by Bonnie E. Carlson She dreaded having to make the amends, but it ate away at her. “It’s time,” her sponsor said. “Put on your big girl pants. You’ll feel better when it’s done.” In previous attempts at sobriety, Laurel had never gotten to AA’s steps eight and nine—make a…
by Jeanne Althouse I was born in a hallway. My pregnant Mother had lovely brown hair curled in the style of Ingrid Bergman in the movie Casablanca. She defined her lips with dark red from a stick, her nose with loose white powder she stored in a gold case and…
by Terrence Litwiller Of all the benefits I’ve encountered since moving into “semi-retirement” earlier this year, the one I am most grateful for is my mornings at home with my now 20-month old grandson, Liam. My wife and I are blessed that for this time period he and his mom…
by Mary Wroten “David’s Cookies” placed first in Southern New Hampshire University’s 2018 Fall Fiction Contest. David was a fastidious man. He wore starched white linen shirts with his crisply pressed khakis, creases running down the front of each leg. His snowy white beard was neatly trimmed and his steel…
by Christine Alexander “Little Wonders” placed second in Southern New Hampshire University’s 2018 Fall Fiction Contest. I spent my days in the infant and toddler room of Little Wonders Nursery School rocking babies to sleep and doling out snacks to those who could chew. They were all gummy fingers and chubby…
by Catherine Pontoriero “Knots and Chains” placed third in Southern New Hampshire University’s 2018 Fall Fiction Contest. The first time you are four years old. You’ve spent most of your life watching her work the yarn. You’ve memorized her hands, the worn skin, the heavy knuckles. She plies the needles…
by Orlando A. Rebolledo I boarded the Ferris Wheel alone. My booth was clear glass all over. The door was more a hatch than a door. It closed, I sat, and the wheel went on. Tall buildings cowered into stumps, roads and highways sunk like trenches in the distance, and…
by Darlene Holt It was April of ’86 when the blood moon murders began in Madison, Georgia. Before I met my wife, Charlene—hell, before I could even legally drink—back when life was simple. Or so I thought. My buddy, Chris Higgins, and I were taking some “easy A” elective on…
by Cat Wyatt A howling nor’easter bore down on my small town, winds gusting and blowing so hard that trees were bending over, their branches scrubbing the ground and shredding all the leaves on the abrasive, grooved concrete along the long driveway. The trees lined that driveway like sentinels that…
by Deborah S. Prespare Cool summer air, pine-scented and clean, wafted through the open window, carrying on its drifts the soothing purr of crickets and cicadas. The light from an occasional passing car veined the room’s darkness. On the surface, this was a night like any other, but there was…