Worthing Flash

  Coming Back She woke up when her car hit the tree. The world was a blur, viewed from somewhere far behind her eyes. Beyond the windscreen, a single beam reached out into darkness. Reaching for the handbrake, she used it to drag herself upright, wincing as she straightened. She shouldn’t have left Alec’s so late – shouldn’t even have gone in when she dropped him home. It wasn’t as if she liked him… much. She’d fancied him rotten back then, but she never could trust him. Not like her Matt. She reached to turn off the ignition and gasped as agony speared her shoulder. Pain gripped the ankle that had moved to the accelerator. She must call 999. Thank heavens she’d stuck to fruit juice at the reunion. Not that sobriety had held her back. Her phone was in her bag in the passenger footwell. She reached… She’d try again when her head stopped pounding. Her hand went to her forehead and met sticky dampness. The lights of a car passed the T-junction ahead. Its driver had no

Tom Jenkins woke early and stretched out in his bunk; he winced in pain at the backache it always gave him but it was a POW camp in Germany and he could not expect comfort. He thought hard about which day it was; not easy as every day was the same and he suffered from mind-numbing boredom. He decided he would write a letter home; this would need some caution as any comment on the conditions would be at best deleted but more likely the entire letter would be destroyed. And he always looked forward to letters from his wife Sue, his brother Peter and his parents. And better still perhaps a parcel from home might come. He was always asking for more socks, T shirts to help in the coming bitter winter and food in the form of chocolate and biscuits to supplement the modest rations. He accepted the parcel was always opened and knew they had to check for weapons smuggled in, but he was saddened that food was regularly stolen as it often didn’t come in the quantities promised. But he shrugg

  Digging, Cathy asks, “Mom, I don’t see China; how far must I dig to reach China?” After thinking, she smartly pivots, “Can I use this hole to plant a tree?”          Years later, upon a visit, a grown Cathy looks out the kitchen window and stares at the sizable maple she had planted with the help of her dad.             “Do you remember when Dad helped me plant that tree?” Cathy asks her mother. “Right before the divorce?”          Her mother nods, sipping a Kahlua and coffee. She thinks... I remember fertilizing that scrawny trunk with the minced-up trunk of that bastard! Keith Hoerner (BS, MFA) lives, teaches, and pushes words around in Southern Illinois. He is no stranger to literary publications, and his memoir,  The Day The Sky Broke Open , just published with Adelaide Books, NY/ Lisbon. Look for it on Amazon.       

  “ You take forever to order just like with everything else, you haven’t changed at all have you?” A familiar voice with an unfamiliar face calls from behind. A long-lost friend welcomes unfamiliar emotions. We stare at each other in silence because I don't want to have small talk. I know her life ain’t easy, and at the same time, I still fall into the same small talk I desperately want to avoid. Cause just looking at her I know it’s not easy. Taking care of four kids by herself while working at Church's chicken ain’t nothing to even smile about. But I still ask her “How's everything” because I have no clue what else I should say to you. I want to make a joke, cause you know me as a class clown but life is no joke, and I know that better than anyone. Life's not fair in the slightest and I’ve always known that from being in foster care. Yet even I didn’t think life could be so cruel to just steal Rufina’s life from her. You tell me about how tough things ha

  No longer straight standing, the not-quite-upright piano slants forward. It’s old, out of tune; it no longer shows evidence of its pedigree brand; its wood is dull and split.         “It’s sad,” Emily says in a melancholy tone upon striking a chord—so unintentionally dissonant—the sound floats low to the ground, its sharps and flats like black talons scraping the floor boards.         Emily doesn’t quite know what draws her to the instrument. She verifies the price with the antique-store owner.         “I’ll take it,” she affirms.        Still,  Emily remains unaware of the faint, chalked pentagram on its back.    Keith Hoerner (BS, MFA) lives, teaches, and pushes words around in Southern Illinois. He is no stranger to literary publications, and his memoir,  The Day The Sky Broke Open , just published with Adelaide Books, NY/ Lisbon. Look for it on Amazon.