It’s so far up the beach, her first sandcastle. The bucket is too full. She stumbles. Water sloshes over the rim.
It’s scalding. Her leg blooms with pain.
A nurse prises the teacup from her knotted hand. He leads her slowly to a chair. It’s so far up the ward.
Tamsin wrote this story during quite a long walk.
Seventy-five-year-old Pete waved his gun, shouting, “He stole my shoes!”
Vera told the police he was wearing the “stolen” shoes. They talked Pete into turning over the gun and leaving with them.
Vera twisted the engagement ring she’d worn for 20 years as she waited for his wife to die.
Diane de Anda, a retired UCLA professor and third-generation Latina, has edited four books and published numerous articles in scholarly journals, short stories, poetry, and essays in Rosebud, Straylight, Storyteller, Pacific Review, Frogpond, Modern Haiku, Bottle Rockets, Presence, and others, eight children’s books, satires in Humor Times, and a collection of 40 flash fiction stories.
I try to be patient but it’s tough. He often forgets who I am.
And he’s acting more peculiar than ever. Last week he made a caterpillar walk on the rim of his teacup. Said it’d go on for years if you just set it straight once in a while.
Mark Farley is attempting to write 1,000,000 words in 2016. Only 7,000 to go; please wish him luck! See more at mumbletoes.blogspot.com
I don’t remember anymore.
I have a disease, but I can’t remember what it is called.
I can remember things, but they seem so long ago. From when I was younger.
Someone helps me, and I think she is special to me.
Fog rolls over me, and she is gone.
Gordon Lysen resides in Manitoba, Canada and spends his time between the city of Winnipeg and his true home at Sugar Point on Lake Manitoba. Retired from police work after some 27 years, Gordon co-authored the novel “A Deadly Blend of Souls” with his wife, Lisa. Writing and painting are Gordon’s relaxation methods when retirement becomes too stressful.
She could feel it at the very edges of her fingertips. If she reached a little more, just a little, she could grab it. She summoned the last of her strength and energy.
But it was gone.
Her doctor explained to her husband that Alzheimers is a slow degenerative disease.
Lee Otto lives in Australia with her husband, two children, and plethora of cats. At 60, after a life spent as a technical writer, she decided to find out what fiction writing is all about and enrolled in a Bachelor of Arts majoring in fiction writing. This is her first attempt at having anything fictional published.
The old woman gazed at the teddy bear, the toy goose, and the heart-shaped pillow. “Isn’t it nice that I have my family here with me?” she said.
“I am your family, Mom,” said her son.
“Well these children are nice; you are not.”
He sighed and left the room.
Carrie Danielson grew up in the Colorado Rockies. Her first career was acting, but she later became an English teacher. Now retired, she has time to devote to writing. Carrie lives in Chula Vista, is married, has four children, and spends time with her four grandchildren, four dogs, and a parrot.
Some form of dementia has stolen her brilliant mind
But has kindly left her beautiful soul.
From a hospital bed finally she knows no limits.
All worries, self-doubts have vanished,
Layers of life’s woes stripped away.
Her eyes filled with love, she sings and is happy.
Her truest self, revealed?
Lisa Lysen is having fun exploring her passion for words, hoping an adventure in writing may be somewhere in her future.
Sarah meanders, swearing, in and out of the traffic.
The cars stop and the first driver steps into the pouring rain, her makeup running with her own tears as she struggles to cover up Sarah’s nakedness with a coat.
There is a dim light of recognition in her mother’s eyes.
Allyson Salmon has had three poems printed by United Press including one in their National Poetry Antology 2015. She is married with one grown up daughter.
I don’t interrupt; that would be rude.
She’s telling me the same story of nearly drowning that I’ve heard before. She’s determined to squeeze out every memory before it’s gone.
Like my mother’s boxed wine, her memories have slowly dripped out onto the floor, and she doesn’t even know it.
R. H. Palmer lives in Southern Illinois and spends her free time listening to old records and terrorizing her cats.
When my mom remembers, she refers to me by both my first and middle name, Carol Ann. When she forgets, she asks for her daughter.
Sometimes I forget what a great mom she had been. Sometimes I remember, and give her an extra long embrace before leaving the nursing home.
Debra Danz was born and raised in Brooklyn, NY, and now resides in Switzerland with her two children. She is currently writing a book, which will be dedicated to her late husband and composed of short stories inspired by his photography. Debra participates in a club called The Writing Women of Zurich and contributes to their blog. One of Debra’s Short stories is forthcoming in The Bookends Review.