Her grim face like a melting candle, Paula lumbers to her feet, collecting the paper plates she’d shoveled her homemade cake onto and pushes her way past the screen door to the kitchen. She was hospitalized a month ago for what she called “heart shivers,” and told to...
Sarah Day 2 – Group A
Items Found in Max’s Red Flowered Hippie Bag, August 11, 2018
Two bottles essential oil blend, ¾ used, myrrh and hyssop. Lip gloss, grapefruit flavored in small tin. Black wraparound sunglasses. Her mother’s lace-lined handkerchief. wadded and stained. Her son’s baby photo, elevated above her ex’s head like a trophy. Beige...
Odd in a Large Place
You ask the physicist to explain the Big Bang. With diagrams please so you can point and pontificate on forthwith and hereafter. But aren’t you the king of doctors, he replies. You use the initials, but history is not a science. True science trumps the humanities on...
Breaking Her Silence
I Stuck pretty close to the Gildner model here. But it's odd how different this story turned out. Still searching for an ending. Thanks in advance for reading. This is hot of the presses, written in 45 minutes. Busy weekend. I will read others later tonight of early...
Buried
She crushes out a cigarette on the patio. Shakes her head. “Trent’ll call soon,” I say. “You’ll see.” But we both know he won’t. The plane went down in the Hindu Kush. Over a week ago. Still missing. A celebrated pilot in the air force. That’s where we’d all met,...
Doll Talk
Doll Talk Today she has us slanted to the right, as if we’re swerving on a merry-go-round. There are three of us, in our frilly dresses and bonnets, with our goggle eyes always open, in a shock. She’s owned us since she was a toddler. Along the way, we’ve seen wars,...
Men at 80
Men at 80 His back bows to the weight of his years He shuffles to where the groove of his leather chair awaits to cradle his tired bones The beat of a Bosa Nova fills the room. His eyes fold inward Gray stubbled chin rests against his chest But his feet… His feet...
Rumble
On the bus to her mother’s funeral, Maizie she forgot to bring money. No point to turn back now. Already Ohio. Maizie has no credit and no friends to text for cash. Her mother, turns out, died from alcohol poisoning. No surprise, Maizie thought when Stepfather Dave...
Day 2!
Here's the writing for Group A on Day 2.
Heart Trouble
Her grim face like a melting candle, Paula lumbers to her feet, collecting the paper plates she’d shoveled her homemade cake onto and pushes her way past the screen door to the kitchen. She was hospitalized a month ago for what she called “heart shivers,” and told to...
Items Found in Max’s Red Flowered Hippie Bag, August 11, 2018
Two bottles essential oil blend, ¾ used, myrrh and hyssop. Lip gloss, grapefruit flavored in small tin. Black wraparound sunglasses. Her mother’s lace-lined handkerchief. wadded and stained. Her son’s baby photo, elevated above her ex’s head like a trophy. Beige...
Odd in a Large Place
You ask the physicist to explain the Big Bang. With diagrams please so you can point and pontificate on forthwith and hereafter. But aren’t you the king of doctors, he replies. You use the initials, but history is not a science. True science trumps the humanities on...
Breaking Her Silence
I Stuck pretty close to the Gildner model here. But it's odd how different this story turned out. Still searching for an ending. Thanks in advance for reading. This is hot of the presses, written in 45 minutes. Busy weekend. I will read others later tonight of early...
Buried
She crushes out a cigarette on the patio. Shakes her head. “Trent’ll call soon,” I say. “You’ll see.” But we both know he won’t. The plane went down in the Hindu Kush. Over a week ago. Still missing. A celebrated pilot in the air force. That’s where we’d all met,...
Doll Talk
Doll Talk Today she has us slanted to the right, as if we’re swerving on a merry-go-round. There are three of us, in our frilly dresses and bonnets, with our goggle eyes always open, in a shock. She’s owned us since she was a toddler. Along the way, we’ve seen wars,...
Men at 80
Men at 80 His back bows to the weight of his years He shuffles to where the groove of his leather chair awaits to cradle his tired bones The beat of a Bosa Nova fills the room. His eyes fold inward Gray stubbled chin rests against his chest But his feet… His feet...
Rumble
On the bus to her mother’s funeral, Maizie she forgot to bring money. No point to turn back now. Already Ohio. Maizie has no credit and no friends to text for cash. Her mother, turns out, died from alcohol poisoning. No surprise, Maizie thought when Stepfather Dave...
Day 2!
Here's the writing for Group A on Day 2.