NOW READ TEN MORE ENTRIES BELOW:
(To visit the writers blogs, click on their names or photos)
‘Found’ by Danny the Dog
The woods are dark, the cabin isolated.
In the distance, a bird cries into the night.
The only light, the fire in the hearth.
Not far off, a twig snaps underfoot.
Someone softly comes my way.
The dread in me rises.
Have I been found?
I am cut off from running; it is too late for that.
In pensive silence, I await my fate.
The door bursts open, Andrew is silhouetted against the stars.
I so hate birthdays.
I Live Here by Annette Rochelle Aben
All she kept emphatically telling everyone was that if God meant for her to have another animal, it would show up at her door and tell her it lived there.
For nearly a year after her beloved Scamper kitty passed, she went to and from her house as a matter of course.
That is, until the night the tabby cat with no tail was waiting for her.
They looked into each other’s eyes and knew they were finally home.
Mourning Dove by Claire Fullerton
I used to go home to the house I grew up in, and Finley used to be there—eventually, anyway.
He’d come swaggering in, all blue-eyed, and gray, three-quarter coat swinging.
In from Virginia, the educated man; all beaming, charismatic six- foot- two of him, setting the stage in that rambling Southern house by virtue of his presence.
It was that way every year; Finley was the kind of guy who could enter a room and take over completely.
Heart of Night by Bill Engleson
I love trains. The rattling, the shimmy.
She’s alone with me in the Club Car.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I take the leap.
Hair dark as coal, eyes diamond bright.
“Sure,” she says, “Vodka, straight up.”
“Two,” I say to the waiter.
“Charlie,” I reach to shake her hand, to touch it.
Her skin is cool. Mine is on fire.
“Don’t be nervous, Charlie. Night’s still young.”
North Depot 1922 (WIP Book Blurb) by Kim Troike
Robert Stephens joins Emmaline Johnson, Rose, Fitz & Lilly, childhood friends, to their summer houses in North Carolina near Asheville in 1919.
With the war over and prohibition in the future, not to mention women’s suffrage, these kids have no idea where life will take them, but for now, a secret binds Robert and Emmaline and they share it most every day.
Years later they meet in New York and resolve to answer a mystery while pursuing their fate.
FAITH by Linzé Brandon
The world was swimming in itself.
Shivering, Cindy, Wolfe and Captain huddled together in the old ruin.
“Will he come?” Cindy meowed in a tiny voice.
“Yes,” Captain growled.
Wolfe sighed, his head on his paws.
It rained harder.
Wolfe tucked Cindy closer.
Captain licked her face.
“Hang on,” they tried once more.
“There! Row faster!”
Three pairs of ears twitched.
“Hand me the blankets.”
Wolfe, Captain and Cindy snuggled warmly against Tom’s legs.
“Let’s go home.”
THE DOCTOR by Annika Perry
Twenty years she’d given him.
Fresh out of college, her blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, so nervous she’d tripped over the plant pot by the door.
Imagine. Her, Kelsey Brooks working for a doctor.
‘This way,’ snapped Kelsey, her short spiky hair rigid with gel and a scarlet scarf in stranglehold round her neck.
Her last day!
No more pawing or vomit-inducing kisses.
‘What’s the Doctor like?’ asked the new receptionist.
‘He’s a real gem.’
Curtains by Philippa Rees
She christened her ‘Curtains’, the last-ditch tenant.
That symmetrical helmet of hair framed a face gashed with lipstick, and blinds of blue mascara.
‘I need a year to write a book’
‘My miraculous healing.’
Ah well. Writers are normally quiet. Promising.
The van disgorged a flight of angels in plaster, gilt and glass; followed by an outsize bed.
The succession of men (tiptoeing past) tracked the angels.
More curtains were drawn.
The old couple died shortly after.
Mamadou dreams by Jane Dougherty
Beneath the bridge, Mamadou sleeps; his thin blanket no protection against the autumn damp. Water drips. Pigeons flutter in companionable silence. Mamadou dreams. The sun beats down on the ocean and the brilliant white sand of the beach. A fishing boat lies idle. A woman carries water to a shack, small children trailing behind her. The fishing boat becomes a ferry carrying Mamadou away from the misery and children crying. In his sleep, Mamadou frowns, cursing his good fortune.
All Washed Up by Nicola McDonagh
He bent down and picked up a stone.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘it has the shape of a heart on it.’
She took it from his hand and held it up to her eyes.
‘I don’t see it.’
He gripped her fingers and she let the rock fall.
Last time, he had skimmed it across the water.
REMINDER: If YOU (Author or Blogger) would like to join in the fun, or submit further entries and have YOUR 79 word story posted, along with your photo and blog/website link email your entry to me at:
tsraauthorarticles (AT) gmail (DOT) com,
Subject: 79 WORDS