Grace and I have been performing our collaborative piece, “Now That
You’re Dead,” and it’s a big hit. It was a big hit in Modesto
last Tuesday. It got us a spot in the local Peace & Justice
Newsletter and an invitation to perform in Turlock next year.
enough, it’s not even about you.
many others have taken themselves out in these last 21 years, you
didn’t even make the cut.
kidding, you were probably too big and messy to make the cut. I
handed all these pieces of all you dead people to Grace and she
picked three others that fit more neatly into stanzas.
she did a great job tying them in, sandwiched between her glimmering
takes the lead on this one, since she’s still trying to convince
people to stay alive. I’ve more or less let that go.
I would sum it up by saying I keep busy with listening, leaving them
alone, getting back to work on this book, or whatever comes to hand –
there’s always something to help me stay out of trouble.
Windsurfing at least.
Grace is only half our age (half of what would/should be your age),
so she still wants everyone to stay alive. “Goodbye” is a word
she is still “cutting out of every dictionary.” I’m on OK
terms with it though; it stays in my dictionaries.
still, I give you credit. All my dead people are all about you. Or
maybe you are all about them. Or maybe it’s still all about my
Barbara West lives in Davis, California, and works as a Wound/Ostomy Nurse.Her 2017 book, footage of live performances, and award-winning videos can be found at
This piece opens her memoir, a work-in-progress, which uses mis-rememberings of the movie
Edward Scissorhands to explore the tension between Christian/
Buddhist directives to “help others” and 12-step Recovery’s directive to “focus on yourself.”
The aim of this blog is to encourage flash fiction in Worthing. However, it would be churlish to turn aside anyone from outside Worthing who wants to contribute so that is not going to happen. There have been stories on this blog from every continent (except Antarctica) Just send your flash fiction (under 1000 words - sometimes as little as 75 words) to firstname.lastname@example.org Writers of the World unite! Now read the stories.
By Linda S. Gunther June 20, 1967. I sat in the red-velvet cushioned seat wearing my royal blue cap and gown at the Loew’s Paradise Theater on the Grand Concourse in the Bronx. It was graduation day for Taft High School seniors and I was anxious for the moment when I’d be handed my diploma and catapulted into my future. The Paradise was how Bronx people referred to the palatial theater. The venue had been my Saturday afternoon hangout from an early age. As I stuffed hot buttered popcorn in my mouth and drank Coca Cola, I had watched countless popular movies in the late 50’s and early 60’s, my younger brother next to me, jabbing me in the arm while he threw white, pink and black Good and Plenty pellets down the back of my blouse. We’d laugh hysterically at Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin, cringe at monsters like Mothra, sing along with Elvis Presley as he gyrated his hips, marvel at John Wayne westerns and hold onto
The only sign of life was an old newspaper blown by the wind. Yesterday's news. The fires had died down. The colossal wreck of a housing block blackened by smoke was mute testimony to how far civilisation had regressed. The living had left hoping for safety and freedom or at least food. The dead had not stood a chance against a reckless foe that could not tell military from civilian or adult from child. An armed man, an enemy, stood and watched. Tears fell down his face like a torrent that would never end. It never will. Derek McMillan The editor of #worthingflash has shared his feelings about victims of war in Ukraine, Palestine, Iraq and Afghanistan. https://www.amazon.co.uk/Derek-McMillan/e/B009FUXHWY