Tag Archives: Fiction

Trust issues

Posted on by February 25, 2020

“Consider the avocado. Its disproportionate half-moon shell is even shaped like an ovary. The creamy flesh shelters a single seed. This is the very definition of ‘fruit’.”

Obdurate and nine, he replies, “Get off your high horse, Mom. Fruit is sweet.”

Mom protests, “Not all fruit. Not tomatoes…”

“Tomatoes aren’t fruit.”

“Yes they … look, we’ll Google it together.”

He says, “I don’t want to Google it.”

“Look at this page,” she says. “It explains vegetables can be fruits, but fruits can’t be vegetables.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Just eat your lunch, Jeremy.”

“I don’t like avocados.”

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I don’t think that this Mom is going to get her son to have faith that avocados are tasty.… Read the rest

Ella’s Gun: Fiction

Posted on by February 25, 2020

In the first rehearsal with the real gun, Ella screamed and raced over to make sure Aaron Meddins, who played the Gestapo Kriminal Assistent, hadn’t really been hit. It didn’t matter that she fired blanks.

But she had to control that fear, because Demons at the Door’s success hinged on creating Sister Edmund as a plausibly faith conflicted nun. She disarmed Daniel and his pregnant wife Freda when they first begged for shelter, but at the climax herself shot the Nazi who stumbled onto the convent’s hidden Jews.

“I’m fine,” Aaron said, then offered, “I’ll wink when you cross left.… Read the rest

Stations of the Cross

Posted on by February 27, 2020

Stations of the Cross: A Prosaic Response to John Ashbery’s Poem “The Ecclesiast”

The man left oilslick footprints, bright, then dark, mottled sometimes, variegated and unexpected. He was homeless certainly, under his burden of layered clothing and multiple grocery bags, followed by the rank decay of life. And yet, every step forward made a new color on the pavement.  He gave the impression of someone from an earlier time, a medieval peddler or Christ under the cross, no Simon to bear his burden.

He walked with a staggering gait, as if the unevenly distributed grocery bags pulled him constantly off balance.… Read the rest

Hair of the dog

Posted on by February 25, 2020

The phone rang at 4AM. “Jesus, Richard!” groaned Patricia, “How many have you had?” Richard’s silence suggested quite a lot.

“Please,” he said.

Grinding her teeth, she growled, “This time only and then no more. This time only.”

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This weekend, Trifextra is asking us to finish the story launched by the words “The phone rang at 4am”. Not counting those four, we have 33 words to tell the whole tale.

… Read the rest

Studio Time

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Nick adjusted the mic. “Testing,” he said. The leader gave him a brief thumbs up. Two other session singers flanked him in the tiny recording cubicle, and they all patted their white headphones. Nick’s felt too tight around his skull, but he didn’t make adjustments.
The leader said, “OK, scratch vocals for ‘Life of Death’” then held up a hand to count down visually.

Nick sang “Death chanced upon me in the hall.”

The women on either side of him echoed “ha-a-ll”.

Just outside the cubicle, the leader kept unnecessary time with the same hand he had used for the countdown, and Nick sang, “But I refused to fall.”… Read the rest

Curve of the tree

Posted on by February 25, 2020

When people asked about Johnna’s dark skin and hair and her grey-violet eyes, her mother Manda said,  “She was my surprise baby.” Those traits, especially the eyes, belonged to the Auric tribe, whose standing with the ruling council was never stable. So the askers usually pretended to think Johnna was descended from her stepfather, even though she looked nothing like him or her younger siblings on that side.

Her father, when Johnna saw him once a year, was more honest. “Pfft. Accident,” he said. “The caravan leader had a fetching daughter, and I had a terminal problem keeping up my drawers.”… Read the rest

Dine In, Carry Out

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Algy jammed everything back onto the last tabletop after wiping it clean.

Edith said, “Easy now.”

“Rob sent me another letter,” Algy told her.

“Did he?”

“He wants me to send him my paycheck.”

“Ohh.” The sound was a cross between a groan and a sigh. Edith went to the cash drawer, counting the money twice over to be sure. Then she asked, “Did you write him back this time?”

Algy grunted.

“You did, didn’t you.”

Slowly Algy nodded.  “I said to ask me nicely.”

Edith counted out several stacks of bills, then went into the office for her deposit slips.… Read the rest

Wolf’s bane

Posted on by February 25, 2020

“Wednesday Washday,” Mam always said.

She had sayings like that for every day of the week. The only other one I remember is “Monday morning do the darning”, probably because it rhymed. But she died when I was small. Everybody in town says Daddy should have given her at least a month in the ground before he started poking around in other women’s holes. But if he had waited, I wouldn’t have gotten Ona for my new mam, and we’d not have Ruby for our baby. Of course, she isn’t really a baby any longer. She’s got five summers on her, and she can do more every washday.… Read the rest

The Story of The Three Little Pigs

Posted on by February 25, 2020

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Those crafty Trifecta editors are at it again, asking us for a retold story in 33 words. Here’s mine. NB: “w/” is one word unconnected with “expertise”. There’s a space.

… Read the rest

Surfing

Posted on by February 25, 2020

I’m not talking ballet here. I’m trying to explain the hedony. I throw myself forward lusting into the Dionysian spontaneity. The arena is carnality alive, and all of us are hungry sybarites while the music plays. We blare, and trumpet, and thunder. I do not fall into their arms expecting asylum.  And yet, there is a safe core where the rhythm is deep enough to hold me if I dive in, so long as I keep time with my body while I ride to the shore. This is not sanctuary but an entry point. The dance begins in the air.

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Linking up here with Trifecta, this week brought to you by the word “safe”.… Read the rest