Worthing Flash

A couple of days after his marriage, Ratan, an employee of BoB, Bhutan left with his divinely innocent wife. In those days he would travel to Bhutan by The Royal Government of Bhutan bus. The luxurious bus would set off from Esplanade at 7 p.m. and was supposed to reach Phuentsholing, the border town, by 10 in the morning. After the relatives coming to see the couple off, had hugged them and said their final "goodbyes" at the bus station in Esplanade, Ratan turned to his wife in the semi-darkness inside the bus and thought to himself that he was lucky to have her in his life. Ratan, talked nonstop on the way. He was possibly too excited to be married finally at 39 to take note of how preoccupied his wife was. He remembered the bus stopping near the Petrol Station and him getting off the bus to see if he could get some coffee or tea for his newly-wed wife. There was no tea-stall in sight. As he kept talking to his wife from below the window, his wife just said o

 Togetherness by Roberta Beach Jacobson After midnight, the voices in my head enter my stories. Is this why they exist? They whisper their way into dialogue, and I allow it. At times, I’ve encouraged it. Writer’s block has never been an issue for me, because the voices intervene. We cooperate fully, creating paragraphs and pages together, although I take all the credit.

I didn’t want the apricot toy poodle, but Dad insisted. I thought she would spend her days on a satin pillow, muzzle in the air, grooming her well-manicured curls. But she was a real puppy, and lost no time tugging the ribbon loose from her ear and clawing the baby blanket we’d brought her home in. Still, it wasn’t until she almost fell into her water dish because her head was too heavy that I saw why Dad picked her: She’d teach me how not to fall in, no matter how deep the water, or how long he’d been gone.  Cheryl Snell

I could taste the salt upon my lips as if surrounded by the ocean. My boyfriend walked ahead of me, photographing every moment. I took photographs myself, but what I was taking in was something I could never photograph. My brain is a bustling city, and every now and then, my neurons need to take a step outside for some fresh air and quiet. The minute my foot landed on the soft, moon-like terrain of Badwater Basin, the bustling city in my head went quiet. I took in the vast expanse of white terrain. And my brain took in the loudest sound it ever heard. I turned to my boyfriend and asked, “Hey, do you hear that?” He stopped, listened and asked, “What is it?” “Nothing.”   Maria Perry was inspired to start writing in high school when her high school English teacher said she was really good at writing short stories and asked if she considered being a writer. She enjoyed reading a lot of books. She majored in English/Creative Writing and Communications/Mass Comm at Cal State University,

It happened on a night like any other. We were at a church event having dinner. You weren’t there. I couldn’t understand why you kept calling our parents, the phone ringing repeatedly before Dad silenced it. “He wants money,” Dad said in a half-whisper to Mom. I was too young to understand that you’d done this all before: drunk texts and calls, expectations of payment. When we trudged up the driveway through the drizzling rain, we saw the first signs of sabotage. The handles of the front door had been tied shut with the garden hose and matches were on the ground. in a panic, Dad unlooped the garden hose. rain poured down on our heads as he struggled to muscle the hose out of the door handles. mom pushed us little ones inside and up to my brother’s bedroom. We felt safe at home in the dark until you shouted at us. You made threats about your “little friend.” We took that to mean a gun. I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my ears. You yelled at Dad. The first flames licked their way up t

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