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Archive for the ‘Short Story’ Category

The Neighborhood Commandant © by Liz Dolan (Word Count 3340)

In Short Story on December 11, 2011 at 4:51 pm

If anyone on her street forgot to take in their empty trash cans during the summer within a half hour after collection, Gertrude made a point of reminding them. “This isn’t Tobacco Road,” she’d say.  When tourists trotted past her house with their fancy city dogs, she’d hand them a plastic bag-just in case they  forgot to bring one. If a neighbor dumped a useful item like a swivel chair on wheels, Gert would sniff it out and push it through the streets with her two tiny mutts perched on the seat before anyone else could get to it.

          On a late March day, as she cut through her neighbor Jim’s yard, her head pivoting in that odd way she had as if she were sniffing out trouble, her two mutts yiping at her feet, she noticed his screen door was ajar. She slammed it shut. The next afternoon a shaggy-haired young man in baggy jeans and a black tee appeared from behind Jim’s house.

“Hey,” she yelled across the yard. Read the rest of this entry »

The Bowl by Pooja Gautam © (Word Count 703)

In Short Story on December 10, 2011 at 7:09 am

Walking, running and then walking again. Men on the streets were looking at the willowy figure with interest. Her dress of some soft material looked like hugging her without much interest. From faraway she looked like a lump of cloth floating on the street.
She was out of breath. She leaned on the banister nearby. It seemed like she was trying to gulp down all the air around her. She looked up and closed her eyes. Read the rest of this entry »

Yellow Rags and Vaccum Cleaners by Gayatri Makhijani © (Word Count 365)

In Short Story on November 20, 2011 at 7:35 pm

A yellow rag sits upon the window sill of the white, brown kitchen. Asha hurriedly picks it up, and mops the counter clean. And, upon it she chops freshly rinsed beans, little brown onions, yellowed peppers and orange-brown carrot sticks. Asha bustles through the kitchen, clambering pots and pans, currying potatoes, and swirling spoons. In her pink saree, mellowed with time, Asha paints a haggard picture. But, if you look closely, you’ll see a shimmer in her eye. Read the rest of this entry »

Promises, Lies and Jelly Doughnuts by George Talbot © (Word Count 3306)

In Short Story on October 31, 2011 at 5:57 am

“James, there’s got to be a woman out there who will marry you. Try the want ads, and promise me — you’ll take care of my sister when I’m gone.” The last things my mother asked of me before she died. Find a wife, and care for mom’s sister, Miss Madeline Huntsberry. Both requests, blue-sky reaches.

Nonetheless, I asked three women out the next year. One accepted. Helen Langford. A forensic specialist. She made phone calls from the lobby throughout act one of an Annie Get Your Gun revival, excited that maggots in her most recent ‘client’ found behind a Fredericksburg convenience store could help pinpoint an exact time-of-death. Things didn’t work out between us. Never saw or talked to her again. And no call back from the tarot card reader with a perm I met at Pizza Hut, or the woman whose blind Chihuahua bit me. “Antoine, you and I aren’t a good match.”

I agreed. Read the rest of this entry »