by Judith Ford It had started with the sparrows singing in the mock orange bush in her backyard. Anne loved to hear them calling out to the dawn when she’d first open her eyes in her bed, before the sun was all the way up, when there was a gray…
Posts Tagged Short Story
The Pulpo Hunter
by Steve Force Carola awoke just as dawn was breaking. She could hear Cesar, her husband, on the other side of the curtain that separated the sleeping area from the rest of their one room home. He was moving about in the cooking area. She could smell the strong dark…
Lilacs in Spring
by Lysette Cohen Dusk had begun to fall as I stepped into my grandmother’s bedroom. Her bed was empty now, but I could still see her tiny frame in peaceful slumber, her chest barely moving the brightly crocheted quilt as she breathed in small puffs. On the dresser, a lone…
I Wrote A Poem For My Best Friend’s Wedding
by Mike Cohen First of all, I have to thank Mrs. Popkin. I mean, Alice. I know, I know. I’ll try not to do that again, Alice. But it’s hard to call someone Alice who drove you to Hebrew class, not to mention dancing lessons, when you were a little…
The Cotton Gin
by Robert Scott Because he was afraid, John Kirk Ormsby, the new managing overseer to that great patch of fertile North Carolina land known as Excelsior Plantation, had passed the night in his office and not at home comfortably in his wife’s good bed. The whitewashed mill office was dimly…
And In Between
by Joni Bour It was a horrible, sideways rain day, seen only on the Oregon coast. I remember that day, because I remember him. He was quaking like an aspen tree, dripping, trying unsuccessfully not to fling water everywhere. He just stood there, not quite making eye contact and barely…
Nothing
by A.E. Escence I have nothing, at least nothing that matters much anymore. The scene replays over and over in my head; taunting me, inviting me to let it in, to feel it. I sit at his bedside, staring at the unmade bed. The pillow is thrown against the wall,…
Wall
by Amaree Semrau It was yellow. “How about lemon-pie?” “I prefer butter-biscuit.” “Isn’t that a bit… dull?” Barry huffed. “If I have to live with it everyday, I’d rather it not be shouting at me every time I go in the room.” “But it should be cheery, Babe,” Martha whined….
Turning 40
By Michele A. Cunningham Machion never had an adventurous bone in her body. Not one. Somehow turning 40 triggered her need to be more adventurous. “What are you doing Machion,” she stated as she waited in the train terminal. Her summer was supposed to be filled with her working on…
Night Train
by Sarah May Wilson The intermittent bumps of the rail connectors jostle me against the vinyl seat back. Aside from that I am quite comfortable. I didn’t expect a train to be so accommodating to its passengers. Looking up and out through the window to my left, I have two…