tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post8673767958785775398..comments2024-03-18T09:09:59.625-04:00Comments on Janet Reid, Literary Agent: A different kind of flash fiction contestJanet Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00615380335938685231noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-23608998345869301582017-02-19T08:40:27.881-05:002017-02-19T08:40:27.881-05:00Sugar sand scrunched under my feet as I trudged do...Sugar sand scrunched under my feet as I trudged down to the jetty, screaming seagulls in the early morning sky.<br /><br />The tide turned, now on the ebb. Sanderlings picked at the water's edge.<br /><br />A steady southwest breeze excited the dune-nesting song sparrows.<br /><br />Wings beating, an osprey flew overhead, claws wrapped around a plump fish.<br /><br />The rocks at the end of the jetty slick with algae, I flung a white orchid lei into the lapping waves.<br /><br />The metal canister held aloft, I circled, letting the wind take a shimmering stream of her ashes and bone fragments.<br /><br />Joy in the morning.Margaret S. Hamiltonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07979191318652199350noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-82337962589428953522017-02-19T08:13:07.864-05:002017-02-19T08:13:07.864-05:00The boy clung to the broken fence surrounding the ...The boy clung to the broken fence surrounding the playground. Crumbled cinder blocks piled up next to rusty swings. He stared into the sky.<br /><br />“Isaiah?”<br /><br />“Hey, Annie.”<br /><br />“Whatcha doing?”<br /><br />“Wishing I could catch one of those clouds. Hold it in my arms, ride outta here, never look back. Nothing would make me happier.”<br /><br />“Then you’ll never be happy.”<br /><br />***<br /><br />Twenty years later, Isaiah stood at the fence again. He wiped the sweat from his brow and put the last of the trash into a bag. Kids squealed on the new playground. He grabbed Annie’s hand, returned her smile. <br /><br />“Yes, I’m happy.”Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10199539870767896524noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-24981917841345887202017-02-19T06:46:53.004-05:002017-02-19T06:46:53.004-05:00“Are you certain it would provoke a cure, Sister?”...“Are you certain it would provoke a cure, Sister?”<br /><br />“This information could give him a whole new outlook. It may even save his life.”<br /><br />“It’s to be communicated on a need-to-know basis only, you know. Most men couldn’t handle it.”<br /><br />“The truth deserves to be shared, Abbott.” She adjusted her dimple. “Besides, Brother Patrick is more evolved than most men.”<br /><br />His acquiescence sent her scurrying off to text. One simple click elicited a hallelujah from Brother Patrick’s lips and a dancing emoji from his cell. <br /><br />Happiness was achieved in four words: “HE is a SHE.”Just Janhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12546035917149403735noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-37721697869597783092017-02-19T03:44:39.092-05:002017-02-19T03:44:39.092-05:00
She was a long-legged redhead, with a cute little...<br />She was a long-legged redhead, with a cute little nose. Her heavenly body moved with a slow French southwestern kinda gait. We met at a wine tasting event. She was tastefully dressed, love at first sight. <br /><br />One night I had her over for dinner. She opened up, but she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Maybe she was tired of living in some Godforsaken fishbowl. <br /><br />She was fine with the main course, but for dessert, she declined. Sadly, it didn’t last, she spirited away. <br /><br />In the morning, I found her sleeping like a dead soldier, awash in an afterglow of happiness.<br />french sojournhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14262858704848580714noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-34718158268197046952017-02-19T03:03:20.465-05:002017-02-19T03:03:20.465-05:00An ad for a little red roan mustang.
I sit at my...<br /><br /><br />An ad for a little red roan mustang. <br /><br />I sit at my desk contemplating, while outside crickets chirp their sweet trill of a good night.<br /><br /><i>"I can't, it's a waste of time and money. I'll get hurt…"</i><br /><br />Why do things that bring us life also bring the fear of living? <br /><br /><i>"I have been through fear... and fire”</i> <br /><br />The crickets continue to sing into the depth of an endless star sky. I listen. <br /><br /><i>I have been refined.</i><br /><br />We will ride.<br /><br />Tomorrow I'll call, next week I'll visit, in one month I'll buy one little red roan mustang. <br /><br /><i>We will live.</i><br /><br /><br /><br />Janice Grinyerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14363741660626407979noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-60849531089787564872017-02-19T02:37:52.205-05:002017-02-19T02:37:52.205-05:00
Your happy place?
Remember the first time you a...<br />Your happy place? <br /><br />Remember the first time you asked me. Lying on the sun-soaked plywood of Aronson’s pier. We weren’t even married yet.<br /><br />“This place,” I said. And then it became our annual question. <br /><br />Fourth row James Taylor after you admitted you didn’t know JT. The dry spot beneath Colter’s bridge. The protest march downtown. Our table at Dairy Queen.<br /><br />I’ve been back to most of them. I’ve tried to relive them. In the process, I learned this.<br /><br />I don’t have a happy place. I have a happy state. And you put me there. <br /><br />John Davis Frainhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18020019400599228492noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-64260500413009442242017-02-19T02:31:24.763-05:002017-02-19T02:31:24.763-05:00Joy
Desirable
Zealously pursued; seldom attained
...<b>Joy</b><br /><br />Desirable<br />Zealously pursued; seldom attained<br />A rare temptress is she<br /><br />Hold too tight and she disappears<br />A fine mist in the pre-dawn of the summer scorcher<br />Hold loosely and she vanishes beneath worries<br />Concerns, frustrations, troubles<br /><br />No, she is fleeting<br />A vague notion, few of us are cognizant<br />We have… <br /><br />… until she has fled<br />And we remain.<br />Troubled. <br />In the dark.<br /><br />Reminded of happier times<br />Just passed…<br /><br />… regretful at how oblivious we were<br />Kae Ridwynhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10356868531870405990noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-15508182804014836652017-02-19T02:14:00.051-05:002017-02-19T02:14:00.051-05:00‘Happiness’, that myth became mine,
For just a sh...‘Happiness’, that myth became mine, <br />For just a short moment in time.<br />A Red Robin’s song filled my soul,<br />That time oh so long ago.<br /><br />With a soft touch and a tingle,<br />Our hearts soared and truly mingled.<br />Our daughter’s sweet cry and first breath,<br />Slowly gave way to her death.<br /><br />Our world crumbled as myth faded,<br />‘Happiness’ quickly abated.<br />Till my love took my hand and smiled,<br /> Soon there’d be another child.<br /><br />Years rolled along and Robin’s song,<br />Still tweeting sweet helped me stay strong.<br />As my love passed he squeezed my hands,<br />By our daughter he now stands.<br /><br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16305902443927694589noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-72391489281799679162017-02-19T01:42:47.136-05:002017-02-19T01:42:47.136-05:00Today was Friday, which meant the lawn mower came ...Today was Friday, which meant the lawn mower came tomorrow. I let the others go on to school; I would catch up later.<br /><br />Just needed five minutes to sketch this dandelion. I capture it in a few deft strokes, colour and all, before I pluck it from the earth. <br /><br />It was going to die anyway, whether today or tomorrow. <br /><br />At least I would have the memory of its yellow happiness on Sunday.Her Grace, Heidi, the Duchess of Knealehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17818060864422019573noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-2402829584210925302017-02-19T01:09:00.730-05:002017-02-19T01:09:00.730-05:00Corna only cost us fifty bucks. Spindly white mare...Corna only cost us fifty bucks. Spindly white mare. Proud neck. Legs like a goat.<br /><br />We kept her on ‘cause she was so good with kids, though a right terror to most anyone older’n a teenager.<br /><br />She’d stand at the fence each morning, staring past the sycamores towards the road, a flash above her forehead when the sunlight first hit her.<br /><br />Years passed. Then decades. We retired her. Spirit, flesh—you know.<br /><br />By the time the old woman came, whispering apologies, Corna barely walked.<br /><br />Somehow she found the strength to prance. They shimmered away together into the dawn.Kat Waclawikhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08400506782075111303noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-55348349912101622712017-02-18T23:52:46.751-05:002017-02-18T23:52:46.751-05:00He held her, and the fear crept in like a rising t...He held her, and the fear crept in like a rising tide advancing on an oblivious child. By the time he noticed, it had damn near swallowed him whole. His heart drummed through his chest and against her curved back. “What the hell is wrong with me?” he thought. There was nothing worse than a sniffling coward who was too afraid to simply open the door and let happiness waltz in once chance had done the all heavy lifting. He took one breath, and one breath only, and decided that was not who he was going to be. <br />Nick Vhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05320661139171271811noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-48133603227022040932017-02-18T23:51:58.438-05:002017-02-18T23:51:58.438-05:00I woke slowly, head filled with numbness, and look...I woke slowly, head filled with numbness, and looked around.<br /><br />My first thought was a snake waving to me. That didn't make sense and the snake had legs. My second was a striped dragon had appeared. That too seemed unlikely. I focused.<br /><br />Blue and yellow snout. Four legs. Frustrated growls.<br /><br />Suspicion bloomed.<br /><br />The growling turned to bays and my dumb dog, stuck in my sock, danced. I laughed. The sound scratched and spluttered and coughed, but didn't stop. I couldn't. I could still feel the numbness, but I could also feel something else: happiness.<br /><br />I laughed because I wasn't abandoned.Joeyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16993755826732039120noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-70350127864819176692017-02-18T23:43:47.589-05:002017-02-18T23:43:47.589-05:00Happiness has been a poor friend to me.
Happiness...Happiness has been a poor friend to me.<br /><br />Happiness was there when you first asked me to dance.<br /><br />Happiness was there when we made a home together.<br /><br />But when you left me—where was happiness then?<br /><br />When I was weeping on the floor because you loved another—where was happiness then?<br /><br />Now you've returned, and happiness has too.<br /><br />Now you'd have me cast aside those emotions you sneeringly call negative.<br /><br />But I remember.<br /><br />I remember grief and rage and wounded pride that never left.<br /><br />I remember my true friends.<br /><br />So let happiness stay and prove its worth.<br /><br />I'll be waiting.RKeelanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16761835094251669865noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-85557023378578618112017-02-18T23:23:13.211-05:002017-02-18T23:23:13.211-05:00Diary Entry: March 17
The new bench lets me rest ...Diary Entry: March 17<br /><br />The new bench lets me rest my legs while I visit you. It was worth sharing tuna with One-Eyed Joe to stretch our budget for that bench. Joe sends some purrs to you, too. <br /><br />Today the sun lit your name with a halo, and warmed my old bones. Your cardinal visited. I clipped the fresh grass around you. <br /><br />After I left you, I saw Dr. Sanders—you remember him. Such good news today! He said it’ll only be a few weeks more now. Can’t wait to see you again. Maybe Yvonne will plant some daffodils then.<br />Sherry Howardhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04326605891373049617noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-51508129151508741682017-02-18T22:21:02.804-05:002017-02-18T22:21:02.804-05:00They tell her that happiness is a baby.
She’s not ...They tell her that happiness is a baby.<br />She’s not interested. <br />She’s the perfect breeder, they say,<br />With love handles, and baby fat. <br />They ply her with men,<br />Some with muscles, some not. <br />She prefers intellect. And careful hands.<br />Much different than the one they thrust on her. <br />Baby fat makes for baby. <br />It grows, unnatural, within her. <br />She’s sick, drugged. <br />The thing inside her transforms…<br />Points instead of curves. <br />Metal, instead of bone…<br />Just like her.<br />She rips the mechanical fetus <br />From her green drenched insides<br />And cries outKaren McCoyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02640324898284007337noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-18129283328808569172017-02-18T20:55:15.752-05:002017-02-18T20:55:15.752-05:00How capricious happiness that doesn’t land on me w...How capricious happiness that doesn’t land on me when I ask,<br />yet deluges the unsuspecting. The unnecessary.<br /><br />Callie bustles about with vigor, a beautiful girl<br />with beaus far and wide.<br />Her dreams? They come true.<br />Her wishes? They are granted.<br /><br />Yet I toil, a mere servant.<br />Do I not deserve joy?<br /><br />Adam calls upon the mistress,<br />hat in hand, eyes aglow.<br /><br />So I serve him a spot of tea<br />with crumpets<br />and I brush against his arm, his hip.<br /><br />And I feel it. As does he.<br />Our eyes connect<br />And happy? It jumps from <br />Callie to me.<br />RosannaMhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06399732751877180737noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-32761180145744604762017-02-18T20:33:11.993-05:002017-02-18T20:33:11.993-05:00Warm winds whisper
a promise of spring.
The doct...Warm winds whisper <br />a promise of spring.<br /><br />The doctors brought you back<br />but the promise was not ours to receive. <br />It is yours alone. <br /><br />How do we love you?<br />Let us count<br />your strong strides that led us, <br />your calloused garden hands,<br />your quiet watchfulness among the tall pine trees as you munched unripe apples, summer ruffling your barely-gray hair. <br /><br />We will remember<br />as you valiantly push<br />through hospital hallways <br />that hospice wheelchair, <br />refusing to sit, <br />until you find spring’s unseasonably early sunlit promise<br />on your weathered-vine face<br />and the bright breeze that beckons you home.Lisa Bodenheimhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17809067722921953857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-5256394290695247582017-02-18T19:57:20.131-05:002017-02-18T19:57:20.131-05:00Exit 243, and go left at the Sunoco. Actually, mig...Exit 243, and go left at the Sunoco. Actually, might be an Exxon now.<br /><br />Go halfway through town and turn left at the pawn shop, or at the DQ if you miss the pawn shop, and head toward the mountains.<br /> <br />Wind round a bit--half hour or so--don’t worry about the quiet, it’s hay-bailing time. You’ll pass the Crabells, they’re still there, great beef, and what used to be the Hollidays’.<br /><br />Take the bridge extra careful; it’s rickety since the storm.<br /><br />Go through the gate and keep going til you see my porch.<br /><br />This cup of tea’s all yours.<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-29312516664739052752017-02-18T19:49:41.413-05:002017-02-18T19:49:41.413-05:00Blood.
By noon the baby was gone. How could they ...Blood. <br />By noon the baby was gone. How could they recover from such loss, how could they ever experience joy once more, how could their world prop straight again?<br />And then, mere months later, a blue strip proclaimed their escape from grief. <br />From heartbreak a family formed, thrived and painted joy in every corner of their lives. <br />Lesson learned:<br />Desperately needed and least expected, happiness often wriggles into our lives to tickle away despair. <br />Carolynnwith2Nshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-81278136390507940152017-02-18T19:40:12.202-05:002017-02-18T19:40:12.202-05:00That night, like every other, Grace climbed into b...That night, like every other, Grace climbed into bed and pulled her grief up to her chin. Another day done. Another night to drift through. <br /><br />Everyone else rounded their losses to the nearest year, but hers felt razor-sharp after a decade. <br /><br />She tried not to wait too hard. It was always tricky, catching the moment between awake and asleep, when dreams were as real as thoughts.<br /><br />She needn't have worried, though; he had been waiting just as long. He walked into her dream, and she walked out of her life, and her sorrows were the only things she left behind. Shaunnahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-42119612588190170402017-02-18T18:47:41.279-05:002017-02-18T18:47:41.279-05:00I think we drove over ninety to Ann Arbor the nigh...I think we drove over ninety to Ann Arbor the night he was born. First grandchild.<br /><br />We were too late. <br /><br />He was wrapped in a blanket at the graveside. I held him tight as they lowered her down.<br /><br />“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.”<br /><br />He didn’t cry. I shook uncontrollably.<br /><br />Months of going through the motions.<br /> <br />Choking despair. <br /><br />Toothless smiles.<br /> <br />Peek-a-boo.<br /><br />First word: Meema <br /><br />He sits on the floor playing with Russian nesting dolls, endlessly stacking and restacking. Laughing at a joke only he knows.<br /><br />His toes flex up in delight.<br /><br />“Blessed be the name of the Lord.”<br /><br />S.D.Kinghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05707682524268581476noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-34412576459560341852017-02-18T17:42:18.615-05:002017-02-18T17:42:18.615-05:00It comes to the person alone
To the woman old and ...It comes to the person alone<br />To the woman old and grey<br />The child on a boat<br /><br />The wind <br />As it blows<br />Palm trees <br /><br />It comes to me without you<br /><br />On a beach<br />In the cold<br />Walking<br />Reading, watching, writing<br /><br />A crowded market<br />A train<br />A quiet place<br />A mind wandering<br /><br />In the sun<br />On my bed<br />Flying<br />Arriving<br />Leaving<br /><br />It lives in me<br />I am happy<br />I am freeBarbara Ryanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08465154166717722570noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-11671794193283606392017-02-18T17:04:47.838-05:002017-02-18T17:04:47.838-05:00White Easter lilies long since withered, bed these...White Easter lilies long since withered, bed these days ablaze with tiger lilies. She sticks them in vases from Goodwill, lines them up on the porch railing of her shack off the interstate. <br /><br />“Still just a flower stand, officer.”<br /><br />Red pickup. “Hi, Lily.”<br /><br />Payment goes in the coffee can on the table. Just inside the front door. Follow to bedroom. Grab a bouquet afterward. Maybe give it to your wife.<br /><br />Coffee can reflection. <i>What happened to me?</i> Drunk mom. Teenage runaway. Desperation. Regrets. <br /><br />Moves can to porch. Smiles.<br /><br />Silver convertible. “Hi, Lily.”<br /><br />“Only selling flowers. And my name’s Mary Frances.” <br />Amy Johnsonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05324408700941398495noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-68908280835009268812017-02-18T17:01:07.031-05:002017-02-18T17:01:07.031-05:00The park bench is hard on Harriet's old bones....<br />The park bench is hard on Harriet's old bones. Nearby, a little girl begs her mother unsuccessfully for ice cream.<br /><br />Harriet, her heart long unraveled by regret, recalls her son's voice, how it grated her nerves. She was a lousy mother. She pushed him away over and over until he stayed away on his own. If she could have another chance, she'd grab it, never let go.<br /><br />The girl wanders over. Harriet glances at the mother, focused on her cell. Harriet stands, holds out her hand. The girl takes it, weaving her fingers through Harriet's.<br /><br />They walk away.<br />Madeline Mora-Summontehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05529397293165046430noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-7715842331763833592017-02-18T16:35:15.378-05:002017-02-18T16:35:15.378-05:00Two saplings gaze into a pool.
“See my brawny br...Two saplings gaze into a pool. <br />“See my brawny branches,” says Oak, stretching. <br />“And my ample trunk,” Sycamore preens, digging roots into the Earth. <br />“Your bark’s like a fungus.”<br />“Your progeny’s the teats of a fox, who milked too long.”<br /><i>Why fight?</i> hisses Wind, joyriding between their leaves. <i>What do you accomplish?</i><br />Ignoring Wind, Oak roars to his squirrel brigade, “Hurl my progeny at that blasphemous ogre!” Songbirds of Sycamore dive-bomb the squirrels, screaming back insults. War rages in the canopy. <br /><br />Below, a beaver meanders into the glen. He builds his home. <br /><br />Eventually, the silent stumps turn back into dust.<br />Lennon Farishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03570629350169504234noreply@blogger.com