Out of breath after barely catching the bus, I looked for a seat. Being a haole, no alohas were found in the faces of the Islanders – except his. Mine said mahalo as I sat. I told him my divorce was new; that in the end my ex saw me as poke and I saw…
Category: Friday Fictioneers
#FF — Mysterious Disappearance
Mysterious Disappearance After 10,000 Earth years since the last visit, today was Earth’s turn. The Angelic Scientific Krew (ASK) chattered happily (telepathically) at how good the planet looked. Clean skies and water, lush vegetation of all kinds, and a full complement of fauna — but curiously no humans. It was surprising, as humans had a…
#FF — For the first time
I’d allowed myself to be talked into attending the farce of a wedding, then reception. The dunce cap napkins said it all. Everyone knew Melinda’s marital pattern of marriage-to-millionaire followed by unfortunate-death-of-groom, then whirlwind-romance-leading-to-engagement-with-next-rich-dupe. She forgot what number Harold was: 4? 5? Even my hard-boiled cynicism couldn’t ignore how Melinda and Harold looked at and…
#FF — This Old House
This Old House Paris is in the rearview mirror. All that’s left of it is a water-damaged photo. Does it matter who dumped who when things turned sideways? You found me that night, on the bridge, plugging in to a protected power cable. I later learned about the filthy garbage bin you picked up off…
#FF — Up on the Roof
Up on the Roof It was that kind of day — cotton-puff clouds dotting robin’s-egg-blue skies, sun enough to warm — that made Sill glad to be alive. She flipped the shop’s sign to “Closed” and climbed eight floors to the roof. Ergochair molding to her curves, Laura Nyro crooning on her radio; within minutes…
#FF — End
Silver moonlight led Mary to Johnny’s grave. The cold steel in her pocket was as chilled as the swirling mist. Tears stung her eyes. Hugging the wet marble, cheek pressed against his name, Mary’s wracking sobs disrupted the still air, “Johnny! My boy! My baby boy!” Pouring out every last sorrow from her being, she…
#FF — Raw
Wrought with terror-saturated anxiety, she wondered how she would communicate the truth to Robert. Despite the barrier it would raise for eternity, she owed him at least that much. She rolled the platen, then began typing: Dearest Robert, I gave birth to our son, Johnny, on 3/17/55. He left the hospital with his new parents…
