Midmornings, from her clusters of roses and multi-hued tulips, the flower seller selects a sprig of rosemary. Places it on the brass stumbling stone nearby, framing the inscription: Sophie Kleffmann. Taken 10.21.1942. Murdered at Treblinka.
Each dawn the street cleaner sluices away the flower, leaves radiant flecks like pomegranate seeds.
Gary Thomson writes micros, riffs his Hohner harmonica, and reads historical fiction at home in Ontario.
In the frosted woodland spotlights they danced,
whimsically, of course, as Younglings should,
to a melody of whistling Robins and crispy, crunchy leaves.
And all the while, they plucked blackberries,
staining fingers and lips purple,
igniting giggles,
as sweet as this moment of childhood magic
before the clipping of wings.
Amy Price is a creative writing student from Wales.
She calls herself Helene.
Life has stripped away previous names, earlier existence. Now she quakes in terror, hiding so completely as to be almost invisible, hiding in the darkest corners of her mind. Some day she’ll emerge as a butterfly. First she must find the strength to become a chrysalis.
Eileen enjoys turning life into short memoirs, poems, and 50 word stories, finding stories in all of everyday life.
There are things they don’t tell you about living on this coast.
How the fog can roll in at any time, day or night. How the wind carries in long-dead souls who cling to your skin like mist. How the different life you wanted becomes the last life you lead.
A one-time teen mother and high school dropout, Larina Warnock holds a doctorate and is an educator on the Oregon coast. She lives with her husband, three dogs, and a turtle.
“I don’t beg blokes. If you’re leaving, I’ll help you pack.”
Emma took what she overheard from the next table as advice. She stubbed out her cigarette.
“New rule,” she wrote in her notebook. “Ten minutes maximum. Time’s up.” She ripped the page out and left it under the ashtray.
Jenny Logan wrote this story.
She takes off her armor: her wig and her smile.
Another day battled; another day conquered.
She is pale. Her cheeks are sunken.
Some may mistake her for frail, but she is a warrior.
She stares at her new self in the mirror, unsure whether tomorrow will be the same.
Deirdre Smith has dabbled in writing for as long as she can remember. She is a part-time Guidance Counsellor and all-the-time mom. She resides in St. John’s, Newfoundland. This piece was written for Childhood Cancer Awareness month (September) in memory of her cousin Becky Courage.
After spending hours in pursuit of food, Erich proudly returns with the meat, which Herta boils in water. The white, wriggling maggots float to the top, and she ladles them out, not disclosing their presence to her family.
Post-WWII, they desperately need protein-rich food to silence their nagging hunger pangs.
Carol is a retired telecom engineer, who enjoys discovering her writing talents in Albany, NY.
The story of the week for October 10 to 14 is…
Nature by Saaiqa Malik
A love story. She hid it in the forgotten place. It was unearthed in her final days. She told the story of her love tangle. She glowed as she reminisced on those days. Tears streamed down her eyes as she recalled why they could not stand on the same footings.
Thompson Emate is a diverse writer although he is still trying his hands on some genres. His short stories can be seen in Voice.club. He lives in Lagos, Nigeria.
“Can I bring Tom on Sunday?” she asked.
“Of course, love. And what does this one do?” asked her mother.
“Theatre.”
“Oh my God, what’s he been in? Does he know Hugh Jackman? Or Judi Dench? Has he met any Royals?”
“Ma, he rotates the barricades in ‘Les Mis’.”
“Oh.”
Tim Dadswell is a retired civil servant who loves writing short fiction. Find him on Twitter: @TimD_writer