Fool In The Rain

The rejection stings. Dave stumbles down the sidewalk, absorbed in his own thoughts, oblivious to the people walking nearby or the rain pouring overhead. Motor memory guides him back to his apartment despite never making a decision to walk home. He's too preoccupied with being left standing on the curb looking a fool. The others were probably still laughing.

All he knows with any certainty is he will never allow himself to be in such a vulnerable position again.

If only he'd been a few seconds quicker, he could have boarded the bus before the door slammed in his face.

Platero And I: Smoke-Dry

There is El Boncalo, Platero. It is too late now to turn around without insulting him.

Look, that eternal hand-rolled cigarette is dangling from his lower lip again. It just smells awful.

Whenever I see him, I think of the time when I was a young man and thought I could impress the girls coming out of the sewing workshop in Calle de la Escula by lighting a cigarette with an American lighter, just like a movie star.

What a fool I was back then, Platero.

Frankly, I don't miss smoking, much like some other things aging makes superfluous.

Apparently.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

Siblings

“Stop it, Sis. Mom and Dad can’t even hear you and there is no one else around. It’s just you and me. You’re making a fool of yourself...again. Get real, it would do you some good. You’re a pretty lousy actress. Stop pretending you’re having a cramp because you are definitely not. I am waiting, missy. Nobody will believe you, you know. In fact, come to think of it: you slipped, I did not push you in the pool at all. Anyway, you can keep your head under water as long as you want to. See if I care.”

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé Suys (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

Fool Moon

It was his initiation day. Just the thought of what was to come turned his stomach upside down, yet having to transform with the entire family watching was a nightmare.

When the time came, he followed the trail through the forest. They were already there, waiting in silence. His parents came for a moment to speak words of encouragement, then joined the others in the circle.

He took a deep breath then looked above him at the night’s sky. He saw the moon rise from behind the crest, silver and round, and he heard himself howl. Something inside him began.

From Guest Contributor Ioana Birdu

The Stuttering Fool

"She sells sea shells by the seashore."

I practiced 'til my eighteenth birthday. My last day of stuttering.

"I will ask Betty Montgomery on a date," I told myself.

When I walked onto the beach behind her sea shell stand, I heard her say to her friend, Jill: "He's such a stuttering fool." She was talking about me. I couldn't ask her but I stayed stutter free.

I bumped into her at the grocery store yesterday.

"Damn, you look good!" Time had been good to her too but I couldn't tell her.

"Who was that, Pa-Pa?" My grandson asked.

"Nobody."

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes

A Fool For Love

Timothy stepped out into the cold evening air and briskly walked to the flower shop to buy a dozen red roses to propose to his girlfriend Isabelle. He had the ring in his inside coat pocket and his proposal branded in his memory.

Timothy pulled out his wallet. “A dozen red roses, please.”

“Big night, sir,” the cashier asked.

“I’m proposing to my girlfriend,” Timothy answered while fumbling for change.

“Good luck, to you.”

“Thanks.”

When Timothy arrived, stunned from what he saw through the living room window, he dropped the roses. Isabelle and his brother Tony were passionately kissing.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Next Time

Every time that bastard comes home, he sweet talks me and tells me things will be different and like a complete fool I take him back and then I get pregnant and he takes off again for a year or two.

I swear to God the next time he shows his face around here I’m going to hit him upside the head with a frying pan, knock him out long enough to pack a bag and clear out for a couple of years myself, leave him to take care of three kids with no help, see how he likes it.

From Guest Contributor Simon Hole

Apple Of His Eye

I see the favor he shows him and it sickens me. Everything seems to be given so freely in this world. And here is one after his own heart, obeying without even the slightest hesitation, never once questioning the directions he is given. There was a time when I was a follower, but I had ambition and drive. He couldn’t take it. Some may call it punishment, but I like to think of it as enlightenment. If this fool won’t come to his senses, perhaps that nice new companion can be swayed. I see the way she eyes that apple.

From Guest Contributor Nicholas Froumis

Nicholas practices optometry in the Bay Area. His writing has appeared in Gravel, Right Hand Pointing, Dime Show Review, Snapdragon: A Journal of Art & Healing, Ground Fresh Thursday, Balloons Lit Journal, and Short Tale 100. He lives in San Jose, CA with his wife, novelist Stacy Froumis, and their daughter.