Sam can be so stubborn… most recently, his refusal to wear a mask.
I begged him. He scoffed, said it was silly, too confining.
“It’s not all about you!” I snapped. “Think of our friends. It’s expected, after all.”
Grumbling, he finally relented.
He’ll make a great Yoda this Halloween.
Lisa Chambers is a Texas girl who loves writing (and reading) short stories.
Editor: But actually though: wear a mask!
We’ve got the Lockdown Blues. Every day feels the same. Nothing but coronavirus on the news. No work, no school, no social life. No leaving home except for rushed, masked trips to the supermarket. No church, but endless prayers that don’t wait for Sundays. Vague memories of a different life.
Juliet is an adult education tutor, crafter, and conservation volunteer based in Edinburgh, UK. She blogs at craftygreenpoet.blogspot.com and tweets at @craftygeenpoet.
My dog waits at the door
Outside he’s in his element
His charismatic smile
For everyone to greet him
He thrives on affection
Times have changed
His disappointed eyes look back
For an explanation
There is no affection from six feet?
And its implications
After 42 years of working with industrial computers, robots, and automation, Patrick Yu has retired. While not ideal times, he looks forward to his many hobbies, one of which is writing.
The school reopened. Ava approached her first grade classroom in her iron suit, double pair of blue hospital gloves, face shield that extended to her waist and multi-layered mask that curved around her small face.
Her mother said Ava was lucky. In many states, students were required to stay home.
Eliza Mimski wrote this story.
Stopping was easy. Stay at home, clean the closets, read a book. But the weeks and months run on, and staying home has become the new normal. It is more difficult to restart. When? How? Where? And when everyone stopped calling to say, “Are you ok?”, that’s when I wasn’t.
Eileen was intending to write her way through retirement; that has been supplanted by the need to write her way through the pandemic to once again reach retirement.
Her look was summery; the weather was not. She stood shivering in her flower-speckled sundress, staring upward as the heavens opened, and torrents descended. Colourful ribbons in her hair were soon plastered against her scalp.
The forecast promised hot and sunny, but during the pandemic, nothing unfolded as it should.
Alan Kemister is the pen name of a retired scientist experimenting with more fictitious writing. He’s currently working on a climate change novel. Get the gory details at alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com
I would only take my mask off for her.
The fresh air is incredible, at odds with my recycled sickness. She reaches for my hand; I withdraw like I’ve been conditioned to. I give in. Her face is warm and flushed, perfect, just how I remember. Mine is unevenly unshaven.
Jonathan H. Smith (@JHSmithMD) is a physician and author living in Arizona.
I reach the end of my street and here comes Mr. No-Mask, huffing and puffing like a freight train. I back up, let him pass. One block later, Ms. Cell Phone comes walking and talking, oblivious.
I just go home and read today’s forecast: ninety percent chance of “no walk”.
Paul Bluestein is a physician (no longer practicing) and a blues musician (still practicing). He used to go for walks on the beach where he could think about he past, wonder about the future and lose his sunglasses.
Brittney is young, healthy, so she’s not worried. She and her friends gather in each other’s apartments, sharing beer and restlessness, missing Real Life.
Then Brittney’s neighbor—the retired kindergarten teacher she buys groceries for—tests positive.
Finally the headline sinks in: Brittney and all her friends could be carriers.
Jennifer L Freed mostly writes poems, which have appeared in various journals and anthologies. Her website is jfreed.weebly.com
As the previous night’s fires mixed with the morning fog, Alex put on his face mask and went out to retrieve his morning newspaper from the driveway.
His street was quiet, peaceful, untouched.
Inside his home, his wife and son slept upstairs, oblivious to the fire still raging within him.
Ran Walker is the author of twenty books. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University and lives with his wife and daughter in Virginia.