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Elephant Man
Emily Hart
© Copyright 2016 by Emily Hart
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The
snow crunched beneath
his boots as he walked. He had stood here by this swing set in
blistering sun and wind driven rains needled with ice -- and in snow
like tonight, December 24th. The swings moved slightly in the
night breeze as if ghost children played on them.
What
a thought! He
cursed himself silently.
"Where
are you,
Peri?" he said. "Where are you? Little girls
are supposed to be safe at home eating gingerbread cookies and
listening for sleigh bells on Christmas Eve."...
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Gallows Flower
Emily Hart
© Copyright 2016 by Emily Hart
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Out on the prairie the
loveliest things can be the most deadly, as a man sometimes finds out
too late.
There's
nothing so lovely
as a flower on the prairie -- set against the harshness of a that
bleak, unforgiving landscape. It is like a bit of
grace.
That was Flora Grace Coronach -- as fair to look at as a
flower.
She looked like a day lily, bright and lithe. She moved like
water in a brook -- cool and laughing. When she spoke to you
it
was like songbirds come back in the spring. A woman like that
should be dressed in velvets and satins and fine laces and have no
work harder to do than lifting a teapot. She should be mated
to
man who has earned the respect of other men....
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Petey
Bob's Train Ride
A
True Story
Paul
Marion Fleetwood
©
Copyright 2016 by Paul Marion Fleetwood
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It was during the
Great War. The year was 1944 and I was 13 years old, getting ready to
be 14 on July 23, 1944.
My family lived in a
small town in East Texas not too far from Longview. We had moved to
Texas from Northeast Arkansas where my dad had a small farm. He had
gotten hurt and was unable to work the farm so we moved to Texas
where Dad's extended family lived so he could help out around their
sawmill.
My mom's family lived
in Southern Missouri near the small town of Doniphan. I wanted to
visit my Grandma and Uncle Paul when school was out that Spring so
Dad drove me to Longview to catch the train....
What
Lies Ahead
Gayle
Thawley
©
Copyright 2016 by Gayle Thawley
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How
lucky we are that we do not know what lies ahead as nothing that
picture perfect September morning prepared me for the hours to come.
For that matter, nothing in my life prepared me for the hours to
come.
Standing
on the small wooden porch of the portable classroom I lovingly called
‘Math Heaven’ at Kilmer Middle School in Fairfax,
Virginia, I felt my first feeling of relaxation since my summer
vacation had ended just two short weeks before. The tedious attention
to the details of a new school year had dominated my life completely.
Class lists for 152 students, preparing lesson plans, meeting after
meeting, the list went on and on....
Fear
and Loathing the Tokyo Hospital Scene, or
Marcus
Welby, M.D.: Alive and Well, and Practicing in Yotsukaido
(Where?)
Carl
Winderl
©
Copyright 2016 by Carl Winderl
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This
piece is for all those Bostonians who must have been living in Tokyo
while I was living in Japan, for a year or so, just outside of Tokyo,
about an hour east of it.
Whenever
I’d go in to Tokyo, it seemed to me that all the Americans I
saw there must have been Bostonians. Only rarely would I ever see
anyone I knew for sure was a bona fide1 tourist. The rest, I was
certain, were from somewhere in New England – or most assuredly
from Boston itself.
It
had to be them, to coin a paraphrase. I mean, really, who else but
New Englanders are notorious for being cold, impersonal, even
obnoxiously unfriendly, on a good day. On most days, regionally
proud of it. And on a bad day, who else goes out of their way to be
rude. But I’ve changed, largely because of my experiences in
Japan. So, surely if you’d seen me there – trying to
catch some fellow American’s eye, ready to say hello, or offer
directions, help in some way, if needed . . . yes, that would have
been me....
Kaleidoscope
Marion Parks
©
Copyright 2016 by Marion Parks
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"Old lady, said the Jester, as he twirled around me, the bells on his 3-cornered cap tinkling with a mystical sound....
A
Turkey Hunt
Gene
Fletcher
©
Copyright 2016 by Gene Fletcher
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Before
the arrival of civilization and the so called rule of law, hunting
was primarily for food. The people who hunted used simple tools to
supplement the effectiveness of the guns that all local citizens
carried. The tools for the hunt included duck calls, turkey yelpers
and a light to shine the eyes of game during a hunt at night. . . .
My
first Turkey hunt came as a surprise when I was about 14 years of
age. My father and my uncle Ben were talking over their plans for a
Turkey hunt the next day. As I listened quietly, enjoying my status
as the oldest of my generation, thus being allowed to stay up later
than the little kids, I heard the plan unfold....
Our Garden Goes To Pot
Karen
Radford Treanor
©
Copyright
2016 by Karen Radford Treanor
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In
1970 my husband decided it was time to do something more exciting
than living in South Lowell, Massachusetts, and working as a technical
model maker for Raytheon. Before I got though listing reasons why we
should stay in our little blue house with our two daughters, we had
joined the Peace Corps and were getting off a DC-3 in Swaziland, a
tiny kingdom in southern Africa.
We
had several adventurous weeks in a training program, doing in-depth
language classes and meeting lots of local people. The new life
became “normal” amazingly quickly. Shortly after we
moved into our permanent quarters, I decided the big back yard filled
with semi-feral lawn should be put to use as a garden....
The
Judge
Gene
Fletcher
©
Copyright 2016 by Gene Fletcher
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He
was a retired federal judge who had been called out of retirement to
serve on a three judge panel that was the federal court of appeals
for our area. He had retired about 20 years ago so my guess was that
he was about 80 to 85 years old. He looked like an actor direct from
central casting. He had a healthy appearance and he had a fondness
for humor. The kind of humor that appears in the daily lives that
each of us live, but it is humor that is often unrecognized as we
shuffle along in our somewhat boring routines....
Pestered By Parrots
Karen
Radford Treanor
©
Copyright
2016 by Karen Radford Treanor
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Native
Australians will probably never understand what an amazing experience
having wild parrots in one's yard is for immigrants from places such
as New England. If the most colourful thing you ever saw was a blue
jay, the sight of a pair of western rosellas in red, blue, green and
yellow is staggering.
I
had been dragooned into bird-watching by my mother at an early age,
and spent many a damp spring day in Massachusetts doing Audubon
surveys with her, but nothing had prepared me for the colour and
diversity of Australian bird life, particularly the parrots....
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The Chachapoya Culture
Richard
Franklin Bishop
©
Copyright 2016
by Richard Franklin Bishop
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Why
is it that we who live in the Americas just can’t bring
ourselves to believe that once upon a time there were brave people
who decided to “go for it” and actually made it across
the Atlantic to the “new World” -- before the Vikings ?
Perhaps it’s because no one has ever stepped forward with
convincing evidence for such an adventure. With all Academia
staunchly set against the idea, the proof would have to be the
“irresistible force against an immovable object.”
Fans
of Pedro Álvares Cabral (Brazil discovery date: 1500 A.D.) are
especially sensitive to any research that would tend to overshadow
his celebrated but involuntary storm-tossed landing in present-day
Brazil made accidently while attempting to circumnavigate Africa.
Fans
of Christopher Columbus (New World discovery date: 1492 A.D.) are a
little less rabid on the subject but band together steady as a rock
in denying that anyone but the Vikings could have landed in the
Americas earlier.
But
now, I’ve come around to agreeing with the late Dr. Cyrus H.
Gordon, who asserted in his book, Before Columbus (Crown Publishers,
New York, 1971), that there were scores of ancient visits to the “new
world” and that many of them were on purpose -- not just
accidental; probably seeking natural resources such as gold or silver
or tin or iron ore -- whatever the technology of the times required....
Airport
Charlie
Gene
Fletcher
©
Copyright 2016 by Gene Fletcher
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,
My first encounter
with the story of Airport Charlie was as unlikely as my first
encounter with the hog himself. Yes, Airport Charlie was a hog. A
hog with a reputation that had spread from Cross City, Florida as far
south as Sarasota....
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Yellow: The Leaf Withers Away...
Yashi Singh
©
Copyright 2016 by Yashi Singh
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The
morning light entered
my eyes through my window. It was a bright sunny day. The vibrant
colorful sunshine pierced through my window into the bedroom. I was
fast getting ready for the day. I had to catch the train for my
workplace. I gazed at the watch 8:15. I had time in my hands. I had
to reach there by 10:30. It took me 15 minutes to reach there. I
thought I will complete my pending work in the meantime. My stomach
started to hurt. I took my pill for stomachache and waited for time
to subside. It was not before noon time that my eyes fell on the
yellow paper on my desk. I gulped down the orange juice on my table
and picked up that yellow folded paper. I carefully unfolded it and
tried to read what was scribbled on it. "Sorry...."
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Creep
Lisa Rehfuss
©
Copyright 2015 by Lisa Rehfuss
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We all have life
stories that give us goose bumps, yet the sheer volume and “creep
factor” of my family’s stories is such that I have to
wonder ‘what gives?’
It’s
certainly made me question the age-old argument of fate versus free
will. Are we set up, fated to a prearranged destiny? Does everything
happen for a reason? If life is built on destiny’s shoulder, if
we are nothing but mere marionettes, then there’s no hope in
changing the underlying creepy theme.
Or, does free
will play a part? And if so, at least in my universe where the
‘creep’ continues, it makes me wonder about the choices I
make that time and again place me in creepy, unsettling situations.
Perhaps within these stories a common thread will be found and maybe,
just maybe, it can be unraveled it to live the rest of my remaining
days outside the ‘creep’. What a quest!...
Christmas 1942 Petey Bob's Unusual Gift
Paul
Marion Fleetwood
©
Copyright 2016 by Paul Marion Fleetwood
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The Nation
was at war and the outcome was in doubt. So just about
everyone
was hard at work to help the war effort in anyway they could.
My family had recently moved from Northeast Arkansas to a small town
in East Texas when I was 12 years old. Dad had been injured
working on the farm and while he was waiting for the Doctor to come
back to his office; he was mugged from behind and almost killed when
someone clubbed him over the head.
After
that he was unable to work and support our family. He started
playing poker with a group of local men and actually managed to win
enough each week to buy some groceries. But he knew this
could
not go on indefinitely so we moved to Texas where his father and
brothers were in the sawmill business. He was hoping to be
able
to help out in someway and make enough money to survive....
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Petey Bob Starts to School
and Falls In Love
Paul
Marion Fleetwood
©
Copyright 2016 by Paul Marion Fleetwood
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I was born near the beginning of the great depression in the Ripley
County, Missouri, about ten miles North of the small town of
Doniphan.
My
mom named
me Paul Marion after my uncle Paul and my dad Marion. This
seemed to be quite normal and satisfactory until I got old enough to
start saying words. Then for some unknown reason everytime
mom
would call me Paul, I would say uh-uh Bob. Well this went on
for some time according to mom until she and Dad just gave up and
started calling me Bobby.
But it
didn't end
there. They still wanted me to be named after Uncle
Paul.
His nick name was Pete. So I got stuck with the name Petey Bob and it
stuck with me all the way through Grade School....
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Pico
Steven Hunley
© Copyright
2016 by Steven Hunley
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It was misting while they were still in
the theater on a date arranged by their parents. Angelica insisted
they sit near the front on an aisle, instead of in the last row he
suggested. She wouldn’t allow Junior to kiss her, not even
once. On the way home, wet streets reflected the traffic lights, and
changed from green to yellow to red. Flickering neon signs and car
headlights shined in shimmering bars across the glistening pavement,
no matter what direction they walked. Before they’d gone a
block, the scent of new autumn rain replaced the smell of old summer
dust.“Pico Street on a Saturday night.” Junior
noted the people hustling to and fro. “It’s an incredible
place, teaming with life."...
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Petey Bob's Old Car
Paul
Marion Fleetwood
©
Copyright 2016 by Paul Marion Fleetwood
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I love my grandkids. They are mostly all grown up and moved
away now but what times we had. And what stories I told them.
Stories of my growing up. They loved the stories because most
of them were true.
So I got to thinking;
I bet my great great grandkids would enjoy old Petey Bob's stories
long after I am gone. And the only way I could figure out to
make that happen was to write them down. So I have started to
do just that....
More...
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Auto Show Memories
William
Wayne Weems
©
2016
by
William Wayne Weems
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I
noted when I told this
tale to an older lady a pensive look crossed her face, as if she
wondered if any municipality could be so foolish, so what the Brits
would style as "daft". Alas, between 50 and 60 years ago
Knoxville, Tennessee seemed to meet that criteria....
Carl
Winderl
©
Copyright 2015 by Carl Winderl
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Pimple.
Zit. Pizza Face. Moonscape. Crater Face.
Pustule. Bleb. Eruption. Blackhead. Whitehead. Carbuncle.
Camedo. Papule. Pimple Pus.
The
bane of my existence all senior year long. Before and after too.
I
heard those words, I thought those words, and I felt those words
every time I forced my self to look in the mirror, especially in the
morning when I cringed at what the dawn’s early light would
reveal on my face: how the landscape of my face had changed
overnight, usually for the worse....
More...
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Mom's Diaries
Dale
Fehringer
©
Copyright 2016 by Dale Fehringer
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My
mother had a hard time expressing her emotions. That
may
have been due at least partially to the harsh environment she
grew up in during the depression, in a family that stressed
hard
work and commitment more than affection. But she kept diaries
for more than 40 years, and when I read through them I could feel the
love for her family, her friends, and her community come
through. I think that was how she told people she
loved
them....
Five Men and a Little Laser
Karen
Radford Treanor
©
Copyright
2016 by Karen Radford Treanor
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She
was
small, she was metallic bronze, she could go from 0 to 60 in 87.5
seconds, and she was all mine.
As we
chugged up Greenmount Hill in the slow lane, I tried not to make
odious comparisons between the company Camry I had just given up with
my job on this spring day in 1997, and the 12-year old Ford Laser I
had purchased with my accrued holiday pay. All she needed was a
tune-up and we’d be dragging the boys off at the lights, I told
the car as we wallowed in the exhaust of an overweight and
underpowered truck....
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My Heart & My Hands
Anna G. Joujan
© Copyright 2016 by Anna G.
Joujan
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It was the dance that did
it. Sure, we exchanged the necessary formalities when one leaves a
place where one has been hosted; there were the thank yous
["bareka"], the farewells [a slight bow combined with a nod
of the head, and hands pressed together as if in prayer], and the
exchange of gifts [2 Guinea fowl, 1 rooster, and a large bowl of
their eggs--those of the Guinea fowl, not those of the rooster ;-)].
But I am convinced that the moment of significance--that in which the
people of this village really felt, and believed, our hearts, came at
the end of the formalities....
Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell
Sharing My
Life With My Nemesis
Patricia
M. Snell
©
Copyright 2016 by Patricia M. Snell
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Why would an intelligent
young woman move into a house that is likely to be surrounded by the
things the woman fears most? I have asked myself that question many
times in the thirty-nine years we have lived in our old house in the
country.
I am not a country girl by
nature. I grew up in densely populated suburbs. When I was young, my
father wanted to expose me to the joys of country living. He bought
rural land to use as a weekend retreat. That’s where I
encountered snakes and my phobia was born. They were just harmless
garter snakes, but they gave me the creeps and sent me into fits of
hysterics....
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Not in Vain
Kay
Harper
©
Copyright 2016 by Kay Harper
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She
was standing at attention beside her ancient metal desk, pointer in
hand as we trooped in for first period class. Poised to pounce on her
biggest chatterbox, she gave me a one of her glaring looks and
snipped, “It’s too early to be hearing you, Missy. Close
your mouth.”
Miss
Olsen spent the majority of her time torturing us with American
History, but still had time to call me out with her Missy stuff. She
would shoot off that nickname like it was a bullet—designed to
stop me dead in my tracks. When it didn’t, it infuriated her.
Oh, she was a sniper alright. “Oh, I see you’re talking
again, Missy. Why am I not surprised?”. . .
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Providence
Kay
Harper
©
Copyright 2016 by Kay Harper
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I
blame Bill. Maybe that’s harsh, but my husband’s need,
bordering on obsession to find off-the-beaten-track scenic wonders
prompted the whole thing. Truthfully, I did have a hand in it. Three
months earlier, while pouring over a map, Bill exclaimed, “Hey,
Honey, did you know there’s a place called Little Grand Canyon
in southwest Georgia?”. . .
Teachers
Isabel
Bearman Bucher
©
Copyright 2016
by Isabel
Bearman Bucher
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It
had been a hard year. These fifth graders had tested and used
every asset, every fuse, every alternate mental wellspring I
had.
On the last day of school, at the evening graduation ceremony for all
the fifth graders and their families, I took my turn at the lectern,
only to be interrupted by an unexpected event - my entire class stood
as one of the fathers came down the aisle and handed me a large
thick brown envelope. Inside was a check for $150, and a
note
signed by all my kids, saying, “We know we were
hard, but we worked for this. We want you to buy something
wonderful just for yourself. Inside the envelope, signed by
each child’s parents, was an accounting of which jobs had
been done to earn their contribution to my check....
Scree
Fields
Cassondra
Windwalker
©
Copyright 2016 by Cassondra Windwalker
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Intimacy between
fathers and daughters is a strange, trackless landscape. Where words
would define borders and conversations build bridges, there are
instead vast, open spaces which can only be traversed by experiences.
Here and there are the dotted lines left by the secrets Mom told him
when they were lying in bed, the wavy elevations marked out by all
the subjects carefully skirted over the years. But as any explorer
will tell you, the bonds forged by those who trek a rugged world
together are far stronger than mere words can express....
Heavy
the Head that Wears
the Homemade Crown
James
Sclater
©
Copyright
2016 by James Sclater
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When
I was growing up in the ‘50’s in Mobile Alabama, I
attended an elementary school that I suppose was typical of the
times. It was about five blocks from home so we could ride our bikes
or walk there with no fear. We had two teachers for each of the seven
grades and the classes didn’t really interact much at all.
There was a time for recess every day so we could burn off some of
our pent-up energies with running, games like dodge ball, and various
other activities. We lined up to go outside and lined up to come in.
Fire drills were generally welcomed as an antidote to the daily
classroom chores. Misbehavior was rewarded with a dreaded trip to the
principal’s office topped off by a note to the parents....
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Cuba:
Cycling in a Land that Time Forgot
Dale
Fehringer and Patty McCrary
Photos by Patty
McCrary
©
Copyright 2016 by Dale Fehringer and Patty McCrary
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As
our airplane approached the Havana Airport a flight attendant
announced that he wished to be the first to welcome us to Cuba. The
passengers burst into cheering and applause, which was repeated when
the wheels touched down a few minutes later. We weren’t used
to such enthusiasm, and we asked the flight attendants about it. It
happens all the time, they told us, Cubans are very proud of their
country. That became clear as we explored Cuba – this is a
complex country filled with gracious and resourceful people. That,
and many other things, hasn’t changed much for more than a half
century....
Walking in
the Dali Lama's Garden
June
Calender
©
Copyright 2016 by June Calender
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I
walk. It’s my exercise and it’s often my transportation.
I lived in New York City and had a dozen or more routes I could walk
home from work. For a woman of a certain age, walking in New York
City, even in the daytime (especially in Central Park where I walked
a lot) was not a time to put your mind in idle. I am alert, I watch,
I assess. When I travel to other countries, free time is walking
time, preferably by myself, away from whatever group or guide I am
with. So when I walked out of the gate of the Holiday Inn in Lhasa, I
noticed, as I had not when in a van with others, that, in fact, the
entire property of the Holiday Inn was fenced and probably the gate
was locked at night. To keep us in? To keep others out? Lhasa was,
and still is, an occupied city....
What's
Left?
June
Calender
©
Copyright 2016 by June Calender
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Living
fossil creatures horseshoe crabs have been on earth for 45-million
years – which is to say when the dinosaurs were the new kid on
the block they were the grannies settling into the mud of the oceans
muttering about those ugly, small-brained inheritors of the earth.
They survived whatever killed off the millennia-long infestation of
“saurs”. Properly considered anthropods, Lumlus
polyphemes, are not crabs. Lumlus is the name for the Atlantic
variety, the ones from Asia have a different Latin name....
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Angkor and Sophia
Chapter
6 of unpublished Volume #1
Tales
of the Spinward Marches; The Great Khan
David Winnie
©
Copyright 2016 by David Winnie
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April
3031
An
odd quintet crossed the market square in the old city.
Xaid
Singh, a native Indian from Calcutta, led his classmates through the
throng. A charismatic young man, his chubby frame could be found at
the center of any social occasion. He was accompanied by close
friend, Dawlish Zultan, a giant, brooding Turk from the Persian
Empire. Unlike his classmates, Dawlish attended Delhi University to
prepare for a military career. His uncle was the defense minister
and Dawlish was expected to replace him one day....
More...
The
Only Man in the World
Kirby
Wright
©
Copyright 2016 by Kirby Wright
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Dadio split for Moloka’i every weekend to
supervise his
Puko’o project. He was certain his pick-and-shovel laborers and
heavy equipment operators were slacking off. I took turns with Troy,
my big brother, serving as his assistant. We carried luggage,
accompanied him on his lagoon inspections, and served as whipping
boys should he need to vent. I hated going. I always thought he saw
his half-brother in me. Uncle Bobby managed the Barefoot Bar at
Queen’s Surf and my father said Bobby “drank like a fish”
and chased the cocktail waitresses. He considered his younger brother
a loser ever since flunking out of Saint Louis High. It was tough
living in Dadio’s world because, once his negative opinion of
you was formed, you were tainted for life. I couldn’t think of
a single person in our extended family that he liked or ever praised.
But he did have a soft spot for DuBoy, a legally blind cousin and
bastard child of his Aunty Sue.
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The Yellow Sea Incident
Richard
Franklin Bishop
©
Copyright 2016
by Richard Franklin Bishop
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The
Yellow Sea lies between the north-central mainland of China and the
Korean peninsula. Once upon a time, there was a ripple on the Yellow
Sea near China that most modern Americans never heard of.
But,
using the right search words in Google.com: “The
Aviator of Tsingtao”
(English spelling) will turn up 8,950 “hits” placing the
location and the events at least as a footnote in History. If you
shift to Google.de (Germany), the search words: “Der
Flieger von Tsingtau”
(German spelling) will get you 53,800 (six times as many) “hits”
illuminating the person and the events easily recognizable by almost
every person in Germany, as well as by many people in Chile and
Argentina.
The
mentioned Aviator
(Flieger)
was named Gunther
Plüschow
and he was an Oberleutnant with one stripe on his sleeve (equivalent
to a Navy Full Lieutenant
or Captain in our Military) in the Imperial German Navy’s
Flying Corps. He became a Hero in Germany during WW I and, later-on,
became famous in South America, as well....
Uncle Larry
Emmet Kelley
©
Copyright 2016 by Emmet Kelley
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“It's a kind of
morality to do
the best you can.”
This very telling statement was the
credo-for-life of one of my “most unforgettable
characters” with whom I had the pleasure of knowing, in
all of my 60+ years of living, namely, my now dear departed uncle,
Lawrence V. Kelly. Though only 46 when he died in 1974, Uncle Larry
packed a lot of living in his life, a life of considerable
achievement, triumph and travail, rubbing elbows and revitalizing
cultural tastes with the great and near-great while coming from
modest affluence, a risk-taker with the instincts of a riverboat
gambler and a man of much-touted taste and imagination. Most
of
all, he had a sparkling personality and Irish brand of charm,
which one author-critic wrote, “made everyone he worked with
and knew literally fall in love with him.”
By
occupation---one he arrived after juggling other occupations---Uncle
Larry was an opera producer, or opera impesario, though he modestly
dismissed the latter designation: “I'm simply a manager in the
operatic field; there hasn't been a bona fide impresario since
Diagheliv.”. . .
More...
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The Scent of Roses
Emily Hart
© Copyright 2016 by Emily Hart
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The genesis of this story is: I went to a Victorian
Fashion Show at a local library. This presentation so
enchanted me that later I thought "I could adopt an eccentric
Faulkneresque persona and dress in period clothing. People
would say -- There goes that writer Emily, and her rose."
This thought process took place at about 2:30 A. M. My
mind leapt from that bit of whimsy to the idea for the following
story which I can only describe as a collision of my love for
Faulkner and Edward Albee....
Duct Taped Boots and Cigarette Butts
Joni Bour
© Copyright
2016 by Joni Bour
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I once thought I knew a lot about the rights and wrongs of things, until
I met a man wearing duct taped boots, who had spent nearly two years
living in the woods, alone, hungry, and forgotten by the world. He
changed my life.
He
came sloshing in on day three or four, or seventeen in a long line of
stormy, sideways rain days, with winds that ripped our Oregon flag
from its pole and sent it flapping into the trees. I had never seen
anyone look so desperate as that thin, pale man in threadbare
fatigues and holey, muddy, duct taped boots....
More...
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Lost Rum
Yonatan Bar Rashi
©
Copyright 2016 by Yonatan Bar Rashi
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The
writer, a life-long percussionist, served 3 years in the U.S. Peace
Corps in Saint Lucia, West Indies, from 1982 to 1986. Part of this
experience is reflected in the following account.
The
beads on the horn player’s face did not rise for fear. They fell from
the heat and the drink.
Rum strong night hot enough alone to break his sweat. Only a sputtering
wall tube gave the flat silver blanch to his coal blackness.
So thought the conguero as he slowly queried Shaps, the sax
man, about a missing instrument.
They sat for a time in explosive silence in a tiny hovel rum shop on
steep tropic mountainside.
The mountain rose straight from the sea. Night sounds rose from the
mountain, with the smell of green woodsmoke and burning sugar....
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Peggy's Intervention
William
Wayne Weems
©
2016
by
William Wayne Weems
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In the first decade of
this Century a group of enthusiasts restored the decaying grave
monument of a woman who died more than 100 years ago. They believed
that her account of an incident that occurred at a tomb in
Nashville,Tennessee, revealed her as the effective savior of the
Federal Union of the United States...30 years before the Civil War.
Her tale may be plausible, but it is supported only by her
recollection and the conjectured effects of her actions are certainly
controversial. Nevertheless, I will offer a highly condensed version
of that tale here since the Nashville tomb exists today nearly
unchanged....
More...|
An
Afternoon With Tycho's Toys
R. D. Flavin
©
Copyright 2016 by R. D. Flavin
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Combine interesting
characters, shake well, and add a dash of 'clash'. Oh, and serve with
fun!
Faced
with impending unconsciousness, Craig didn't pay much attention to
the landlady's especially ugly live-in and his awkward stacking of
garbage-bags near the curb. The weight inside was uneven and some of
the bags couldn't stand straight by themselves. Usually
people
in the neighborhood were considerate with the trash and recyclables,
except for the occasional kitchen sink or worn arm-chair. Craig had
been out drinking with friends from work, which helped him ignore
signs of movement from inside the bags, and he barely managed a moist
grunt of acknowledgment to the live-in....
The Queen of Savannah Bridge
Donna Heinsbroek
©
Copyright 2016 by Donna Heinsbroek
|
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My
personal journey started at the Cancer Pavilion with a quiet and shy
woman whom I recognized from our bridge club. She was the best
female bridge player for many years in Savannah and her name was Lura
McKinney. I learned that we were both fighting the same Stage IV
colon cancer and we also shared the same doctor, George Negrea. Lura's
colon cancer had metastasized into her lungs, liver, and lymph
nodes; mine had metastasized to my liver, spleen, and spine....
Read on...
Bad Luck For Johnny
Tom Bush
©
Copyright 2016 by Tom Bush
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Kansas
City, Kansas 1928
“I
remember my brother Johnny vividly and I’m 77 years old,”
said Joseph Fry, sitting down at the outside café talking to a
reporter from the Kansas City Star.
“It
has been a long time but he was my hero and still is. He was the best
rider in the whole town of St. Joe! I thought he was 6’ tall
and weighed 200 lbs., but I was only 9 years old. In reality he was
only 20 years old and small. He couldn’t have weighed any more
than 120 lbs. I was a young kid at the time but it is still clear as
a bell ringing. I know this because I remember our conversation just
like it was yesterday. It was in the spring of 1860. We were in St.
Joe with our Stepfather buying supplies and the Pony Express was just
starting up.”...
More...
The Gift
Tom Bush
©
Copyright 2016 by Tom Bush
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One particularly sharp
reddish stone gouged at Anthony’s back while laying in the
crevice. The sun shone brightly in the early morning November west
Texas sky, and the temperature began to creep up from the low
thirties. Moaning, trying to move, the pain rippled up his back
jerking him fully awake, exacerbating the numbing cold that
surrounded him. The jagged rocks allowed the frosty air entrance into
the torn camouflage coat, and ever so slowly, he began surveying his
condition. Ripped sections of dark bloody spots were on his pant’s
knees. The left foot lay at an unusual angle. Straining, trying to
move the foot, the pain caused him to wince....
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Some Bunny Loves Me
Emily Hart
© Copyright 2016 by Emily Hart
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Satisfaction
is especially sweet on Easter morning for a six year old with a
larcenous heart.
I
figured out pretty early on that the Easter Bunny was one of those
scams used to manipulate me into behaving and doing extra
chores.
The weeks leading up to Easter were filled with what I considered
hard labor. No one else in the family was willing to let me
give up the myth, in spite of my logical protests about the
possibility of a rabbit delivering candy to millions of children in
one night. So at age six I decided to use that very con to my
advantage....
The Rarest Flower
Part One
Nicole Van Zyl
©
Copyright 2016 by Nicole Van Zyl
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Somewhere in Salzburg, Austria, high on the
Untersburg mountain, a young girl was walking among the trees. It had
been a lovely warm summer's day. The sky was bright blue with white
fluffy clouds. The grass was green and the flowers were fragrant and
in full bloom. She would always lose herself on this mountain, not
realising that she had been gone for most of the day. By the time she
returned to the Abbey, it was too late. Her absence had already been
noticed....
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The
Alphabetologist
R. D. Flavin
©
Copyright 2016 by R. D. Flavin
|
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After
you reach a certain age, second dates can be risky. I'd hit
it
off with Nancy on our first date, and was excited when she telephoned
me at work the next morning. To say I was flattered couldn't begin to
describe the feeling of being asked out by a beautiful woman.
When she called back in the afternoon and complained of not being
able to get a sitter, I realized I'd not asked her a lot of personal
questions....
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The Uncanny Tension of Research
Richard
Franklin Bishop
©
Copyright 2016
by Richard Franklin Bishop
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Mr.
C. W. Ceram (Kurt W. Marek), on pp. x & xi, in Gods,
Graves, and
Scholars
- The Story of Archaeology, BANTAM
BOOKS, New York, 2nd
Ed., 1972, documented the idea that the Reader could become
interested in the driest, most boring technical research information,
if presented as a “dramatic process.” He wrote:
“ .
. . . . it was Paul de Kruif (author of The
Microbe Hunters )
who first
undertook
to trace the development of a highly specialized science so
that
one could read about it with genuine excitement, with the sort of
response
too often produced, in our times, only by detective thrillers.
De
Kruif found that even the most highly involved scientific problems
can
be quite simply and understandably presented if their working out
is
described as a dramatic process. That means, in effect, leading
the
reader
by the hand along the same road that the scientists
themselves
have traversed from the moment truth was first
glimpsed
until the goal was gained .
De Kruif found that an account of
the
detours, crossways, and blind alleys that confused the scientists . . .
could achieve a dynamic and dramatic quality capable of evoking
uncanny
tension in the reader.”...
