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Not the Marrying Kind

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I am a serial romantic junkie who savors independence. Not a winning combination, I know. Two incompatible yearnings which have collided numerous times throughout the decades of my life. Did each of those six men get down on one knee to propose marriage to me? I think so but honestly some of it is a blur. I wish I could smell, taste, feel and listen to those proposals all over again. Occasionally, I test myself, check on whether I can list them all from marriage number one when I was nineteen years old through number six when I was – oh, never mind about that. But to my surprise, each time, I manage to get the husband sequence exactly right, a good sign that I am staving off dementia at the age of – oh, never mind. The thing is when people hear that there are six husbands behind you, unfortunately, you can rarely count on remaining credible. So, I rarely mention it. Good thing I have a couple of post-graduate degrees under my belt, including study at Oxford University and Columbia G...
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He Let Himself Be Buckled In

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Lavina Blossom lavinadblossom@gmail.com               He allowed himself to be strapped into the back seat. His torso was now firmly attached, which was what they wanted, to hold him down. He gave in to it. They said, relax. He tried, although the belt was tighter than necessary. And why just the torso. What of his limbs, what if he was jostled around so sharply his brain impacted his skull. That could happen to babies shaken too hard and it could happen to old men. And his neck, what about that? He had a long thin neck, few muscles to protect the upper vertebrae. He would have liked to protest now, but it was too late. They were in motion. He supposed that he would soon find out if this was enough protection, given the rapidly accelerating thrust of the car, his son-in-law pretending he was in a race. He must believe this belt was enough, even though he had doubts, which were rising in proportion to the speed they were g...
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Magic Else

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Magic Else It started out with card tricks. "Pick a card, any card." Else could tell you which card you had in your hand. She could tell you if she was wearing a blindfold. "How did you do that, Else?" "It's a kind of magic," she would say. She also dabbled in herbs but this was mainly for cooking. Our vicar's name was Green and he was sick to death of jokes about Cluedo. Then one Friday morning Else, who was his cleaner, found his body in the library. There was no sign of injury apparent on the body of Rev Green and Else was not aware of any health problems. He was young (well, fifty) and he regularly exercised. Before calling the police, Else reached out with her feelings to people in the village and used the force, or something, to produce a list of suspects. The first was the landlord's son, Tommy. Tommy was always asking Else for something or another. She had an inkling about what he was after. Tommy suspected the u...
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Upgrade

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He brings out his new unicycle. The seat, from all the saddle soap, has to be held firmly; he wonders if, when he mounts it, he might slip off. He would rather slip then than in the middle of a ride. He has polished the chrome rim twice, even gleamed the spokes. The pedals have been methodically lubricated. All the metals of the frame have been glistened and the height adjustment trued against his old unicycle, the one now for sale in the front yard, original purchase date and mileage scrawled on a sign beside. Best offer, but it had better be a good, flattering offer. Plenty of miles left in that unicycle, though plenty have already been run. This first outing will be a test. Just a short cycle. Something to prove the balance, see if the new seat has ridge-and-play similar to the old unicycle. A pedal to the corner store, perhaps. Or over to Mina’s house to show off the new conveyance. Backwards, forwards, pinpoint turns, letter-making in loose gravel. A trial run bef...
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Elements of Love

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By Sarah Starr (Inspired by and in memory of Grenfell Tower) Air It snowed the day I wove her golden braids, black ribbons twisting through her luxurious mane of flax. She held her head proudly, but sadness curtained her dark eyes. The sky, still grey from soot and ash, held the further surprise of frosted sugar as I led her prettily from her stall. I remembered the day my sister had leant over the railings above me, her hair the same gilded hue, her laughing eyes obscured from my view. She enjoyed affecting flight, arms outstretched to that same sky, then blue as cornflowers and with the promise of endless summer days. That was when bees had circled the tower in search of nectar and pollen for their hive. Seeds drifted on silent thermals with only the birds for company. She saw me way below her and ran inside to meet me. Fire But soon a dreadful, fateful day exploded. When no rain or snow came forth to quell the burning tongues that mocked and flailed against stone an...
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Comma Man Can

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by  Niles Reddick When he was young, his mother told him he was what he ate, and the combination of Little Debbie's along with the Funyuns he inhaled in his university dorm room gave him a midsection innertube that wouldn’t be a lifesaver when swimming in the lake. I had told my class over and over, like a stuck record, they were what they wrote, and I saw him as a giant walking comma slinking the halls of the university because of the overuse and abuse in his papers. I prayed he found a coordinating conjunction coed. His mop hair covered his eyes, and each time he spoke with me, he used the word “like” every three words. Like his inability to communicate, I figured he'd been passed from one grade to the next in his high school and graduated with an inability to write a sentence. He seemed a gentle giant, someone who could play the line on the football team while his struggling family borrowed to pay tuition, dorm costs, and a meal plan combined with added out of s...
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Memory

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-Something funny happened today at work. -Oh? -I taught my class with sunglasses on and didn’t even know it. I just thought it was a cloudy day. -Has that ever happened before? -Once, before my first important talk. I must have told you that. He picks up the sunglasses from the table, peers at her.  -How could you have forgotten? he adds. -It was before my time. How could you have forgotten that?      She gets up to feed their yellow canary. She had wanted a parrot, but he didn’t want something that spoke English.  It would only learn a few phrases at most, she’d cajoled him. You could teach it the ones that amuse you─ you’re a teacher for god’s sake. And it’s not like the bird would argue with you.      He put his foot down and kept it there. Now she has to admit she loves the canary’s sweet song; and he doesn’t mind it. Most of the time he doesn’t really hear it, she thinks.  While she fills its dish, the bird skitters out of the c...
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