Worthing Flash

  Bleary eyed, little Daniel poked his breakfast. "What's troubling you, Danny?" mother asked. Pulling a crescent stone from his pocket, Daniel blurted, "I found the Moon under the Mulberry Bush yesterday. It fell!" Tears welled. "May I see it?" All serious, his mother examined the rock. "Don't you worry, Danny-jo, I’ll take care of this." Thrilled, Daniel gobbled his eggs and ran outside, freed. Some evenings later, mother said, "Come DJ." On the landing, she pointed into the sky. Daniel beamed like the crescent moon hanging low on the horizon. "Mommy, I love you!"   Daniel Cryns      

  Delivered Supine on the floor, I gaze up from our bed. Rose towers above me, ebony body a clear night sky writhing in a silken swirl dance of rainbow scarves, waxing moon smile moist, reflecting my rapture. Tomorrow became an unmet dream relinquishing its shackles on now. "The veils," I whispered. They fell—amorphous satellites drifting to earth—one on each rotation of her heavenly planet spinning in orbit around me. In splendor she whirled, unadorned, eyes blazing stars, feeding my naked hunger. Delilah pranced for the Baptist's head. Rose shimmered. I found my head and I surrendered my heart.   Evolutionary Quirks "Too much Dragnet as a kid, lady?" I jabbed. "Stuck in, 'Just the facts ma'am'? Truth is, facts lie, change. In the end, meaningless. Of course, that's conjecture too." "You a magician?" She blurted, eyes wide, sparkling. "No, what makes you ask?" "Didn't you say you ...

Home from work, Richard Greely found a formal, hand addressed letter along with the usual junk mail. It looked like a wedding invitation. You know the kind—expensive stationary, square envelope, probably a letterpress card in its own jacket inside. Finding no return address on flipping it, he sniffed it, and for a moment thought he caught a hint of sandalwood. Wishful thinking, who would ever send me a perfumed letter? Examining the fine penmanship, he noticed that the exquisite stamp had no postmark, nor any defining nominal characteristics, just a single, beautifully rendered, red rose. Strangely entranced, he ran his thumb over the extravagant stationery, relishing the texture of the linen threads. He let his imagination run free with his yearning for companionship—as long as he might—by carefully slipping a butter knife under the flap and ever so slowly parting the seam. It was a far cry better than his usual Friday evenings with nowhere to go. Inside, in its own blan...