Prayer by William Lockett, Issue 10.
Take a look at the short stories of Issue 10…
FICTION
Sherry Poff
Afterlife
Carmen’s eyebrows shot up as she leaned forward across the small table. “The afterlife, Ted? You’re asking me if I believe in the afterlife?”
Ted squirmed uneasily on the small chair and glanced around the coffee shop patio. “Right. Uh, is that a bad question?”
“You do realize that ‘the’ is a definite article? The very question implies that it’s a fact.”
“Ok. Well … do you … believe … in the afterlife?”
“Isn’t that like asking if I believe in the moon?” … READ MORE.
Maura H. Harrison
Mariamne Wept
Kali shoved Mariamne into the stall and then slid in herself. She closed the door and pressed her shoulder into it as if expecting some kind of outside challenge. Eye to the space between the partition and the door, she watched the last gaggle of girls leave the bathroom. Giggles and whispers and footsteps scattered down the hallway like blown away leaves, leaving a sterile quiet in the air.
Trapped, Mariamne surveyed the partition’s graffiti above Kali’s head and noted the red permanent marks of several different authors: KM is a scumbag; KM is a slut; Kali xxxxx. This last word was crossed out with black slashes so that it looked like a dirty wound … READ MORE.
Alysia C. Anderson
The Horsefly
“You like the devil himself!” Mary Belle hollered. She flapped her arms while she steadied a basket of cucumbers. A horsefly circled around her as she walked up the front porch steps. “Don’t you dare land on me.”
The horsefly continued to circle her as she struggled to open the screen door. “Elizabeth! Elizabeth!” she yelled. “Come and help me!”
Mary Belle pulled the basket tight to her chest and grabbed the door handle. As she inched the door open, she cursed the buzzing horsefly that pierced her ears. She stuck her foot out to hold the door open. Then she pushed it with her body, and the horsefly snuck in behind her … READ MORE.
Ryan Gutierrez
Just Short of the Mountain
I think I got it done. I’ve researched for years; I’ve read every book on the subject. I must admit that, in my desperation, I also sought some less reputable sources. There are rumors on the dark web about the men-in-black type G-men looking into a guy who actually managed to do it down in Texas. I don’t know if it’s true, but I hope it is. Did you know that the phone was invented three times, by three different people, in the span of thirty years? When inventions and discoveries happen, they tend to happen in waves. Several people doing the same thing at roughly the same time. If that guy in Texas did it, if he actually exists, then maybe I’m not crazy. Maybe this is actually going to work … READ MORE.
J.W. Wood
Out of Nineveh
Jonah Buitschaffer recalled what he’d been doing when old man Johnson clattered into the bunker. He’d been framing an extension to one side of Johnson’s survival chamber, reaching into the dark earth with his nail gun to join two pieces of timber.
Old Johnson had big sweat patches under the arms of the baggy T-shirt that engulfed his skinny frame. Holding a length of two-by-four up against the rocks and mud, Jonah watched as Johnson barrelled towards him. Leaves and filth skittered off his boots, thin chest heaving.
“It’s happening. I’m locking myself in. You can stay or go.” Johnson’s breathing slowed down as he spoke … READ MORE.
Christopher Hadin
Landing
It was an hour before the sun came up, and he had never seen the lake so still. Tiny ripples came from occasional drops of condensation off the dock. Each drop caused a widening circle to gently spread past the frames of the boat hoists, heading out to the open water of the lake.
He closed his eyes, thinking of a poem he read in school, something about the widening gyre of a falcon. He couldn’t remember what it was supposed to mean. But the widening part he remembered, and it gave the ripples greater significance. He wished he could remember the rest.
Into this stillness at the end of the dock came the sound of an engine. As it grew near, he could also hear the radio pounding through the dim early morning. He turned and watched the car drive down to the edge of the boat landing and stop. The radio stayed on for a second, then shut off. All was quiet again … READ MORE.
Paul John Hausleben
A Few Beers with Jesus
Every Tuesday for about five years, they met for beers at the local gin joint. Fifth and Main Street. It was a family joint. Nothing fancy, but the beer was always cold. Pints were still only four bucks. They met here many years ago, became drinking buds. The two Jersey guys just hit it off, and now they had a tradition. Except if Tuesday fell on a holiday.
Matt and Dave. … READ MORE.
Shawn McClure
Down to the River
I go down to the river to pray, studying about that good old way.
I carry a walking stick and poke the stilt grass like a blind man to chase away the snakes that might be hiding. The ferns are being choked out by invasive stilt grass, so I squat down and weed around them, exposing them to light and air. I whisper to the maidenhair fern, “Who shall wear the starry crown?” … READ MORE.
NONFICTION
Jessica Lynne Henkle
Seeds
During the Covid lockdown, like most people in America, I tried to take up gardening—a short-lived enterprise in which I learned that, just because I planted something, this did not mean it would grow. Too many elements were out of my control: the sun (or lack thereof), the ivy-ravaged soil, the vast and varied bugs, not to mention the squirrels who treated anything I brought into the yard as a new addition to their salad bar. It wasn’t long before I gave up and turned my attention to houseplants, whose environment I could more easily curate and with which I’ve had far better success … READ MORE.
Kathryn Thompson
The Problem with Susan: An Autobiography
Like Susan Pevensie, I must confess a fondness for lipstick. I love the colors, the shimmers, the creamy textures, even if I do sometimes buy the wrong brands that break my lips out in rashes. I love the experiments, of seeing which shades will turn me into a sultry Calormene princess or a forest dryad or Snow White herself—a character I have recently realized Susan would have recognized, had the Pevensies been real-life children rather than typed and printed ones. I love reds the best. They look nice with my dark hair and make me feel like a post-war socialite, like I’m missing pin-curls and kitten heels and a brisk walk down brick roads on the way to tea. I can’t fault Susan for her love of the stuff; it’s a young woman’s Turkish Delight … READ MORE.
Taylor McKay Hathorn
Seven Days with Ethel
My friends Steve and Deirdre have a yellow dog named Ethel, who is a stray that they finally enticed to live with them after exercising copious amounts of patience and coordinating a visit to the vet after a lost fight with a neighborhood raccoon.
Last fall, they asked if I could spend a week with Ethel. They’d pay me, they promised, as if the love of your friends alone isn’t enough to make you cross an ocean for them, to say nothing of spending a week with their cute dog who almost smiles with her little canine teeth when you say the word w-a-l-k in front of her … READ MORE.
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