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By Diane Hafey
Untitled, Aviation by Sean Carman
Dirk Wickett, falling silently into a gale, held the cut rip-cord in his hand, knowing that without it his chute would never open.
Mirror, Mirage by David Gianatasio
Across the autumn lawn he creeps, plucked from an art-show print: an indistinct little man in dark coat and bowler; crouched behind the blinds my pulse pounds-- then he’s gone, and I’m left with the reflection of a closet over-grown with out-of-fashion coats, hats, ties, apples.
2 a.m., With Baby by Marcia Lynx Qualey His screams are roaring, zigzagging, ricocheting off the walls, slamming down from the ceiling, swirling, gnawing at me from all sides and I don't know where to go, how to save myself until I see that blanket, I just cover him up with that blanket and I say, In the darkness, baby, we sleep.
Blades by Patricia Parkinson I can’t stop thinking about the promise I made myself on New Years Eve, the one I made when I tossed a penny into the fountain at Robson Square the night we walked around drinking coffee and snuck into the change room of the lingerie shop to make love and brought in the New Year at that dinky little restaurant on Howe St. with the greatest jazz band we’d ever heard and that weird maitre d’ that kept staring at us and said we were crazy to walk in the cold back to our car, which ended up being farther away than we thought, but we were happy so we walked just the same, my hand in yours, tucked into the pocket of your coat then we turned the corner and saw the fountain and ran and laughed until we were out of breath and I stood, teetering on the edge, the water splashing my legs, and promised myself with closed eyes, that I’d let you know in the spring and you lifted me down and kissed me hard because you thought my wish was the same as yours and now it’s March and I watch the daffodils grow beneath the fifty foot cedar in my back yard, the one I fear will fall during storms so I make the kids sleep in the front bedroom, with me, and I watch the flowers bloom, a reminder of the decision I have to make, and I get excited about change and this thought seems selfish and new because everything is new and the energy sustains me till I look again and feel grounded to the dirt and soil, the clay, that was hard for you to dig when you helped plant the hedge, and I’m rooted to the earth like a bulb that may or may not stand a chance of making it through winter and I think of these things, driving Abigail to school, listening to rows and flows of angel hair, and I look in the mirror, afraid she may have slipped away while I wasn’t paying attention, but she’s there with her eyes the color of irises that will show themselves in my flower bed next month, and I hear the question she’s been trying to ask me all morning; “Mommy, how many blades of grass do you think we’ve driven by?”, and I know what to do.
Cutting Edge Career Opportunity by Bob Thurber Novice knife-thrower seeks full-time assistant, no experience necessary, but all applicants must be even tempered non-coffee drinkers, with good posture, and preferably certified in First Aid; if interested, call today, ask for Nick.
Reprieve by Gwen Mintz Miriam's daughter Shannon calls with the news that her father (Miriam's ex) has had a heart attack; immediately and without guilt, Miriam thinks that she's been given a financial reprieve because shared custody (his idea) freed Walter from child support payments- even though he made about one and a half times more money than she - and social security benefits and life insurance would alleviate the stress of raising a teenage daughter, but before Shannon says “He's going to make it,” Miriam knows this: The bastard had sworn throughout the divorce that he'd do nothing that would make her life easier.
How Fish Came To Be Wrapped In Newspaper by Brian G. Smith I once wrapped a fish in a road map, and the next morning it was gone.
Untitled, Religous by Darby Larson I, God, walked into Satan's house in the suburbs and shoved a gun barrel into his eye and I told him, "don't resist, don't resist" but he resisted so I blew his brains onto the wall behind him while his three year old daughter watched in horror.
TRUST ME by Paul Beckman My cousin Reba called me at work and got right to the point saying, Mirsky I’ve got to talk to you but you really have to keep your promise this time and not put this conversation in a story, so what else could I do but promise as I hit the record button.
Why Don't You Write Me A Story For A Change by Chris Kornacki Here, I'll even start it for you: "A man walks into a dark, smoky bar and notices a very attractive woman sitting alone at a table in the corner..." |
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