The Whisper of a Lady

May 29, 2024May 16, 2024 ~ afstewart ~ 4 Comments

I dream of her, my phantom, her haunting face stretched taut with pale skin, wispy white hair falling limp around her red-rimmed eyes. She stares, blind and bleeding, her lips mouthing silent whispers against the aether. Somehow I know she is pleading, screaming, her words drowning inside whatever hell has claimed her. I tremble when she reaches out to me, her fingers inches from my cheek…
That is when I awake from my nightmare, drenched in sweat. I should be relieved, the night terrors banished by the sun. Yet, my torment continues throughout the daylight hours, for she never leaves me.
She is my shadow in the light, the ghost that haunts my waking hours and bleeds me dry for peace. A manifestation of primal fear and my eternal pity, my personal apparition. Her existence instills both the desire to flee and the need to save her.
Am I mad? I have no answer to that question.
Perhaps I might welcome insanity.
The waking world now threads around me unfinished in shades of grey and gloom, with no vibrancy of colour save red; it taints everything, everywhere. I long for sleep and my nightmares. I long for her pale face and crimson eyes. Each night I sink deeper beneath the surface of my dreams and she draws closer to me; my skin craves her touch now, and it is harder to wake in the morning. I never leave the house and barely eat, often staring at my bed, forcing myself to stay awake.
What if I close my eyes and never wake up? Would I finally be with her?
The uncertainty of it all anchors me to this world. Will she bring my oblivion or will I be her deliverance? I don’t know. The not knowing drives me, swirls my mind in frantic visions and terrors. Yet, I feel I will understand soon, for her siren’s song becomes harder to resist. When her fingers caress my face, I will have my answer.
Only then will my nightmare end.
At least I pray it will.

~ A. F. Stewart

Nostalgia

May 22, 2024May 4, 2024 ~ Miriam H. Harrison ~ 4 Comments

What I remember most from my last relationship is his eyes. They were blue – pale at the center, dark around the edges. Sometimes they would change, lightening when he would smile or darkening when he was angry. Oh, how I miss those eyes!

Well, missed those eyes.

I fixed that problem soon enough. Now I can see his eyes whenever I like. Of course, it’s not quite the same. They don’t change when he smiles, but then again, he doesn’t smile these days. Instead, I keep them in a jar, hidden away in my room. I take them out every now and then, for old time’s sake.

But not too often. I don’t want my new boyfriend to get jealous. As it is, I’m worried that things aren’t going too well between us. And I must admit, I would really miss his lips . . .

∼ Miriam H. Harrison

Hot Feet

May 15, 2024May 4, 2024 ~ Richard Meldrum ~ 2 Comments

It was hot; one of those vile, humid city days when the heat was oppressive and inescapable. Despite the early hour, the temperature was already ridiculously high. The heat wave had been going on for a week and even the overnight temperatures were ridiculously high. He stood at the bus-stop, waiting for the morning bus to arrive. It was late. He was already sweating, he could feel damp patches forming under his arms and sweat trickling down his back and face. The city streets were busy, the traffic roaring and honking through rush hour. Across the street the noise of drills, saws and hammering came from a construction site. The city noise disturbed and distracted him. There was a kid next to him, wearing headphones plugged into a cell phone. The kid must have had the volume turned right up, because he could hear the music over the sound of the city…the thump, thump, thump of a drumbeat, with some indistinct vocals screaming out. His head started to ache, the pain pulsing in time to the music. His feet, encased in cheap leather shoes, absorbed the heat from the sidewalk. He felt angry, on edge. Stupid kid, stupid music; a pointless noise. The temperature increased, his head felt as if it was about to split open, his feet burned. He could feel his fingers balling into fists. He was aware he was about to hit the kid, knock him down and smash his phone to stop the noise. He took a huge, deep breath of warm, fetid air and willed himself to stop.

It wasn’t the kid; it was the heat. The damned heat.

Without thinking he reached down, removed his shoes and pulled off his socks. He stepped off the sidewalk onto a small grassy area next to the bus stop. It was part of the entrance to an office building. A sprinkler sprayed water onto this modest green space. He stood on the freshly watered grass, feeling the cool blades between his toes and the moist soil on his soles. His headache suddenly diminished, the pain dissipating in an instant. He felt cooler and he could feel himself calming down. He looked up to see the kid grinning at him. He smiled back. He knew he looked foolish, but he didn’t care. Being laughed at was better than him hurting a kid half his age.

The bus arrived and he climbed aboard barefoot, clutching his shoes and socks. He whistled as he paid his fare. The air conditioned interior of the bus was a blessing, but it was only the icing on the cake. His day was already looking up.

∼ RJ Meldrum

Pockets

May 8, 2024March 18, 2024 ~ Elaine Pascale ~ 2 Comments

“That’s adorable and it fits you like a dream,” Anna exclaimed with enough enthusiasm to equal her reaction to the last twelve dresses Tammy had tried on.

Tammy was not as easy to convince. “I just wish I weren’t a size 16.”

“What does the size on the label have to do with how it looks?”

Tammy rolled her eyes. “Easy for your child-less body to say. I’d still be a size 8 if I had stopped at two.”

“And miss out on the incomparable Miss Bliss? What would the world be without her!” Anna was often in the position of cheerleading for Tammy. “Some cause happiness, others impede it,” Anna’s mother used to say. Tammy was of the impeding nature. She would seek misery and wallow in it for as long as she could. Anna always prayed for a change in Tammy, or an end to their friendship that wouldn’t require Anna to do the dumping, whichever came first.

Tammy frowned at her reflection. “Bliss gave me an apron of fat…”

Anna had grown tired of her friend’s dour mood. She had offered to take Tammy shopping and buy her a new dress for her birthday. Anna had even hired a sitter. She hadn’t expected her generosity to be repaid with complaints.

She decided to move away from Tammy and walk about the store before she said something she would regret. She stopped at the rack that was the furthest from the dressing room and pushed through the hangers to alleviate her frustration. When she felt her composure return, she grabbed a handful of dresses in size 16 and returned to the dressing room.

“Maybe one of these?” Anna held her breath, hoping that Tammy would find something suitable so they could leave.

Tammy rifled through the garments, barely glancing at any of them. She was scowling and muttering and Anna feared they would be stuck in the store all afternoon.

Anna’s fears dissipated when Tammy gasped. “Where did you find this? I’ve been through every rack in here.”

“I know,” Anna muttered as Tammy hurried behind the curtain to try on the dress. When Tammy emerged, she had a large grin on her face.

“This one, right Anna? It’s perfect.” She ran her hands over her hips and squealed, “Pockets! It even has pockets!”

“That’s convenient.” Anna agreed. Pockets were indeed the Holy Grail of women’s fashion. Anna was currently rocking a fanny pack due to wearing jeans that had decorative stitching in place of pouches for stashing a debit card and cell phone.

“It’s so slimming.” Tammy continued to admire herself and Anna didn’t have the heart to tell her that the color was hideous and that it looked like a shapeless sack on her body. She was so relieved to finally be done with the shopping excursion that she believed there was no harm in allowing Tammy to see something different in the mirror.

***

The next time they met, Tammy was wearing the dress. They ran some errands at the mall and decided to grab lunch in the food court. Tammy stood in the middle of the horseshoe of food stands, hands stuffed in her pockets and said, “I don’t know what I want.” Anna was accustomed to this ritual, it usually consisted of a discussion of calories over flavor and a list of the prior month of meals Tammy had eaten. This was followed by wallowing in misery that they could no longer eat whatever they wanted. This time, Tammy added, “I wish someone would just tell me what to eat.”

The moment she finished speaking, a man from the kabob stand approached with a tray containing two plates full of food. “Excuse me, ladies,” he said, “we need to swap out our grill; this is what was left. We have to discard the food that no one has ordered, but I was wondering if you would like it…on the house.”

Anna’s jaw dropped as Tammy thanked the man and took the tray. “You just wished for food.”

Tammy nodded. “It’s been happening a lot. I put my hands in my pockets and then I get what I wish for.”

“Have you tried asking for money?” Anna joked.

Tammy’s expression changed. “I did. But I got something else, instead.” She nodded toward an empty table. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

When it was time to leave, they could not find their vehicle. Tammy had driven so Anna had relinquished responsibility of remembering where they had parked.

“Don’t worry,” Tammy assured Anna and then put her hands in her pockets. “I wish I didn’t have to be bothered.”

Anna was about to remark on the vagueness of the wish when a man pulled up. “You called an Uber?” he asked.

“—No,” Anna began but Tammy was already climbing into the vehicle.

Instead of being her usual, miserable self, Tammy proceeded to flirt with the driver the entire trip. Anna was fed up and ready to leave once they arrived at Tammy’s house, but Tammy insisted she come in.

“Your behavior was crazy,” Anna scolded as she stepped over the threshold.

“What? That was harmless.”

Anna was about to remind Tammy that she was married when she saw the inside of Tammy’s house. There was a new large screen TV and a full-wall fish tank with exotic fish. The furniture was also new and clearly expensive.

“Where did this come from?” It was no secret that Tammy usually struggled to pay her bills.

“John.”

“He got a raise?”

“He died.”

For the second time that day, Anna’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean, he died?”

“I told you I wished for money, but then…”

Anna could not believe what she was hearing. “You made a wish and he died. And you did nothing? You told no one? You didn’t even have a funeral?”

Tammy shrugged. “I didn’t have to. I just put my hands in my pockets—”

Anna had heard enough. She went down the hall to the kids’ rooms, expecting to see luxury there as well. Instead, the rooms were cleaned out as if no one had ever lived there.

“Tammy…where are the kids?”

Tammy blushed. “It’s not really my fault. I made a wish…”

“To get rid of them?” Anna felt sick.

Tammy shook her head. “To be free of this burden.” She gestured to her body, circling her abdomen.

“You have to be careful! Your wishes are horrible. Stop wishing, and get your hands out of those pockets!”

Tammy’s face grew red with anger. She yelled, “For once I wish I could just be left alone! I wish you would go away so I could be as miserable as I want to be.”

Anna did not get the chance to look before she hit the floor, but she guessed that Tammy’s hands had been in her pockets.

∼ Elaine Pascale

The Last Child

May 1, 2024April 12, 2024 ~ TheDamned ~ 4 Comments

She was always the last child to leave the school.

At first, she would beg to stay and help the teachers, but something about her didn’t sit right. Her dirty, tangled hair and taped up glasses made her ugly. She had a desperate quality about her, like a starving puppy. She always stood a little too close for comfort and talked a little more than was necessary. The teachers found excuses to send her home.

In later years, she began to misbehave. She would start fights on the playground, vandalize the bathrooms and smart off in class. Whatever she did, she always got caught. The teachers gossiped about how stupid and troublesome she was as they sipped tea in their lounge.

It’s like she wants to stay for detention, they’d say. Then they would move on to her dirty clothes and her broken tooth. She used to be such a good student, someone would reminisce. What happened to her?

They were right, of course. She did used to be a good student, and she did want to stay for detention. She arrived before the custodian unlocked the doors in the morning, every morning. She stayed until he shooed her home. She never missed a day in 4 and a half grades—and then she missed the rest of them.

She would have been pleased to know that she became every teacher’s favorite student after the fact. They named the gymnasium for her and celebrated her birthday every year with a pep rally. She used to be such a good student, someone would reminisce. How could that have happened to her?

But something about her still didn’t sit right. With no place else to go, she of course came back to wander the only safe place she knew. She would stand a little too close for comfort, creating cold spots and shivers. She tried to help after class, but again, no one appreciated her efforts. The teachers found excuses to go home.

Eventually, the school closed. No one wanted to teach there. No one wanted to be students there. Rumors grew faster than children and turned just as vicious. Tales were spread about a murderous custodian, a sadistic principal, a teacher who practiced the dark arts… seeking answers, they buried the truth.

The truth is she stays there still, alone. There is no custodian, principal or teacher—evil or otherwise—to keep her company. She trails down the empty halls, humming to herself and making minute dust devils spin on the cracked tile. She doesn’t notice the emptiness because for her it has always been that way. She stays at school, not because anything holds her there, but because she has no where else she wants to be.

She was always the last child to leave the school.

∼ Angela Yuriko Smith