She could hear a piano and recognised the tune and lyrics
“You must remember this,” repeated in her ear.
She tried, but could not speak.
Next time, she thought, “I must say those words ”
The doctor smiled. “Play that song again.
“Your mother’s responding. She’s out of the coma.”
John B. Sinclair is a much-travelled Scot who has now returned to Scotland, where he enjoys freelance writing on a variety of subjects.
She appreciated, more than ever, the smell of her coffee and the sunlight reflecting off her back porch. The weather was unfairly perfect. Soon enough, the kids would know. But, for now, she let her smile hide the hopeless, sinking feeling welling up in her gut.
The cancer was back.
Myron Tetreault is a Calgary-based businessman, athlete and author.
The flat green line. The monitor said… dead.
Years after her heart stopped, mine remains shattered but “healthy.”
I’ve tried to reassemble. I think good thoughts, fond memories. Piece by piece its coming back together. My shattered heart. I thought I felt it today. Alas… it is made of stone.
Lou Romero wanders around the New Mexico desert in his old truck, looking for signs. The signs usually tell him, “Why not stop here and eat a burrito?”
The first time I picked it up, the blade felt light in my hand. The relief came quickly. Over the next sixteen years, it would become my comfort, my consolation, my cure.
When I finally put the blade down, I realized it was the heaviest thing that I’d ever held.
Kimberly had spent many years in treatment and is currently celebrating three years in recovery from self-injury. Kimberly’s goal is to help others overcome the stigma associated with self-injury so they can get help they need to put the blade down, too. She is currently working as a Peer Specialist at Access: Supports for Living.
As a child, he knew this part of the house, accessed only through a cave-like closet, was special.
Now, newly discharged, he lives here.
Sometimes his mother pushes through the musty coats and newly hung uniforms: “Coming through!” But feigning sleep, turned away, it’s only his rhythmic breathing she finds.
Matthew lives in Hope, Maine.
Lying on her bed, Bella could finally move her legs; flexing and testing their strength, she waved an arm with glee.
When they held a mirror to her face, she gurgled.
“That’s right, Bella,” said the brain surgeon.
Bella’s children sat quietly nearby. They hoped she would recover fully.
Margaret McGoverne is currently writing her first full length novel, while being distracted by short stories, flash fiction and her blog about all things writing.
His illness couldn’t be seen, but he still needed a quiet place to heal.
I bought the lot of land farthest from potential neighbors and slowly coaxed his help with building a modest home, a small family, a place in our rural community.
He’s still quiet, but he smiles more.
Hillary can be found skating on ivory paper with her grandmother’s favorite pen every day of the week.
Melissa, Greek for queen bee, settled on soft grass. Her flaxen hair complemented an array of colourful flowers. Her hands picked lazily at the weeds.
The distant river’s current swooshed at the banks. She was at peace, just like her beloved Jacob whose dreary head stone overshadowed her.
Kerry Valkyrie Kelly lives in Ireland with her five children. She went there for the ‘craic’ and enjoys the rural life and local humour.