I did not think Rowan and I would get along. Initially, we had been vying for the same soprano position in the troupe, but then the girl who’d been selected was awarded a promising role in a Sydney production. An opening widened to present ourselves to each other. We both had robust bodies and were the same height. For this reason, it later became easier to be entwined onstage, pacing together, or our voices thrust one upon the other in a duet.Continue Reading This Story
By David A. Summers
Andrew’s day began on a jarring note. Not yet inside his classroom, he was approached by two of his senior journalism students, both girls, who stumbled over each other in their eagerness to tell him their idea for an article they “really want” to write for the school newspaper. They’d read something “so inspiring” in this morning’s Tri-City Herald, something that shows what our students can do with their lives “if they want to make a difference.” Of course, their idea would need his approval. He was the faculty advisor.Continue Reading This Story
By W. Peter Collins
With my eyes on the exit, I squirmed on the edge of the bench.
“Sit still. We’ll be done in two minutes.”
“How long is two minutes?”
“That depends on whether you cooperate or not. Here, try these.” Mom dropped a pair of shoes in my lap. Not everything took two minutes, only the things I didn’t like to do: trying on shoes, washing my face and hands, brushing my teeth, homework. Reading books I didn’t care about was the worst. All I could do was stare at the pages as if they were empty, empty like the chair at the other end of the kitchen table. The one Dad used to sit in. He would sit there for hours, writing, filling the pages of his book. Pages I wanted to see but never did. He said he would show me one day, when he was ready. And then he was gone. And the book was too. I finished putting the shoes on and stood up.
~Continue Reading This Story
The first time we met, on a Wednesday at noon at a strip mall aquarium, there were no people around. Your space was lit red against the darkness, two conch shells lined up ready for you to recede. You almost did just that, but stopped. Did we know each other? We both swim in cold dark waters. You, here. Me, in springs at night.
People call you alien, but your rectangular pupils, little windows, felt like an old song to me; a flight of the soul, shifting the water between us, turning a tide. Your solitude, the keen freedom of your impressionistic arms, a series of portrait poses reflecting the tilts of shells and snails—could have been a kingdom or a prison.Continue Reading This Story
By Charlotta Majithia
Together, they sweat in the shade: Tristan’s canines rind-deep in watermelon, Tommy’s quicksilver limbs spread-eagled in a puddle of summer dusk, bared teeth trapping the filtered tip of an American Spirit. It’s not their father’s brand.
And they’re bleeding, but they both had it coming.
Tristan cocks his head, aims, and carefully spits another seed onto their mother’s cedar Adirondack chair. Then, slowly, eyeing his pointillistic mosaic, he rearranges himself in a twin image of Tommy.
“Hot.”Continue Reading This Story
At 5:00 a.m., the old man sat down in a lotus position, brought his hands together in front of his heart-center, and began to breathe mindfully. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, and he was gone.
His mind opened to a patch of grass at the edge of Kaanapali Beach. He imagined the grass-cutters and sand-rakers would be arriving soon, to put nature back in order.
He breathed in the aromas. Like a sommelier, he detected hints of citrus and eucalyptus in a bouquet of spicy plumeria. There was no sewage smell contaminating his senses; he had escaped that filth. Here, his focus was love.Continue Reading This Story