Short story 

1193 creative works found

• Fish n Chips
  by Nina Cullen

  / “The Hawaiian pack will be another couple of minutes,” Lindsay apologised to the boy in blue board shorts. He shrugged and she follo…

  / “The Hawaiian pack will be another couple of minutes,” Lindsay apologised to the boy in blue board shorts. He shrugged and she followed the freckles on his back as he retreated back to his girlfriend who was sitting on the steps outside. She dropped the banana and pineapple fritters into the oil one at a time. They plopped under then rose to the top with oil fizzing at their edges like a Berocca. She stood back from the deep fryer and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. Two more hours and she could untie her apron, switch t-shirts and walk down to the water to go for a quick swim. The first dip under was magic, it washed the chicken salt from under her fingers, the fish smell from her hair and the semi-scowl of injustice from her face. / From her place behind the counter Lindsay could smell the salt air and see the gulls but she couldn’t see the beach. She served the hungry people all lured by a salt water dip and the dream of a tan. They walked past in a selection of paint-chart shades, rude reds that were going to hurt to sleep on, browns so baked they were more a texture than a colour and yellows that had come out of a bottle for the day. They walked in bikinied, boardshorted, barefoot and thronged. And then they walked out again and it was then that Lindsay felt the distance over the counter and out the door. / She hadn’t left the city these holidays, not once. There were girls whose families owned houses up or down the coast, the whole family packed their daily life together and just moved it to another town. Her friend Crystal had posters on the wall and clothes permanently in the cupboard at her holiday house. Lindsay had stayed with Crystal and her family for a week in the September holidays. She was so happy to be there, tucked neatly in a real bed that wasn’t just a mattress on the floor. Yet the whole week she had been shadowed by something unsettling. She didn’t like not being happy for Crystal but she hated going to bed every night with a new list of things to wish she had; her own room in a holiday house, two parents, coco pops for breakfast, naturally olive skin, siblings on either side of her, a grandfather, a natural patience for fishing, a Mum who gave her pocket money. She wasn’t sure if it was green-eyed or not but there did feel like there was some sort of monster inside Lindsay. Better not to enjoy lovely things if it meant then lying awake at night, every thought starting with the impossible mantra of ‘I wish……’ / The idea was supposed to be that if you really wished for something it would come true. That it was all a matter of discipline and dedication in the wishing. Hard enough, was that about squinting your eyes and creasing your forehead? Wasn’t it enough that Lindsay lay in bed and sometimes cried about all the things she thought she would never get? When she was at their school fete last year she had bought raffle tickets for a home entertainment system. She thought that maybe because she really wanted it, it would be her name that got pulled out of the barrel and that maybe it really was all fair in the end, all of this random stuff. She was so sure she would win, so sure that it was time to balance everything else out that she felt she was owed. / “Green 57. McLintock,” the Vice Principal’s voice echoed with the same intonation from assemblies. Be careful what you wish for – not at all, there was no justice in this world and no need to be cautious about wishing. / / “Looking for any extra shifts over Christmas?” Roger had taken Lindsay aside before she left one Thursday night. He had a pair of tongs still in his hands that he pointed at her and they glistened with the dribbles of everything they had touched. / “I guess so,” Lindsay answered. / “Have a think about it. Long hot summer,” he winked, “there will be as much work as you want. You a morning or afternoon start on Saturday?” / “Afternoon,” Lindsay replied. She preferred an early start where her shift wasn’t always there throughout the day, hanging around like an unwritten essay. / The mystery with Roger was that he seemed to love what he did. He was always whistling and smiling and from what the older ladies had told Lindsay about his life she wasn’t sure that there was much to be whistling about. He joked with the customers, even the cranky and indecisive ones. He smiled as he wrestled barbequed chickens from their rotisserie and as he flipped patties over on the hot plate. / / Lindsay stood behind the bain-marie, wiped a strand of hair out of her eyes and got to work on the next order. She had more to add to her wish list behind that counter than in Crystal’s holiday house; to not be working, to be spending the day with friends, to look that good in a Roxy bikini, to have a boyfriend, to have hair that bleached naturally in the sun…… / “Number 13, Hawaiian pack,” Lindsay called over the hiss of the hot plate. The boy in the blue board shorts walked up to the counter. The shorts sat low on his hips, leaving a belt of white skin. The hair that was bleached on his stomach darkened there in a line that disappeared under his Velcro. / “$7.00 thanks.” / He held a bottle of coke up. / “And the Coke, that’s $10 exactly.” Lindsay blushed, $10 exactly? He didn’t care that she worked here so many hours that getting an order adding up to a neat dollar was worth mentioning. He gave her a handful of coins. Nervous of touching his fingers, she dropped some of them, they rolled off the counter and onto the floor. Lindsay picked up the few stray coins and counted them out in a fluster. She lost count and started again, hating that the boy was watching her. / “Sorry, I need another 50 cents.” / The boy raised his eyebrows and stuck a hand in his pocket, bringing it out empty. “Bec,” he called outside, “you got 50 cents?” / Lindsay looked down at the bench to avoid the hungry customers who couldn’t believe 50 cents was the reason they hadn’t placed their order yet. A man came forward to the counter and slapped down a coin. / “50 cents?” / “Thanks buddy!” the boy took his bag and disappeared in the same direction every other tanned boy went. / “Can I order now?” The man wasn’t really asking a question. He was wearing the Dad combination of a t-shirt over speedoes. His legs were meaty and white and covered in hair that was still wet and slicked. He stood there half arms crossed and began his order, “One calamari and chips, two fish and chips, a hamburger with barbeque sauce and a medium serve of chips.” / “That’ll be about ten minutes.” Lindsay handed him a ticket, “You’re number 22.” He snatched the ticket away and walked towards the door in heavy I’ve-got-the-shits steps. People only ever seemed to order when they were starving and the extra wait of ten minutes seemed outrageous to them. Lindsay started to hate him on principle of his rudeness and the fact that his t-shirt wasn’t long enough to hide what she didn’t want to see of his speedoes. / / “See ya!” Lindsay balled up her apron and threw it into the washing basket. She had been dreaming about this all day. She walked out through the front exit to savour the freedom and remind herself what the world looked like when you weren’t behind a counter. The world looked great. Afternoon sun was giving everything a makeover. She shook her towel out of her bag and yanked off her t-shirt. Be-gone o odour of chicken fat, be-gone scent of battered fish. / There were lots of people on the boardwalk and plenty of people at the tide line but there was no one in the water. Further down the beach, there were lifesavers with mega phones. Lindsay walked past the outdoor shower and kicked her thongs off. The queue of people were all facing the water and looking out with hands shading their eyes as if myopia could be lifted by resting your hand on your brow. / “What’s going on?” Lindsay asked an older lady. / “Shark alarm,” the woman answered, “they’ve closed the beach until further notice.” / “When did it happen?” / “Just a few minutes ago, they’re still clearing swimmers out down that end.” / Lindsay followed the woman’s finger to the pacing lifesavers. / Beach closed. That’d be bloody right! / She turned around and trudged off to the bus stop.

• Frederick's Freedom
  by LeislEgan

  Frederick had always wondered what life was like outside the bowl. It drove his wife Lynda mad. But Frederick couldn’t help it…

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  SHIRT STORIES - GLENDA!!! LIFES TOO SHORT TO BE MISERABLE
  by cottoncandy

  This tee tells the tale of Glenda, illustrating that life is too short to be miserable… enjoy!!!!!

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  Middle C
  by Midori Furze

  This is my very short story. / The girl in my illustration is called “Miss Clef” / I have some stories with her. There is a episode from “Middle C” in my journal. / Please visit it too!!

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  Hold the Mayo
  by John Fish

  He dripped with sexuality when in a group. One on one, he was cold, rejecting and insulting. I ran his errands, swept up broken glass when he fell and listened to screams in the night from memories, dreams, imagined scenes or as he commonly called them, simply, “They.” / They were out there. They were coming. They were communicating from outer space through toilet paper tubes which he refused to throw away leading to an odd collection of plastic bags filled with empty toilet paper rolls. Filling closets. Stuffed under beds. Under counters. / If in some fit of cleaning frenzy I ever even thought of throwing them out I would stop myself before I got out the door. It was like throwing away another’s flag or religious icon even if I didn’t believe in its significance. / “Hold the Mayo,” he said to the waitress. He was behind broad, black sunglasses, a baseball cap pulled down low on smooth white skin and black, clinging clusters of hair. / Which I longed to touch. Which I longed to touch. Which I longed to touch. / I chuckled, knowing that he would soon call her back to revise his order. Again and again and again and then finally say “Forget it, I’m just drinking tonight.” / Always the same. / He said something charming. / I laughed. / He got louder. / People joined in the conversation. It became quit festive. Then a fight would start creeping into the conversation. I would overhear people saying things such as, “What’s he mean by that?” and “That’s not true.” I would pay and shuffle us out the door. / In the car he would be silent. / At home he would not speak. Conversation was inadequate, trivial and unnecessary. He knew what I was thinking. I could never fathom his thoughts in a million years. The walls were both a prison and a security blanket. / Because it was there that “They” would be able to find him. / It was also there that I lived. This abstract is acrylic on canvas 30”x60”

• Open the Cage
  by Damian

  I’m wide awake and dreaming.

  For the Twisted Tales comp on the theme of On the Streets

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  Icy Shore
  by Kathie Nichols

  “The icy wind blew quickly by, making my bones feel like cold stone. I’ll have to pick up the pace a little, get the blood circulating to keep me warm. I really don’t know why I put myself through this torture, at least this time I had enough sense to stretch my limbs before I headed out. Funny thing, once I’m off and away with my blood pumping fast, my skin starts to tingle all over, its not all that bad. I laughed at myself Well, thats what keeps you young and healthy, my Dad used to say…excercise! My thoughts ran off in various directions as always, never can hold a still thought in my head. That’s one for the books….I’ll never be lonely…always having a conversation in my head! I reached the rocks at the end of the shore in no time, not puffing too badly this time. Such a tranquil and peaceful walk….maybe thats what draws me to venture out here alone. I turned and headed for home feeling the exhiliration and sense of well being that always has me coming back for more” Macro photograph from the bark of a tree! All of my photographs are now available to buy in gallery size prints, on paper or canvas* Please contact me directly for sizes and pricing! My Sales / UrbanArt / Panoramics / Rockscapes / Barkscapes / Flowers / Paintings / Sunsets / Story Photoart Please visit my group / Nature’s Macro Canvas / Macro photography group for Abstract Landscapes/Art found in nature! and my new group…... / Abstract Macro Urban Art

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  When Brownie was alive
  by Michael Douglass

  When Brownie was alive we’d ride our bikes through the dry heat and down the red dirt tracks, tires popping as pebbles flew from our paths, always a hot wind harsh and unfriendly. How I hated that wind. Somehow as children though, we overcome things like this, death and heat, sometimes as adults it’s harder. / At the river we’d gather the stones that had been shaped by the water that ran forever through the valley. Its a trickle now, with the years of drought that followed. But I see it as it was, a brown green snake slithering and winding, seemingly never ending. / Once the stones had been rocks and boulders, hills or cliffs by the ocean. Something for man and animal to stand on up high, or perch, bearers to things seemingly unreachable, but now they were small and worn, carried and tumbled and rounded into submissive pebbles. All semblance of might long gone. / When we had a pile we’d skim them. Counting the bounces, seeing who could throw furthest, bounce highest. Now the stones from our hands were glorious things, slicing through the air and slicking off the water, shooting and arcing. / Alive once again. Michael Douglass, 2009.

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  Two Young Sorceres's
  by silverstrummer - David Everitt

  “Two Young Sorceres’s” – A Collaboration Of Two Artist’s Firstly I would like to apologise for adding this into my “Art” and not my “Writing” which is where my story belongs but at the time I did not know how to add the “Artwork” into my description. The Artwork belongs to AnneMei I would like to thank AnnMei for her kind consent of using her artwork to compliment the story! Please visit AnnMei” she is truly a wonderful Artist. This short story was inspired by the work of AnnMei called “Two Young Sorceress” We hope you enjoy this story as much as we enjoyed putting this together! FEATURED IN :- / 1) Dimensions – March 2009 2) Freedom In Words – March 2009 3) In – Between – March 2009 4) The Feature Fraternity – April 2009 5) Bits and Pieces – 21st April 2009 6) First Things Group – 17th May 2009 FEATURED, FEATURE IN :- / The Feature Fraternity Group – 31st March 2009 “Live Life For Today And Save A Smile For Somebody Tomorrow” – David “Two Young Sorceres’s” Copyright 2009 / All Rights Reserved – MCN: CE3A2-0A68E-8D118 / Two sisters Arina and Dasha had to stay at Grandpa’s house in the woods, whilst their Mum was in hospital having a baby. Well Grandpa’s old house was a big house and had lots of windows, chimneys and loads of shadows on the ground which was so scary, there was a big garden that went all around the house with brick walls as high as giants too! One day Grandpa told the girls to go and play upstairs whilst he washes his car outside, Arina and Dasha went upstairs and decided to play hide and seek, Dasha hid behind some big curtains, unfortunately Dasha forgot to hide her feet too. Arina shouts “Coming ready or not” well Arina looked up and down the long corridor and she saw these two little feet that were only half hidden. Arina pulled back the big heavy curtains and shouted gotcha! She had frightened Dasha but only for a moment as behind her was a secret door, they both looked at each other and smiled. Arina opened the door and saw stairs that were leading upwards towards the attic. Both girls went to investigate where the stairs led to, Arina turned the knob very slowly so as not to make a noise just in case someone was in the room! The door knob rattled a little and as she turned, the door was opening, there was a whooshing noise that rushed clean air into the loft! All of a sudden the room seemed to groan and then lit up and smelt so fresh and both girls rushed over to the window and saw grandpa still washing his car! They looked around the room and saw a big heavy chest over in the corner covered in cobwebs and dust they both went over to investigate! Dasha tried to open the lid but couldn’t budge it then Arina gave it a big push, suddenly the lid flew open and a bright light sprinkled gold flakes over the room, all of a sudden the room had disappeared and in its place was a bench on the hill, there was a lovely smell of grass and fluffy clouds floating by. The girls now very excited looked into the big case and pulled out some old clothes one pair of striped socks, two gold speckled dress’s, two black tea-shirts and two weird looking black hats oh and one pair of arm length pink gloves and a pink sash with a bow on it! The girls hurriedly changed clothes, Arina wore the socks, dress, tea-shirt, pink gloves that reached up to her elbows, she then put her hair in a bun and put the black hat on, wow she looked a scary sight but she also looked cute in a way.Dasha had no socks to put on or any pink gloves, so she put on the skirt and black tea-shirt and tied the pink sash around her waist it looked nice with the bow, a double WOW, WOW these two young ladies now looked like the fairytale Sorcerer’s! As soon as the hats went on a shudder came over them, then a fantastic feeling of power came over them too! The girls saw lots of Wooden Tracks in a pile, so they both decided to build a train track. It took them hours they thought, as they had managed to lay the tracks all over the hills and across the dales it didn’t take them as long as they thought only because they were wearing their magical hats! After the girls had finished building the tracks they decided that they had earned a rest, so they found a park bench on the crest of a hill. They both went over and sat down on the seat, Arina took off her left sock and draped it over the arm of the bench complaining it was too tight and that it hurt her toes, then she put her hands underneath her chin with a look of deep thought, now Arina always had a soft spot for steam trains and loved Thomas The Tank Engine she thought with a smile “wouldn’t it be lovely if a steam train come along our track just like Thomas” she then thought “no it won’t happen but wouldn’t it be nice if it did!” Dasha looks on playing with a wooden doll that she had found behind the bench all bound up with string. As Dasha was removing the string she said “He looks like Pinocchio but from now on I will call him Pinoch, then all of a sudden she shouts out making Arina Jump, “I think I saw him smile and wink his eyes at me!” Dasha couldn’t believe it ………. Was it true? she thought or did I imagine it? Dasha’s blonde hair had now come undone and fell down her left side. All of a sudden there was a sound Woo Woo, Chuff Chuff Arina and Dasha looked at each other and turned round quickly, they saw a wooden steam train hurtling down the track towards them, steam coming out from the funnel. The girls jumped for joy it looked so big and so real! All of a sudden the train stopped near the bench, Dasha noticed a tear in Pinoch’s eye, she wiped the tear away and Pinoch gave a little grin,Dasha shouted to Arina “Pinoch has come to life, quick come and look!” The young girls looked at each other amazed as Pinoch had somehow come alive! A little voice said “Oh thank you so much for setting me free, I have been tied up with string and I have been behind the bench for a long, long time and you came by and saved me!” The girls still amazed that Pinoch could talk, they asked him where do you come from? Where do you live?” Pinoch replied “I live right over there in Wood Town” pointing over to the hills, “My friends and I were playing and we play tie up and we have to roll down the hill! Unfortunately there was a big wind and I got blown from down the valley and up the dales and I landed here, it’s a good job the bench had stopped me rolling over to the next hill, I don’t know where I am really, can you help me please to get back home?” Arina and Dasha looked at each other and thought, and thought with their imaginations working, they both looked at the train and went to see the driver. Unfortunately there wasn’t any driver all that was in the train cab was a note and two buttons, one being green for “On” and the other being red for “Off” there was a dial to put in your destinations and also a chord for the whistle too. Well the girls said to Pinoch we will have to try it and see what happens so they all get on board feeling excited with their new friend and new adventure! Pinoch put in the destination Wood Town and Arina pressed the green button and the train started up and began to increase in speed. Dasha pulled the chord for the whistle the train was getting up to speed and the smoke was coming from the funnel. Over the dales and over the hills they went they saw wooden ladybirds and wooden mice and a wooden farmer on his wooden tractor waving. They finally arrived in Wood Town, Dasha pressed the red button and the train slowed right down and stopped, they were greeted by a big crowd of wooden people, clapping their hand and jumping for joy. The girls had brought their friend Pinoch back home! / A wooden helicopter flew by very low and the pilot shouted “Thank goodness you have found our friend we thought we had lost him for sure, I have been searching for him for weeks! Pinoch jumped off the train and shouted thank you to the girls. / Dasha looked at the dial in the cab and put in “Park Bench” and Arina pressed the green button for go! The train started to move and the girls waved at all the people and shouted goodbye, they saw Pinoch who was running after the train shouting for joy as he blew them a kiss to say thank you and farewell. Arina pulled the chord and the train whistled as it sped away from Wood Town! Over the hills and down the dales they went. It seemed a long journey but didn’t they have some fun? The train came up towards the top of the hill and they could see the park bench, Dasha pressed the red button and the train slowed down and stopped. The girls got off the train and stretched right out as it had been a long journey. They sat on the bench and Arina said to Dasha “ Do you know what we have done today?” Dasha replied “Yes we have built a train track all around this beautiful countryside, and I found Pinoch and took all that string off him, we caught the train and took him home to Wood Town, on the way we saw a wooden mouse, a wooden ladybird, a wooden farmer on his wooden tractor, we saw a wooden helicopter and loads of wooden people too, we have done a lot in one day haven’t we?” / Arina replied “Yes we have, but isn’t it funny because it was like a magical mystery tour we did and I think it is something to do with when we opened that large trunk in Grandpa’s attic there was gold flakes floating around and the room changed into hills and dales and we put the hats on and we shuddered I think they have turned us both into Sorcerer’s! “Oh heck” shouts Arina, “it’s Grandpa, he’s shouting us,” the girls took off their hats and as soon as they did the hills and dales had disappeared altogether and they were back in Grandpa’s attic. “Girls are you up there?” “Yes Grandpa” the girls shouted back and quickly undressed and put their own clothes back on. They looked out of the little window in the attic and saw Grandpa outside just finishing washing his car. As they closed the door behind them the room creaked back to it’s normal state, dusty and their was no evidence that the girls had ever been in there! The girls went outside to Grandpa’ and gave him a huge hug and kiss, Grandpa said “Have you been playing nicely girls?” they answered back “Yes Grandpa we have!” / “Good” Grandpa replied “Guess what girls? We are going to see your Mum in hospital and your baby brother too!” The girls jumped up and down they were so pleased that Mum was alright and that they had a baby brother too. The girls gave Grandpa a big hug and a kiss, Grandpa was leaking as a little tear came from Grandpa’s eyes because he was so happy and loved his family!

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  There's Beauty in the Breakdown
  by Selkie

  Selfportrait, series Drink up babydoll / Are you in or are you out? / Leave your things behind / ‘Cause it’s all going off without you / Excuse me too busy / you’re writing a tragedy / These mess-ups you bubble-wrap / When you’ve no idea what you’re like So, let go / Jump in / Oh well, what you waiting for? / It’s all right / ‘Cause there’s beauty in the breakdown / So, let go / Just get in / Oh, it’s so amazing here / It’s all right / ‘Cause there’s beauty in the breakdown It gains the more it gives / And then advances with the form / So, honey, back for more / Can’t you see that all the stuff’s essential? / Such boundless pleasure / We’ve no time for later / Now you can wait / You roll your eyes / We’ve twenty seconds to comply So, let go / Jump in / Oh well, what you waiting for? / It’s all right / ‘Cause there’s beauty in the breakdown / So, let go / Just get in / Oh, it’s so amazing here / It’s all right / ‘Cause there’s beauty in the breakdown ~Let Go, Frou Frou

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  Beauty in the Breakdown
  by Selkie

  Selfportrait – series Drink up, babydoll / Are you in or are you out? / Leave your things behind / ‘Cause it’s all going off without you / Excuse me too busy / you’re writing a tragedy / These mess-ups you bubble-wrap / When you’ve no idea what you’re like So, let go / Jump in / Oh well, what you waiting for? / It’s all right / ‘Cause there’s beauty in the breakdown / So, let go / Just get in / Oh, it’s so amazing here / It’s all right / ‘Cause there’s beauty in the breakdown It gains the more it gives / And then advances with the form / So, honey, back for more / Can’t you see that all the stuff’s essential? / Such boundless pleasure / We’ve no time for later / Now you can wait / You roll your eyes / We’ve twenty seconds to comply So, let go / Jump in / Oh well, what you waiting for? / It’s all right / ‘Cause there’s beauty in the breakdown / So, let go / Just get in / Oh, it’s so amazing here / It’s all right / ‘Cause there’s beauty in the breakdown ~Let Go, Frou Frou

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  Surrounded
  by John Fish

  Mrs. Beam jumped up from where she had been squatting in the flower bed with a start. She dropped the old silver tablespoon that she had been digging with. She looked down and saw earth lumps fall from the spoon and suddenly felt distressed, afraid, alone. She did not recognize the noise that had startled her. She rubbed her hands on the legs of her jeans and felt dirt. She cocked her head to one side because she thought it seemed the thing to do. She had seen people do that in cartoons and on television shows when they were trying to figure something out or trying to hear better. A bee buzzed around a flower bud and then landed on her arm and tickled her. “Stop that,” She shouted and brushed the insect away. It smiled and flew to another portion of the garden where a group of kittens was holding out a bowl of honey and flax cereal as a peace offering. It continued on the buzzed up to the roof, where it landed on a paint chip. This bee was rather a rebel and often refused to sit on flower buds because it felt that it was such a stereotype for bees. / Mrs. Beam playfully waved her hands through the air to call back the strange sound that had surprised her. It didn’t seem to be coming from anywhere and yet it was all around her. Or was it inside her. “That’s it,” She said to nobody in particular, which was good, because nobody was around. “It is simply me. That song must be coming from inside me.” Yet she knew she wasn’t singing or humming or whistling. So she sat down on the ground next the a flowering shrub and picked at it’s leaves as she contemplated. / “Stop pinching me,” The bush belched out from it’s roots. / She folded her hands and frowned. Then she realized the melody she had heard was there all the time. She just had to be quiet to hear it. The music was a pattern that emitted from, what she could only think of as her cells. Yet she knew it was much deeper than that. It was like cells within the cells. And they were all singing to her. Or rather she was singing to herself. Then she realized the bush was also singing, but to a different tune. And the bee. And all the flowers. Suddenly the garden seemed to be an orchestra. So she made herself comfortable and sat for several hours listening to the concert. Surrounded is acrylic paint on paper 15”x22”

• Men Talk
  by Anthea Slade

  A sand fly, large and black, landed on Dylan’s red nose and stung him. He slapped his nose. ‘Ouch!’ He shook his white hair, the colour…

  MEN TALK featured in Anger Management 18-8-09 / MEN TALK featured in CORE on the 13-8-09 Caution A short story. / A dialogue. / Written by a woman. / Through the eyes of two men. / About their two women. 12 years it has taken me to release this short story to the eyes of the public. I have had this short story sitting in private viewing for the past three weeks waiting for the courage to put this one out there. Ushna and her fabulous group has given my humble short story voice and recognition. This is one of my most valued features. / Thank you. Voice has been in my life a central theme. When I was at University studying Masters in Adult Education, I studied Voice and its implications in Women Studies and Autobiography and Life Long Learning. I was interested in giving voice to women in my first Autobiography Two Voices Two Women, a dialogue between my mother and I. And in my second autobiography, My life of love, loss and learning a voice to my love of all the important men in my life from father to teacher to lover to mentor to muse. With Men Talk I wanted to do something quite different and write a short story not only through the voice and eyes of one man but two men. And I wanted to write through their voice about their women. This was an exciting challenge and I have always held this little story close to me and now after all these years have brought it out to the public. I have read much and studied the men’s movement and men’s perspective as much as I have studied women’s movements and perspectives. So I just want to thank my friends on RedBubble and Ushna for allowing me this wonderful platform to bring forward not only my poems that I am writing now but for also allowing me to share those pieces of my writing history that no one has ever seen before. With Love, Anthea

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  The Golden Necklace, Night at the Museum Ball - II
  by F.A. Moore

  This version appears darker, lacking the colored light bands crossing the face, the white facial outline, and the blowing sheers behind her right shoulder. I am posting this because I like to experiment; and want your valued opinion of which version you like better and why. NOTE: “I deleted the OLD VERSION. FEATURES 2009-07-10 The Golden Necklace…Museum-II in Lifeline 2009-07-10 The Golden Necklace…Museum-II in ABSTRACT DIGITAL ART AND WRITING Version I was featured before I could change the image to this version II. Therefore I loaded a different page: 2009-07-09 The Golden Necklace… Museum in ! Inspired Art ! The Golden Necklace, Night at the Museum Ball Rumored provenance of the golden necklace notwithstanding, no one could deny that it transferred magic to the wearer. The tale of the golden necklace is the story of its beneficiaries, their travels, travails, passions, and play. Tonight the golden necklace would drape the neck of Jill Monroe. It was a special occasion. She was going to the Fine Arts Museum Ball to dance the dance of her life and to gaze once again on her favorite painting in the world, Van Gogh’s brilliant Field with Poppies, visiting from the Kunsthalle. There on her dresser lay the necklace, so beautiful and other-worldly. Her perfectly manicured nails gently nudged the beads along an invisible straight line. Yes, it would contrast boldly with her pink floral gown. And he would like that. He would notice, and would lean in to tell her so, touching her ear with his hushed whisper of approval. What neither of them knew was the magic that the golden necklace would bring that night, when it went to the museum ball. *—by F.A. Moore, July 2009 Digital Fine Art by F.A. Moore, July 9, 2009 / First work in a series, “The Golden Necklace”. Special thanks to stock providers katanaz-stock for the two models, which I used for model and hair, respectively; and to FantasyStock for the pink peonies used for the dress. Textures over or under the main background are from: B-squared stock. The backdrop is my ever-evolving “life collage”, featured in other works, including “Life-Giver” and “The Choice” series. Besides the background, the life collage was also used for the “mosaic” in the pink ball gown. Finally the necklace is made up of over 30 replicas of the circle in Golden Silk, a work just uploaded as a reference for this series. DETAIL / Face detail (Click image for 100% scale view of the face.) / Her Right Eye and Background detail, click for expanded image, full scale

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  Dark Shoreline
  by John Fish

  White sands and snowflakes floated about the rust-colored fog as Mr. Kimberly traveled with freckled feet across loose boards and headed toward a thin blank spot on the horizon. Kimberly reached with sweating, shaking hands for a flagpole that wasn’t really there. / “I was meant to be king,” He shouted at slivers of shadow and clouds of unknown closed eyes that studded a brick wall. He fell. And in falling, his dreams became reality. As soon as he stopped trying to breath he was able to feel the curtains of doom raise like a theater’s opening night. / As his body molded onto weathered wood moorings, he felt for a hand to grasp with his own hand, with his own heart, with his own brain that fizzled like frying eggs on a platter. He reach farther and farther. It felt empty. Yet he knew intuitively that there was something there. Something strong inside the void. And then he felt it. The emptiness that was as full as a lover’s arms, as full as a mother’s eyes, as full as a friend’s laughter. / Kimberly held on. Tight. Not for dear life. For it was too late for that. He held on to eternity. And it held him back. Dark Shoreline is acrylic, India ink and gesso on paper / 15”x22”

• 

  Boat Has Landed
  by John Fish

  Walking quietly, he crept along the hidden harbor lights and blew them out. One by one. He slid between wood and water and felt for dry land. His fingers slipped through sand that trickled across his chest, down his pant legs and onto the boardwalk. He looked up and saw, through beams of fog, through wedges of flashing light, through fluttering wings of either angels or doves or pigeons, saw through countless pillows of resentment that had curdled into anger, saw through pangs of love lost and love found and love forgotten and love unappreciated and love lust love lust love lust, saw through the eyelids of the being he was born as that he had not remembered until this second, and saw saw saw the boat come in. It was a sad little ship. Yet it was just right for him. Perfect. And he was glad he had waited. Now he could sail. “Boat Has Landed” is acrylic and gesso on heavy paper 15”x20”

• 

  Where is That Coming From?
  by John Fish

  We stepped out onto concrete steps that were cracked from earthquake disturbance into black veins from which grass had grown, dried, died and sprouted again. A red flash was reflected in my parked Dodge Neon. It occurred to me that if I’d known the auto would receive so much attention, I would have washed it sometime in the last six months. Then the red glob of a ball flew into tree tops and sat on one limb of an old palm, as if making a nest. Yet the surrounding air and light continued to spin and whirl with white streaks folding and unfolding like shafts of shiny fabric in the sun. / “I heard a loud boom,” my friend said. / “I missed that. But maybe it came from that red ball.” / “What ball?” He glanced around the yard. / A head shot out of a window from the house next door. / “What was that?” The face was frightened and confused. “I felt rumble like a truck going by.” / I stared at the red ball. It twirled and flew in a circle around my head. It bloomed into tiny feathers that cascaded across the sky and then fell like snow onto the lawn. / “That was cool,” My friend smiled and turned his head toward me. “It was like a symphony.” / The face of the stranger next door lit up with laughter. “Wow that was wild. I felt like I was dancing a jig and yet I didn’t move my legs an inch.” / I looked toward the face and wondered if it was an old man or woman. It was hard to tell. Oh, well that’s Hollywood for you. I said, “I guess it must have been all in your head.” / “That’s impossible,” The race frowned with overly red lips and pulled down a wrinkled brow under platinum hair. “Are you calling me crazy?” / “No,” I replied. “I was just saying that things aren’t always what they appear to be.” / “Nonsense,” My friend said. “I know what I see. And what I feel. And what I hear. And I heard a symphony, dammit.” / “OK. OK. I have to leave.” I shook hands and started to hug my friend goodbye and then realized he backed away slightly with a quick jerk as if repelled. I thought how odd it was that I felt such magnetic attraction and he obviously felt just the opposite force. I opened the pulled the car door open and glanced up at the red ball. It was gone. I suddenly wondered if I was going crazy. Then I thought that at least I wasn’t alone. Those too were loonier than I was. Where is That Coming From? is acrylic and India ink on paper 15”x20”

• 

  The Cast
  by Chris Baker

  Here’s a little ‘pet-project’ I’ve been nurturing and working on continuously for a few years now, which is a childrens’ short story based on a real-life historical character. / These are the main characters of the story … although there are many more characters there also ;) The final illustrations and (storyboard) I hope to post later in the day :) Graphite Pencil and Photoshop

• 

  *September 9, 2009*
  by Leon Walker

  “Work Wonders” is now in print. Wherever you may be today, / take just a little time for you . . . / Visit: www.leon-walker.com / I hope that you will be glad you did. Give someone you love the gift of a book. The book is available online / through Barnes and Noble (www.bn.com), Amazon.com or the publisher at: Xlibris.com You may also order through your local bookstore if you happen to be browsing.* Another magnificent design by Lilith. *You can find more of Lilith’s work here: Lilith

• 

  Poe
  by ZOMBIE RUST

  Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849) / Quick portrait. Inks.

• Now available in soft cover
  by Anne van Alkemade

  The new Flash Fiction Book … Flashback … is now available on Blurb. / Check out the preview here / ...

  The new Flash Fiction Book … Flashback … is now available on Blurb. / Check out the preview here / / Please note, the book was only uploaded this evening (Monday 16 November). / I have ordered a preview copy but the postage-free deal with Redbubble will most likely run out before the preview copy arrives. / / It’s up to you, order but caveat emptor. / HOWEVER, the final pre-print was done by our very own GeorgieGirl and beautifully done I might add. So I have every confidence in the product. Please note, on check out you will need to quote the discount voucher available as a Redbubble member. Details are here FYI / There is no mark up on this book even though available for sale through my own account. In other words, available to you at cost.

• 

  Winter Landscape...A Weekend in the Country
  by Janis Zroback

  By the time we got to Little Milton, the weather had changed…whose idea was it any way to go down on this weekend of all weekends….after all it was Christmas…Pamela had extended the invitation weeks ago, and none of us were keen on the idea then…a remote place…a house no one had seen, or heard of…Wren House?...the name conjured up nothing but a sense of moulding age…on Friday someone, maybe Tom, who was always bored and looking for excitement, made what seemed now to be an idiotic suggestion, that we should all drive down and visit old Pam…the day started out fine and we were in great spirits…even the ancient Rover seemed in good form as we rolled out of the city…it was just after dawn so there was no traffic, but by mid afternoon the wind changed, and it became very noticeable that there was no heat in the car…after the mornings hilarity, silence grew till it was almost palpable…even Dahlia’s feeble attempts to continue telling jokes fell flat….the sky grew much darker, and flurries of snow mixed with rain battered the windshield….Mark’s driving, erratic even in good weather, became downright dangerous on the treacherous roads over the downs…suddenly the old faithful car seemed to make a last gasp for breath and then died….peering out at the unfamiliar landscape we knew the worst… we had now lost our way...Janis (fiction..A Weekend in the Country) Watercolour on Clayboard..part of the Winter Landscape Collection, which is now featured on my art pages...HERE / And HERE / Effet De Neige

• 

  Winter Landscape...Lost
  by Janis Zroback

  “Lost” continues the story of four friends who set out for a Christmas weekend in the country…in the first chapter, seen HERE the friends’ day starts out joyfully, but soon deteriorates along with the weather, and they quickly become lost... Watercolour on Saunders Not Paper A moment or two of stunned silence, as it slowly dawned on us that we had no idea where we were…it was the days before Mapquest and GPS and cell phones…we-were-lost…the day was getting rapidly darker as the last of the pallid sun sank behind the hills…Dahlia started to whimper and Mark, never at his best in a crisis told her to shut up, at which she burst into tears…there was no help for it…we would have to get out and walk until we found shelter somewhere…at this suggestion Dahlia’s whimpers turned into yells…she had no boots, only thin shoes suitable for city streets…hearing this Mark completely lost his temper….Dahlia always drove him mad…one wonders why he repeatedly sought her out…after calming them both down I said I felt sure (not really), that the area looked somewhat familiar and there would be a farm or something nearby…after some argument, and taking as much as we could carry, we set off, Dahlia wearing a pair of Tom’s boots which were too large for her, all the while sobbing that we should stay with the car… / The road stretched ahead, bleak and desolate, here and there, patches of gleaming ice set to trap the unwary traveller, hill upon hill rising behind…a rocky terrain that did not bode well for anyone trying to negotiate it…not a creature stirred and no bird sang…the wind blew stinging ice pellets at our faces, and in no time our gloves and feet were soaked…but there were ancient dry stone walls edging the road..a sign that somewhere nearby would be shelter…..we turned a corner…”.LOOK” I cried..Janis Z..Fiction..A Weekend in the Country..Ch.2 Lost.. / A Weekend in the Country

• 

  Winter Landscape...The Grove
  by Janis Zroback

  “The Grove” continues the story of four friends who set out for a Christmas weekend in the country…in the first chapter, seen HERE the friends’ day starts out joyfully, but soon deteriorates along with the weather, and they quickly become lost…in the second chapter seen HERE they decide to walk to their destination, but without any idea how to get there... Watercolour on Saunders Not Paper Look” I cried, but my cry fell on deaf ears…Dahlia, who had still been sobbing that we should stay with the car, terrified that she would fall, stumbled and actually fell, and before we knew it slid rapidly into one of the ditches that hidden by snow, lined the roadway…how to get her out without their falling on the treacherous ice, elicited a heated argument between Tom and Mark, Dahlia screaming and thrashing about all the while…finally by Tom yelling that “the more she moved the deeper she sank”, Dahlia got the message and the two men by lying prone on the icy lane, managed to drag her out dripping wet, but… without the boots…it was quickly apparent we would never get them back…no one could possibly reach down to try and find them…we dried her off as best we could, wrapped her in one of the blankets we had luckily brought with us and the two men elected to carry her in turn on their backs…that meant our progress was slower than ever…worse yet, the only torch we had was now flickering badly…to save the battery I turned it off, hoping that we would be guided by the light of the waning moon…... / Suddenly I remembered what I had seen…I turned back excitedly…”Look there”...I pointed to a spot ahead of us…I had seen what looked like a small sheltered grove, but what had really astonished me was the light…blazing brilliant light pouring down through the trees as if from the skies…”Look where? asked Tom…”There” I replied…then stopped silent…my hand dropped to my side…the light had gone…there was nothing there….only impenetrable darkness stared back at us... / Lost / A Weekend in the Country