Every once in a while she gets the distinct feeling that no matter how hard she tries, no matter how efficient and attentive and understanding she is, things are never going to work out between the two of them.
She can’t tell if these are moments of despair or lucidity.
Helen Sparrow digs tea and idolizes her chemistry teacher.
Staring at the computer screen, wishing she were somewhere else.
The banks of the Euphrates, the moors of Scotland, the Australian Outback, the beach.
Anywhere but this cold, lifeless cubicle.
Flipping the screen, she looks at her bank account balance.
Back to the drudgery to one day earn her escape.
Susan is a Curriculum Developer at a mortgage company. She is widowed with two grown daughters, two stepsons, and four awesome grandchildren: two boys and two girls.
“Take one more step and I draw.”
Six years old, he carried a toy gun and barked commands at everyone within earshot. Most days, I ignored him. I really couldn’t blame him. At his age, I’d done the same thing.
I really should have listened. That bullet nearly hit me.
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She spends her days writing poetry, short stories, songs, and the occasional cartoon caption.
I recognized her immediately. Same eyes, but sadder; same hair, but grayer.
She’d dominated my yearbooks: cheerleader, homecoming queen, class favorite.
As she rang up my groceries, I suddenly wondered which was more unfortunate… Those who peaked in high school, or those of us who wasted our lives envying them.
Gail Warber is the winner of several writing contests including E.K.U.’s creative non-fiction competition. She lives in Appalachia with her four frisky corgis and three frisky grandchildren.
The story of the week for September 18 to 22 is…
Fourteen by Jennifer L. Freed
I thought,
when my daughter finally left
my womb,
that I’d be free
again,
could go back
to my old self.
Nobody told me
my breasts would ache
for her hunger,
or that her heat, her scent,
her fierce little grip
would hold me
even after I’d given her away.
Jennifer L. Freed likes inventing characters but doesn’t have enough time to write. The narrator of this story did not exist until a prompt (“Write something on the theme of independence”) brought her to life.
Fingers table-tapping impotently. Clock striking, but not the keys on my laptop. Blank face reflected on white empty screen mirrors the inside of my dark empty head.
I prod my muse. “Any thoughts?”
She waves a bottle in my direction, hiccups and sinks into a torpor.
“Try Facebook,” she mumbles.
Vivienne Burgess needs to get some perspective in life, get her muse off the booze, and take a holiday from Facebook. It’s not helping her creativity… or blood pressure.
Every time I eat here, I wonder if she’s still in the restroom.
I watch the cakes orbit on refrigerated turntables, a silent waltz for the ballerinas running omelets and coffee.
Back when she excused herself to the restroom, the hostess was probably still in diapers.
“Table for one, please.”
Ryan R. Latini is a freelance and fiction writer living in southern New Jersey. His fiction and nonfiction have appeared in Funny in Five Hundred, Red Savina Review, and The Schuylkill Valley Journal.
Crocodile and Hippo were arguing over who was the more dangerous of the two.
Crocodile boasted, “I kill a thousand humans annually!”
Hippo scoffed, “I’m responsible for thrice that number of fatalities!”
Then a man came into view. Pointing at him, Crocodile sighed. “I think we finally have our winner…”
Melanie Cranenburgh lives in Western Australia, where a plethora of dangerous creatures make life interesting.
“What are you reading there? Looks like some serious stuff; you must be really smart.” He worked his usual pick-up magic on the train. Ask a simple question, then pay a compliment. Always works with them ladies.
Just not this time. “My divorce papers,” she replied angrily, and turned away.
Katya Duft is a translator, interpreter, and language teacher, and enjoys writing short stories, poetry, and her blog Tales from the Bus.