Tuesday Tale: Aggie

He pushed the egg with his fork.

            “It’s too hard, Aggie. I don’t like hard eggs. How many times to I need to tell you?”

Tuesday Tale: Escape

I escaped, and nobody knows. For years I have carried this secret like a stone in my shoe. I would stand in line at the shop, with my basket of eggs, cheese, milk and rye, look at the boy ahead of me and wonder, does he know? Does the cashier sense what I have harboured in silence? Will the security guard stop me as I leave and demand I empty the pockets of my mind?

Short Story Sunday: Latchberry Farm [Part Five]

Vic liked to whistle as he worked. In his mind it was a pastime that delivered cheer to an otherwise depressing setting. Around him bodies lay under sheets, their toe tags flapping in the draft. First on his schedule was a Miss Marie Delvigne and, while her occupation was left blank, any man within three villages knew of the trade she plied. She’d been found face down in her own vomit and it made the other ladies like her jumpy. He was aware of a wet spot forming on his pelvis as her body oozed and leaked on the table. 

Short Story Sunday: Latchberry Farm [Part Four]

George spotted Jacob walking along the ridge. He was inspecting the sheep.

            “Sir.”

            Jacob waved at him. “Looks like the flock survived the night. Some of us were not so lucky.”

            “Yes.”

Tuesday Tale: Dinner is Served

“So, Sarah, tell us how it was that you managed to take your screenplay of ‘Last Stop Latvia’ to Hollywood?” The interviewer adjusted his headphones and invited me to speak into the microphone and into the homes of half a million listeners.

Short Story Sunday:Latchberry Farm [Part Three]

It was Fanny’s turn to soothe the baby. She roused her body and willed it to cross the floor to the crib. Once the infant was in her arms, she reflected on her simultaneous joy and fear. She had lost so many others before. How could she be sure that this one was here to stay?

Short Story Sunday: Latchberry Farm [Part Two]

After three hours in the downpour, Jacob found the sound of the water dripping from the rim of his hat soothing. What had started as a routine evaluation of the fence on the lower ridges of his property had ended up as a herd and rescue mission. Something – or someone – had spooked the sheep and he and George had their hands full trying to calm them again.

Tuesday Tale: After Life

The scarabs took their tempo from the way the tree tapped on the roof of the barn where Heloise was milking the Jersey. She was humming to herself as she tugged at the udders and watched the milk slosh into the bucket. Junior was writhing in her womb. She paused and placed a hand on her abdomen.