They stomped into the bar shedding barn jackets covered with snow dandruff, then hoisted themselves onto barstools – waxy red circles, like rounds of edam cheese. They rotated from side to side, exchanging unpleasantries about the weather and gossiping about the shot-dead murderer in the storage unit down the street.
Alison Moore has spent much of her career in marketing. Now she’s writing fiction for fun. Her work can be found in Edible Boston and 50-Word Stories.
Succulent bluefish flesh and raspberry fool remind me of the day we moored “Rain” and collected supper on the island. Father caught fish; we foraged raspberries. That night, we savored our bounty in white candlelight, not knowing who would be gutted and who would be plucked when the pirates attacked.
Alison Moore has spent much of her career in marketing. Now she’s writing fiction for fun. Her work can be found in Edible Boston and 50-Word Stories.
I stood behind a soaring stone pillar, summoning the courage to walk down the aisle I trod three days ago towards my father’s ashes, a box draped with a white cloth at the altar. “Jerusalem” started, yet again. My grandfather tucked my hand under his arm, and we soldiered on.
Alison Moore has spent much of her career in marketing. Now she’s writing fiction for fun. Her work can be found in Edible Boston and 50-Word Stories.