Silence is a Virtue

By D. Troy Johnson

I retrieved the mail from the mailbox before dad got home. After he got off from work, he searched the kitchen table looking for the mail.
Retrieving a box labeled Viagra; I placed it in my room. My Dad and I watched TV well past mid-night, and after a while, neither of us uttered a word. It was an eerie silence. Then, finally he asked,
“Who got the mail today?” Continue reading


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By Lee-Ann Khoh

“Why are guys such jerks?!” The young woman smacked her palm on the counter with a thunderous thwack.

Behind the bar, Evan spun around, startled and amused. “Can I get you anything?”

The woman blushed. “Sorry, I… um… Just a vodka tonic, thanks.”

Evan scooped ice into a glass and poured in the alcohol, silently watching the woman out of the corner of his eye. She absently raked her painted nails through her auburn-brown hair and sighed: The “Stood Up” Sigh. Evan had pulled enough shifts at the bar now to recognise it.
He added a lime slice and filled the rest of the glass with tonic water before placing it in front of the woman with a clunk.

“How much?” she asked.
Continue reading


Off to War

By Ellen Brown

Flashes of Scottish landscape fly past the window as we make our way to our pick up for Gallipoli. We are singing, our spirits high, excited for war; our country needs us. The train cries out a long whistle and we cheer heartily. This is the start of a big adventure, a time to leave home and become men. Our new uniforms are stiff and itchy, our boots shiny. We prise the collars away from our necks as the May sun permeates through the window and heats the carriage where we sit next to each other in rows. Body odour intensifies with the heat.
Gravity makes us accelerate as we head downhill and we cheer again. Continue reading


When the Spinning Stops

By Tonia Marie Harris

Your heart cries for your loss every day, even when the rain comes in and the grass turns green again. I see it in the lines around your mouth and hear it in your voice when you sing. You keep singing, cause that’s what folks around these parts do. Well, for the most part. Old Farmer Higgs down the road, he don’t sing no more.
Come for a walk with me, My Love. The dishes will wait and that old clock stopped ticking the night she died. I want to hold my wife’s hand and listen to the sound of your gait on the frontage road.
Remember when I first met you? That day your eyes were as blue as the sprig of forget me nots I gave you that night. How our ankles were wet with dew and I promised to have a star named after you. Continue reading