by Margaret B. Davidson, a widely published author in upstate New York.
"Bill had survived afternoon tea with my parents, seemingly unperturbed by the barrage of questions my mother had seen fit to hurl at him as to his life in America. Maybe he thought all English parents behaved in this fashion; maybe he thought he'd passed the test. I knew otherwise ..."
by Bruce Niedt, a "beneficent bureaucrat" and family man from South Jersey.
"I toss a quarter in the air, thinking about the opening scene of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead."
by Rebecca Wann, a Texan who takes computer science classes at night.
"I'm dying, and they give me a tortilla. I hate tortillas."
by Lori Romero, a writer living in New Mexico.
"My uncle bit the nurse taking his temperature. Not a gentle warning nip, but a full-on chomp, which left an imprint distinctive enough for forensic identification."
What Are These Wings For?
by Greg Beatty, has a PhD in English from the University of Iowa.
"The old man shifted on Dr. Percival's couch, moving just enough to allow his bedraggled wings to fan out from his shoulders."
The Persistence of Guilt
by C. S. Watts, an author from Pennsylvania.
"You don't discuss it with your friends thinking no one will understand. Spirituality is so personal. "
by Jack Goodstein, a retired professor of English in Western Pennsylvania.
"Goldstein has haunted me for years. From nowhere he comes. One minute he's there, the next? Who knows?"
The Chimes’ Legacy
by Wayne Scheer, a retired teacher living in Atlanta.
"Harry Chimes had made a lifestyle of avoiding confrontation. Today, he felt bothered by it."
The Seventh Grade Party
by Bruce DuBoff, a Library Media Specialist in Southern New Jersey.
“The party was at David Gee's because his records covered all the hits the narcissistic '70's could muster.“
by Heather Wardell, a former elementary school teacher living in Ontario.
“I recognize the senator immediately, even though I haven't seen him for nearly fifteen years.”
by Sandra Seamans, a retired farmwife from Pennsylvania who loves to write.
"I grabbed Pinky Blue by the shoulder and spun him around, 'What the hell did you say?''"
by Carol Carpenter, a former college writing instructor in Michigan.
"Sam told Rachel that he had to work late and wouldn't be able to see her. She chuckled."
The Ruby Red Slippers
by Tom Campbell, an Oregonian who hopes to find a career before he retires.
"A pair of ruby red slippers lay abandoned and half hidden beside the yellow brick road. A teenage girl came plodding along ...”
Gray Day, 1993
by Samuel Weldon, a might-have-been lawyer hiding out in Saskatoon.
“I’d met Tiffany at The Legal Eagle, and, encumbered with alimony payments instead of a spouse, I’d invited her on a picnic.”
And She Was Not to Blame
by Kelsey Wolfram, a young writer from Georgia.
“Caroline watched her spoiled nephew dribble his applesauce all over his face and in disgust turned to her grandmother, hoping that age would offer some sign of dignity. Instead, the image mirrored that of the baby.”
Bed of Roses
by Pam Skochinski, a technical writer on sabbatical in California.
“Roger couldn’t stop looking out his kitchen window. Only one day to go.”
Any Port in a Storm
by Ann Vitale, an aspiring writer of fiction living in Pennsylvania
“Viv leaned out the car window, listening to the rear tire of the Crown Victoria sing as it spun on the patch of ice in the gutter.”