’t be late.
We’ll come, just now.
We are here.
Okay, if you want to.
You can walk with us around the village.
The war has ended.
Atiq Balai Wazir is a poet hailing from Waziristan, yes, the one famous for terrorism. He is doing his Masters in Anthropology from Quaid e Azam University, Islamabad, and is father to Hudail Sasha.
MIRIAM N KOTZIN: Provide, Provide
They took Hannah and returned a few weeks later for Julian. The hens stopped laying.
When Blue puts his paws on the window sill and complains mournfully to the empty backyard, dread slides like ice down my throat and shivers past my heart until I’ve lost my last safe place.
Miriam N. Kotzin writes fiction and poetry. She is the author of five collections of poetry, two collections of short fiction, and two novels—most recently the novel Right This Way (Spuyten Duyvil). Her 50-word stories have been published in 50-Word Stories, 50 Give or Take, and Blink Ink. She teaches literature and creative writing at Drexel University.
RACHEL HAPANOWICZ: Some Good Advice
Last December our oldest daughter stormed in from her shift at the family market.
The tips were horrible, she stomped, unraveling her scarf.
Here’s a tip for you, her father said from the living room, withered and tied down by the oxygen tube in his nose. Don’t eat yellow snow.
Raised in Ohio, Rachel Hapanowicz has fared her fair share of December snowstorms. She currently teaches in Cincinnati.
KB WRIGHT: Towels on the Shore
I give you my water shoes. You wade out first into the cool, murky water. Mosquitos lick the surface, buzz between us. Bits of rock jab into the bottoms of my feet. I leap to you and you hold me fireman-style. Purple haze settles in the sky. Mountains bow down.
KB Wright is a teacher and writer. She enjoys traveling to new places in real life and in fiction. She can usually be found crocheting and listening to a good audiobook.
STORY OF THE MONTH: November 2024
The Story of the Month is chosen from the Story of the Week winners announced from the past month.
The finalists for November were:
Habeas Corpus Ipso Facto by Bob Thurber
Knife’s Edge by Stephen Tilden
When It’s Quiet by Alexa Donley
Remote by Yash Seyedbagheri
Secret Regret by Matthew Eichenlaub
The winner of the November 2024 Story of the Month, and the $10 prize, is…
Secret Regret
CATE COVERT: Fractures
I’d hoped you would never forget me.
I danced between dreams and wishes,
Illusions and fears,
Hoping to catch a reflection of you
In my soul’s mirror.
But you have passed on,
Into the in-between spaces
And left me here,
Beyond remorse, beyond repair.
I’ll never forget you.
Forgive me.
Since she could talk, Cate Covert has been regaling friends and family with her tall tales. She loves engaging with her reading audiences. Her poetry, flash fiction, and humorous stories reside at Cate Covert on Chadashah.org, and her Inspirational essays at Pastora Cate’s Corner on Substack.
VA WISWELL: Lovely Greece
Greece, together, like we’d planned. Bathing beneath a glassy sky. Wading in a sea the perfect temperature for lucid dreaming.
On the California tarmac, your profile is a sun-streaked mirage filling the airplane window. I wave goodbye to a tomorrow only I can see.
Greece, though, was so very lovely.
VA lives outside Seattle, WA, with her human and animal family. Her work has appeared in The Lake, 34th Parallel Magazine, Ignatian Literary Magazine, Five on the Fifth, Lumina Journal, Panoplyzine Magazine as the Editors’ Poem of Choice, The Basilisk Tree, and Figwort. She has work forthcoming in Crab Creek Review, Courtship of The Winds, and Remington Review, along with a poetry collection through Kelsay Books.
SANDRA JAMES: Comprehension
Mum loved cats and dogs but wouldn’t let me have either.
Dad explained: “Mum gets too upset when they die. Our cat died before you were born and her heart almost broke. We vowed we would never have another.”
Mum passed last month. Now I understand. I don’t want another.
Sandra James writes from a rural property in Heathcote, Victoria, Australia.
ROBERT LUDEMANN: Essential Worker
The lady who creates the fabric of time-space lives around the corner from me. She’s always there on her porch, knitting, scowling and smoking Tiparillos. You work so hard, I say, and she grimaces “I have to…” but nothing more. Today, she was gone, and so was the moon.
Robert Ludemann is quietly retired and barely making a peep.