Breath of Fresh Air by Dion J. Crowe
So, what’s your
"I’m sorry. What?"
"Your name. What is it?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"So I can introduce myself."
I blinked, confounded by this girl’s forthrightness.
"Peter. My name is Peter."
An enchanting young woman with a sparkle of life in her eyes and two braids in her hair offered her
hand, "Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Julie."
Anaesthesia by Daniel
In the beginning, when there was no time, our land was in
and desolated for full disobedience and
condemnation. The line
between the living and the spirit was
thin and transparent.
Skies by Christine
Walter pulled himself up from his chair. He shielded his eyes from the sun and peered toward the mountains. The bluest sky, not a cloud to be seen, not even a puff or a slight trail.
‘Norah, you there? Come on out here,’ he yelled, without turning round.
Chick Secrets by
B. A. Llewellyn
Jung once said the meeting of two personalities is like the
contact of two chemical substances; if there is any reaction, both
are transformed. Which
means that all contact has the chance to be a profound and
uplifting experience. I
am a regular witness to this fact.
I have found that true love and magical moments regularly
touch our days, often in the most mundane circumstances.
Children of the Sun
When I was young, mum told me there was man in the moon. I sat every night staring at the sky, with
a thousand stars dotting the naked sky. Each time I tried counting the stars I kept mixing them up, losing tracks of recorded numbers.
of a Needle by
Well, Kade was a good cook, a really very good one. So much that everyone marvelled, wondering if he was a woman in man’s skin. You know when a man can cook better than a woman, he could be an aspirant for the throne of a kitchen goddess. Anyway, Jade was worse than Kade, doing far more badly. I mean he was more stupid and lazy than a pig on a vacation.
Writing by Jessica Edelman
Once upon a time there was a girl. And she was forced to write a story.
Well no one was forcing her as such. But she felt she had an obligation.
No one forces parents to love their kids.
But they kind of have to.
It’s a bit like that.
She wanted to be a writer, so she had to force herself to write.
That was that.
Lyell (530 words)
Ugly, she thought. Ugly, ugly, ugly. Standing in the mirror she did not like what she saw. Long crooked toes. Fat white thighs that wobbled when she breathed. A stomach that looked as though the only thing she ate was beer. Tiny little mole hills, no way they could sustain life she mused. Turkey skin arms. Big brown freckles splotched wherever they felt the need to congregate. Pasty white skin. Uneven lips.
a Nice Day! by
The funniest thing happened to me a few mornings ago, and
"funny" literally! I was racing 'round and 'round our diner's kitchen like
a mad woman trying frantically to prepare for, and beat, our breakfast
J'ever ever have one of those days with no "right-ons" and all
by Annette Hunter
I sit on the headland, the soft grass below, the warm sun
above. I look out over the ocean, waves beating against the rocks below. I have sat here many times before in this very same spot, in the same town that I grew up in, the same town that my mother grew up in, and I remember.
Search of Romance by Shelley Banks
In the corner of the café two people sat in uncomfortable silence. The first date wasn’t going as well as they’d both hoped. Occasionally one of them spoke and the other replied but then they became silent again. They didn’t have much in common and neither seemed interested in getting to know the other better. But something kept them there. Maybe it was fate.
When I was just a little girl I realised that my Grandmother was a witch.
I was heavily into stories about Snow White and Sleeping Beauty at the time so that may have been what tipped me off.
Did you hear them?
The hills are talking to me. They called my name. They dare
climb and see how hard life could be.
Julian by Nicole
had been harder then I expected.
You quickly forget the sweat, tiny cuts on your hands,
broken possessions and heavy grunting from the last time you
endured the task. However
my new “across the hall” neighbour, Julian, at least
provided entertainment ...
In you, I see everything that is sought but very rarely found, hunted but very rarely captured, craved but very rarely satiated. You possess a rare gem, whose captivating sparkle is only seen by a select few. When my eye catches yours, I melt, the world stops, time slows down, I am entranced, nothing else matters, just you.
Midnight Conspiracy by
Norma Jean Kawak
The long black bag had lain hidden in the garage for the past two days. Tonight, under cover of darkness, we would drag it out and dispose of its contents. If everything went according to plan we would be finished by midnight.
It had been more difficult to get away from the party then we had expected. We made the excuse that the children were tired and needed to get to bed. It was partly true. But tonight was a special night. After weeks of planning, our secret would finally be out.
Coquette's Suzettes by Denise Marshall
darn it, i said to myself, how'd i end up here, yet again!
banished from the a/c in the house to sit in the hot sun
back-tracking over what happened today, i mimic her voice
"get your butt out of my kitchen, jule; and do not walk, run!
Than I Deserve by Billy
Success is an insatiable want. Its victories are euphoric,
its defeats disastrous. It is a small, seven letter word that can
only truly be defined inside each one of us individually.
The path to achieving it, in our minds, is clear, but
it’s the intangibles that test our will. Failure is its shadow,
always lurking close behind.
Day by Tom
There’s things in the attic, fifteen years old, twenty, or more, cobweb-tangled, dirt-roughened, dust-smeared, never-forgotten. There’s things in the attic which mean nothing to anyone but me. There’s things in the attic, rising above it all.
You, you’re there. Your breath, your spores, droplets of vapour crystallised, hanging in the air untouched, unbreathed since you last clumped up the ladder with a torch in your hand and a cancer in your gut.
My Favourite Place by
I feel calm here, relaxed and happy. The air is filled with a sweet aroma, not a
manufactured scent but a fresh, natural perfume, impossible to bottle.
It isn’t a big space and not small either, I would describe it as ‘cosy’. It
nestles comfortably between wide, open fields to the left and red brick houses
to the right.
It is a haven, my own respite from the world, I sing at the top of my voice
here, from joy, from the sheer happiness of just being here. I can laugh so
loudly tears run freely down my face. And, more than anything I am loved here. I
feel love envelope me and swirl around me whilst I am here. I love here.
When I arrive and glance up I am greeted by the sight of beautiful green grass,
sometimes cropped short, too short. Other times left to grow wild, not in a
magical, delicate way but in a natural, harmonious way.
I never walk over this grass, instead I love to walk around and crunch across
the gravel laid thickly to one side. The gravel, once lovingly raked flat, now
lays, almost forgotten, in waves like the sea in a storm. Pushed up into tiny
rocky mounds and leaving other patches bare and scared by the marks from tiny
Egg by Carl
Part of Larry’s 200 hours of community service was to help relocate the Henry County Museum. On his third trip he helped himself by relocating a fossilized egg from the dinosaur exhibit. He planned to sell the artifact at his brother Matt’s yard sale that weekend at the Kitty Ranch on Old Mill Road.
I had the dream again, for the first time in ages. The one where I’m running away. It’s so vivid I can feel my heart thumping out of time as I grab a suitcase and stuff it with clothes. I open the front door and step outside. The smell of fresh air fills me with hope and I start walking towards golden sunshine. I don’t know where I’m heading but it doesn’t matter because I’m free.
As I reach the end of the road dense clouds gather, heavy with rain. Invisible arms drag me back and I battle something shapeless pressing against my chest.
I wake up exhausted, sensing chaos, and hear a crash from the living room. Blundering out of bed I stumble downstairs.
Rainbow Bridge by Unknown and B. A. Llewellyn
Dedicated to our Darlin' Cat (Herself)
and all pets and their owners who adore them.
this side of heaven is a wonderful place called Rainbow
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone
here on Earth, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.
Do you remember getting dressed in front of an electric fire; when your legs burned and your skin went red and blotchy?
Do you remember waking in the morning, the windows frosted over – you blew on them and the frost would melt and you wrote my name in the mist?
Do remember when I toasted crumpets on a fork from the heat of the fire, spread marge over them and yours dripped over your school shirt and I had to rinse it? Do you remember? It was the first meal I made. My first time cooking for you.
Spring Comes To Bosnia
was one of the United Nation’s peacekeeping officers taken hostage in Bosnia. Every
day he was handcuffed to the park railing and guarded by masked
gunmen who patrolled the area.
Every day he wondered what the hell he was doing here when
he could be back home playing Rugby, or running along some beach
with his dog.
The Elevator Angel
by B. A. Llewellyn
She walked gracefully into
his world at the tenth floor.
Gift of Freedom by B. A. Llewellyn
Many years ago I read about
the charming Asian custom of giving a
recently caged dove or pigeon as a special
Symbolically, the bird and the gift’s recipient are
spiritually joined to
one another, giving the bird’s ability to fly special
The First Word by
There they are, the three of them, together on the grass, Mother and Father
looking down at Baby. The sunlight comes down through the leaves of a tree and
speckles the grass, the blanket, Baby’s face. The sun is bright and warm, and it
kisses the backs of Mother’s and Father’s necks and their t-shirts and the
ground. There are clouds in the sky, big white cotton-ball clouds, the type that
used to make Father so happy he’d feel like a water balloon with too much water,
distended, bobbing from the faucet, filled up to the bursting with all those
thoughts that now seemed so naïve and youthful, to him. But he doesn't see the
clouds, only feels them, in breaks of sunlight on his neck.
He watches Mother watching Baby, sees the furrowed brow and downturned mouth,
which look like sorrow but are actually the result of worry and self-destroying
love colliding on a face that is accustomed to neither. Baby watches Mother’s
face too and sees only Mother. He sees her eyes and her mouth and the nose and
hair which make up Mother. His Mother. Love is the word for what he feels now
but only because there are no better words. His real feelings are really no
feelings at all, more like being covered head to toe in a warm, billowing sheet,
a comfort and well-being and safety so thorough and all-encompassing that Baby
writhes and kicks and grins with the pleasure of it, when Mother looks at him,
when he sees her. His Mother.
Letter by Dion J. Crowe
A refrigerator hums in the background. It’s my only companion. The lounge room is still, the bedrooms and kitchen, they too are still. Nothing moves but dust motes in stuffy air.
An empty house is a lonely house.
I stand and walk into the lounge. Above the fireplace are pictures of Judy and me – windows into past memories. They are Judy’s proof of life.
Remember, Judy, photos taken that day in Queenstown, New Zealand, when we swished on skis down mountain slopes?
Man of Straw by Dion J. Crowe
Alva stirred the pot as she gazed out of her kitchen window at the white surroundings, clear sky and frozen ground. Tall trees grew heavy with the weight of snow on their branches. Grey boulders had white caps. Tall grass that grew in summer was now buried under snow. The stream that tinkled over smooth pebbles was now iced over. Everything that once had life was now covered in a bleak colour. Alva couldn’t help but feel the same.
A hand made from straw placed itself upon Alva’s shoulder. Alva patted it as she turned to the man of straw.
"It’s okay, my love. I’m just thinking."
Unsaid by Daniel
For the power to break the land was in fire, but fire wouldn’t come.
And the power to kill the fire was in water and water wouldn’t come.
And the power lap water was in wind but wind wouldn’t come.
Opportunist by Carl
Jason Amalynn was the leader in his field of TV and movie special effects. His invention was a special Prism laser projector using image reflection and light refraction to create a 3D hologram. The mirage could be created and shown most anywhere on most anything, not just as trick photography on film, but projected upon buildings, clouds and even a waterfall once. I was in total awe of Jason as his understudy, however felt completely betrayed when he vowed to take his technique public. That’s why I killed him.
Till Death do us Part
The machine that measured his heartbeat was the only noise in the cold antiseptic hospital room. For days he had hung on, his grasp on life tenuous, his conscious mind had retreated inside itself to prepare for death.
She had sat beside him, holding his hand knowing that on some level he would be able to sense her presence.
Sweet the Wine by Tony Williams
The drowned fly bobbed in the wine, halfway down the bottle.
“Ten thousand to one,” Alisa said, holding the bottle up. “On second thoughts, look at the size of this restaurant. Make that a million to one.”
“I dunno,” I said. “I count only six other couples besides us. And look at this wine, a Venus flytrap if ever I saw one. Five hundred to one – tops!”
“You don’t look right.”
Bill turned his head to the left, cocked his chin up, tightened his
lips, and gave an evil stare at the woman who just said that to
him. Who did this woman think she was? Talking like that to a
“This is why I don’t walk to work,” Bill thought to himself, “Nuts.
These people are all nuts.”
“I know you heard me,” the woman said again.
Bill grabbed his tie and pulled it. He hated the thought of talking
to someone and not having his tie perfectly aligned.
“Do I know you?” Bill said to the woman. “Now, before you open your
mouth again, why don’t you stop for a minute and think. You
shouldn’t talk to people you don’t know. But since we are talking
now, want to know something funny?”
“I’d love nothing more,” the woman replied.
“If I wanted to, I could make two phone calls and have you not only
arrested for harassment, but I could sue you for every penny you
probably aren’t worth.”
Bill felt great. He loved talking to people like that. He was one
of the best lawyers in town and took pride in beating people down
with words. He waited a few minutes, staring at the woman, hoping
to see tears. Tears always made him feel even better.
“That’s nice,” the woman replied. She turned and looked forward. No
by B. A. Llewellyn
message was in the words.
Was Wednesday by Christine
We are walking away from school; his jumper over his shoulder, his shirt hanging out the back of his trousers.
"Nanny, you look like my
friend," he says. He jumps up onto a garden wall and walks along the top of it. A man with a grumpy looking face opens the front door and glares at Harry.
with Fabio by Sarah
our yoga master, had a face only a mother, or a blind
person, could love.
His body reminded me of “Stretch
toy I had as a child that you could stretch from the armchair
way into the kitchen … though I did live in a bed-sit.