My chest pounded as I stared at the bed. There lay floral sheets, closed eyes, and my mother’s frail fingers still warm in my hand.
“Let go,” she had said.
“No,” I had told her.
When the fingers grew cold I heard her voice again. That’s when I let go.
Gwendolyn Jacob is rediscovering her fictional roots and has several works in progress.
How is it some words seem to hang in the air? Once spoken, they develop a life of their own, their presence growing from a secret pondering to an ominous being, larger than anything else in the room.
I know what sustains them: the very breath sucked from shocked lungs.
Cathy is a temporarily out of work bookkeeper, taking a little time off to play in the fields of words and exercise the other half of her brain.
“Shocking, isn’t it? Can you take the heat? Try not to lose your cool!”
Bullman sighed. “So that’s why you have the electric eel, the soldering iron, and the snowball? Give me a break. This is embarassing.”
Doctor Awful shrugged. “I have a plasma shotgun behind me, if you’d prefer.”
Normally today’s story would be from a guest author, since it’s a Monday, but during the Contest period Mondays will be used for normal stories.