by Olaf Kroneman I feed the starving. I feed the dying. I’m no Mother Teresa, but the act of feeding the unfortunates who can’t eat appeals to me. How could you not like the person who feeds you? You don’t bite the hand. I feed people, patients, whose stomachs are…
by Gloria Holsinger Sassyfras swiftly dug up the ginseng roots with well-practiced hands, then placed them in the burlap sack she always carried on such missions. All the while she kept her ears perked for unusual sounds in the forest. She pushed her wild, strawberry blonde hair away from her…
by Joseph Mills Even after Dale reaches the bleachers and Jackie has started stretching on the field, Sally and the boys are still in the van. Doing something. God knows what. It’s why Dale hates it when she drives. She get in and sits there, adjusting her seat, getting out…
by Nancy Ford Dugan I was showing my driver’s license to my mother to prove I was her daughter when I looked out the window and saw two guys maneuvering a body with a plaid sheet over its face into an SUV. “Don’t be silly. You’re not Sally,” said my…
by Kim Venkataraman “Another bite of mashed potato?” “No, but I’ll have a bit more of the stew.” “Is it tasty?” I lift the spoon slowly, my hand cupped underneath. “The beef is tough as a boot but the broth is good.” I’m lying on the daybed on the…
by Lenny Levine The first thing I noticed about Arnold Eaton’s secretary was how beautiful she was. The second thing I noticed was that she was an android. She had long blonde hair and deep blue eyes, and she was sitting behind a large mahogany desk in his palatial waiting…
by Jane Finlayson Nicky peels the skin off the chicken in one slick move, like she’s undressing some squirmy little kid before it makes a getaway. “Stay put, you twisted bag of bones,” she hisses, holding the bird upright and slapping onion halves and rosemary into the cavity before wrestling…
by Frank Richards James had just stepped into the kitchen when he heard the garage door opening. His wife, Jan, must have returned from the auction. She was always good at finding overlooked treasures at auctions. He wondered what she’d bought this time. Jan came into the kitchen through the…
by Bonnie Lykes The consignment shop is only a yard from vicious traffic. It doesn’t seem fair the sweetness of so many grandmothers and dear uncles suffers the exhaust. Flimsy tapestries, shaky wood shelves, a nickel cooktop, beaded wallet, a painting of post-modern ladies fanning fans all crammed up, orderless….
by Aneesh Shukla Twilight was beginning to fade and the dark of night settling in. Aneesh leaned against the open doorway of the balcony, watching the sky, waiting for the stars to light his way. Behind him, he heard Maitri humming softly as she soothed their son to sleep. The…