“Half way there,” he said aloud, though no one was around to hear him. His quest had begun weeks ago, and as many weeks still lay before him.
He pressed on, driven by the memory of her scent and the hope of her presence once again. In five hundred miles his hope would be realized.
Comments Off
The clock struck three in the morning as John shook the match out and took a drag on a fresh cigarette. Grabbing his drink, he made his way over to the couch and sat, exhausted yet unable to sleep. The haze of smoke stung his dry eyes. He took a sip and sighed. “Fucking Raleigh!”
Comments Off
Next up is Mouse Tourmaline with a little ribbing aimed our ourselves.
My only true masterpiece. Fifty-five careful, eloquent words. Laying the page on the table, I waited for his praise.
“Fifty-six.”
“…What?”
“You’ve made a mistake. That word’s hyphenated.” A smile. “Better luck next time.”
The crimson droplets look misplaced, scattered on my manuscript. But at least nobody will ever again threaten its perfection.
Comments Off
We begin Sunday with a story from David Katz.
“Penny speckled words layered on top of four letter verbs is a recipe for disaster,” muttered the stranger as we made our way to get rid of the evidence.
Somehow he knew what went on behind closed doors that night. The couple got out of hand. Harsh words were thrown, and apparently, so were fists.
Comments Off
We finish this Saturday with a story from Loren.
The date was so-so.
He’d picked you up promptly at seven, opened the car door for you and driven to the restaurant, which was upscale enough without being too fancy.
There was no spark. You expected end the night as “just friends”.
But on the way home, he started singing.
Comments Off
Next up: A humorous submission from Steve Talbert.
Some criminal cases fade from memory like the scent of laundered bed linens in early spring. Others linger like the odor of Limburger on a hot August afternoon.
Remembering one olfactory incident still causes me to gasp and gag: I don’t know what the burglar ate, but his emissions led to his capture and arrest.
Comments Off
We begin this weekend with a story from Mary Holm.
Samantha Rose in frilly dress and patent leather shoes, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail, pouts in her bedroom at the top of the stairs. Mother’s soft knock at the door goes unanswered. The cat slinks past, avoiding the pieces of the broken vase scattered across the polished hardwood floor.
Comments Off
Brian picked himself up and gathered the broken halves of his thick, black-rimmed glasses. He turned as Sophie reached him.
“What did we do?” she asked, looking at the pack of bullies as they walked away laughing .
“I don’t know, Sophie. But don’t worry about them. As long as we’re together everything’ll be alright.”
Comments Off
He stood silently.
“Come on,” she said. “For me.”
Still he said nothing.
“Think of all we’ve been through, the memories. Think about the future we’ve planned. Don’t throw it all away. I’m just asking this one little thing.”
She pleaded with her eyes. He blinked, turned on his heels, and walked away for good.
Comments Off
Adam followed his new riding companion into the dusty saloon and took a seat at the end of the bar. From the other end, a grim man looked up from his drink, glanced their way, and seemed to nod. Anticipating what was about to happen, Adam took a deep breath and prepared for a fight.
Comments Off
