The bed is the biggest problem. It smells like him. Even after stripping it to wash the sheets, as I lay down on the bare mattress waiting for the dryer to finish working its magic, cleansing me of him, I can smell him. It?s a slightly sweet, powdery smell, laced with a hint of something masculine
The Shoebox by: William Gaughan
The heaviness of the shoebox reminded me that it no longer housed its original contents; the fine sheet of dust, evidence of its solitude.
The Loser by Arthur Mackeown
I’m not as forgetful as I seem, you know. I never lose things by accident, not really, just accidentally on purpose. I ‘lose’ them on buses, in shops, on park benches, even
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.
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.
The 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.
Spinach and Rain by Diane Payne
“Quit staring at her, Lou. Just say something.”
“I’m not staring, Rob.”
Rob rolls his eyes.
Lost 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.
My 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, the sound coming out. A Chinese Restaurant next to a movie theater. They play double-features in the afternoon. You can see a double feature, then go out for Chinese food. It is 1962. I am […]
Philadelphia 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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