Opportunities by Douglas Clifton
I catch his eye and nod. He turns back to his newspaper. Christ! I only want the newspaper, not him. The waitress comes by with the coffee pot, tops off my mug, and walks over to his table.
Continue readingAuthor: Every Writer
Richard Edwards has a BFA in Creative Writing and Journalism from Bowling Green State University and an M.S. in Education from the University of Akron. Managing editor of Drunk Duck, poetry editor for Prairie Margins, reporter for Miscellany, Akron Journal, Lorain Journal, and The BG News. He has also worked as a professional writer and editor in the medical publishing industry for several years. For the last 15 years Richard has also taught literature and writing at the secondary and post-secondary levels. He works much of the time with at-risk students.
Hansel and Grethel by Jacob Grimm and Wilhelm Grimm
For this Halloween we thought we would run an old, oldy but a goodie (long in the public domain). We hope you enjoy the Brother’s Grimm Hansel and Grethel.
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My Job by Ronald Robert Moore
When I arrived at work I was immediately called into Mr. Roberts?s office. I had never been called into his office before. When I walked in he sat behind his huge desk and Mrs. Berman sat to his right. There was a new man I did not know sitting between them and Mrs. Berman started.
Continue readingThe Closed Door by Rita Crossley
I’m in the kitchen, squeezing a teabag against the inside of my mug with a spoon when the kitchen door slams shut. I turn, shaking off the hot brown liquid that has spilt on the back of my hand. When I touch the handle of the door it feels icy cold and rigid as I try in vain to push it down.
Continue readingThe Trail From The Cabin To The Lake by W.C. Fleischman
The chair barely fit him anymore. The trail, which led from the cabin to the lake tempted him, but he waited until he heard the screen door to the cabin slap behind her. Across the lake, a fisherman’s small trolling motor sputtered and coughed. He steadied himself on his cane, and pried himself up. She came alongside and took his hand. She was ready but he was not so sure.
Continue readingSpinach and Rain by Diane Payne
“Quit staring at her, Lou. Just say something.”
“I’m not staring, Rob.”
Rob rolls his eyes.
Continue readingLost Portrait London 1940s by Geoffrey Heptonstall
The table is covered with crisp linen on which are set well-chosen wines. Spills will occur, devilish as blood. Salt is an effective remedy in cold soaking before dawn. No-one sees the under world. Tired and hungry maids, no more than children, work by lamplight. It is dark and cool for the wines.
Continue readingMy Mother Laughing by Dan Sklar
My Mother Laughing by?Dan Sklar My mother laughing. The sound of my mother laughing, closing her eyes, mouth wide open,
Continue readingTrick or Treat? by Anthony Sarnelle
Brittany Muller shook in fright as she waited in the parking lot for the police to arrive. Behind her, the church where it all happened; ancient stained-glass windows, a fa?ade of dark brick, and a large tower that rose into the sky topped with an eroded crucifix that cast a black contour against the pink stratus clouds. Thirteen religion school children stood beside her crying, some sitting in the grass holding each other?s hands, one girl standing with her arms wrapped around Brittany?s leg because the thing . . . with its horrific eyes . . . and deadly horns . . . was still inside the church.
Continue readingPhiladelphia Roll by Kiley Reid
The night before my 17th birthday, my mother and father spent the day in the kitchen rolling sushi, my very favorite. If I had closed my eyes walking down the stairs, I could have duped myself into believing I had entered a wharf off the coast of Cape Cod. My mother?s hands were glowing with fish oils and lingering rice. My father kept clasping the bottom of his palms to the sides of his head whenever he tried to eat more than his personal best of wasabi. I only looked on, but every time he swallowed, I could swear my sinuses cleared just from watching him. Sheryl Crow was complaining about some guy who had a secret lover from my mother?s phone in her back pocket turned up loud. I stood and watched, tapping my hips to the countertops lightly.
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