Our final story of the weekend comes from David von Schlichten. Thanks, everyone!
Midnight tolled, but Paul kept preaching.
Eutychus sat in a window, inhaling cool air, but still nodding. He fell asleep, then out. Thud!
We all rushed downstairs, stood around Eutychus’ body, his head bleeding, chest motionless. Paul scooped him up, embraced. Eutychus gasped. Alive!
Paul said, “Next time, just go to bed. God will wait.”
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Sunday begins with this tragedy from Sarah Kearns.
“I love you Sam.” Susan whispered with a kiss as she rushed out the door to her own wedding shower.
Head on, a drunk driver collided into her BMW. Pinned down, cuffed, and thrown into the back seat of the cop car he was asked, “Sir, what’s your name?”
The driver responded “I’m…I’m uh Sam.”
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Our next story comes from Geoffrey Levon.
Amir laid his mat and wicker basket on sandy earth. Squatting, the bonyhands lifting the lid. The bustling market place opened attentively. His pipe droned seductively, the cobra emerged. Man’s gaze met Serpent’s glare, the charming rhythm impeccable. Beautiful Amrita slithered into his thoughts, his focus faltering. Amateur mistake, the snake struck in victory.
After a brief hiatus, we mark the return of Reader Submission weekends with this story from MaryEllen Letarte.
She smiles a Cheshire Cat Grin and gives me a Valium. Radiation-needle markers disguise themselves as tortured croquet wickets. I fret while talking to the White Rabbit.
I’m rolling down toward the Mad Hatter. My laughter paints the tension red. The anesthesiologist visits, breathing drugs.
“Off with your breasts.”
“It’s the Queen.”
“Tea time.”
“Alice?”
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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We close our weekend with Stephanie Kemp’s submission. Once again, my thanks to everyone!
She needed $100.00 by Friday. Today was Monday. Looking through yesterday’s discarded newspaper in search of a job, red pen in hand, she scanned various ads in desperation. She couldn’t type, she had never been good at math, and she had no work history. Just then it caught her eye: “The Cabaret No experience necessary.”
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