More short stores
By Emma Snyder There are hundreds of books on the art of drying plants,On pulling herbs, fresh, and tying them into bundles,Putting them into jars for topicals and tinctures,On the best way to preserve a bloom,Set it afloat in oil or resin,Press in between wax paper sheetsAnd make stained glass….
By Jerome McFadden April 28 I am a golf ball. At my core, I am a solid synthetic rubber sphere. My makers surrounded that with a tough, thermoplastic cover. Finally, they gave me all these cute little dimples and sprayed me with two—count that again, two!—coats of brilliant white paint…
By Louella M. Nelson “Daddy drowned them,” Dee Dee pronounced solemnly, plucking one of Mrs. Tal-bo’s gigantic silk undies from the whicker clothes basket on the grass and reaching to pin them to the clothesline. The humid breeze was making Dee grimace to hold the panties still. “Daddy put them…
By Debra Goldstein Peter Wabbit wanted a carat. Not just one carat, twenty to be exact. As he walked through the Louvre’s Gallerie D’Apollon, he merely glanced at the peached colored Hortensia diamond before going to stand before the case housing the white 140.5 carat Regent diamond. Too many carats….
By Jeffrey Hunt The car accident was bad enough, but on top of that there was Winston. The tantrums were loud and violent, and seemingly only Bryan could stop them. Bryan couldn’t play sports, or join school clubs, or go out to movies with friends–he always needed to be nearby….
By Ramona ScarboroughHonorable Mention in BWG’s 2020 Short Story Contest “Papi, that burro is smiling at me.” Diego’s father, Manuel, shook his head. “Burros don’t smile. Where do you get such ideas?” Diego stared at his sandal pushing dirt around on the road and didn’t answer. He wanted to say,…
By Sheryl Guterl She shyly covers her breastwith a tattered blanket,smiles at the infant,who searches, eyes closed, mouth open,for his nourishment.she sighs when the baby latches on,and only then looks up to meet my stare. I look away, embarrassedby my bold gape,amazed at this miracle of beautyhere—in a cheap motel…
By K.B. Nelson Look down at the fractalflounce of my bohodress as I step throughmy day. Absurd to workin such a skirt, my officechair wheels would coil the edges upinto themselves til I’d be foundneatly bound to the chair. Swirl to the weekend beat.Sashay to the piano,take a stab at…
