Crossing The Line

“How can a guy talk with a girl without looking foolish?” asked Paul.

“I’m not the one to ask. Last date dumped me, said I’m boring,” Don grimaced.

The buddies commiserated over their lunches in the school cafeteria when an attractive dark-haired girl glided past them.

“That’s her!” Paul announced. “I’ve been eying her for…”

“Go for it! Be your charming natural self, bro.”

Paul rose from the table to catch up with the girl of his dreams. He asked if he could join her. She accepted.

It was a new frontier he was willing to cross into and experience.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

For the prompt Frontier

Cosmic Illumination

“Northern lights?” Jonathan pointed skyward.

“No. Stardust. We’re too far south for Northern Lights,” replied Dad.

They viewed the spectacle in awe.

“I want to be an astronaut when I grow up,” Jonathan stated.

“I know. You say that often enough.”

“What are you making?”

“Cosmic pudding,” answered Dad, pouring water into a foil bag.

His son’s face changed from fascination to frustration.

“What’s tomorrow’s supper?” Jonathan asked.

“Hamburgers.”

“Real hamburgers?”

“Real, but with pita bread. Buns would cause floating crumbs, a major hazard in a spacecraft.”

“Dad, where’s the nearest burger place?”

“Thought you want to be an astronaut.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

The Not-So-Secret Letter

“It’s of voluminous importance,” grinned Clark.

“Of epic gutsy proportions?” Sam winked.

They surrendered an envelope containing sensitive information to the school library’s reception desk.

Soon afterwards the original recipient of the letter returned, darting to the health reference shelf. Not there? He wiggled discreetly to the employee on duty.

He explained what he had lost. Classmates peered from vantage points between bookshelves as an envelope landed in his hand.

“Thanks,” he said, “Got to go!”

As he fled collective laughter erupted.

He held the letter closely to his heart—words from his girlfriend who commiserated with his unpredictable diarrhea.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

For the prompts Manuscript and Letter.

Adventure Prone

“Careful!” warned the attendant. “Not as cute as popular opinion has you believe.”

The visitor wheeled out of the gas-station. Blue skies and folksy music accompanied him into the countryside.

New country, new job, new adventure… With a friend’s help he restored his confidence following a wrenching divorce.

The visitor stopped abruptly. A mob of kangaroos blocked his lane.

“Be patient,” he told himself, waiting for the animals to move away on their own. When they did he stroked the dog on the passenger seat beside him.

Splashes of color painted the sky as they rode into the setting sun.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

What’s In A Letter?

Uncle Max was as jovial in death as in life, Melinda chuckled.

One by one she discovered his letters by completing a series of navigational instructions from each. Midway through the fifth she froze. Right door, or left? Uncle wrote “the door”.

She decided on the right, but it did not lead her to the 6th letter, and there was no going back. Uncle’s rules.

“What’s in your bag?” she asked her brother.

“Candy, jokes, puzzles. You went through the wrong door,” brother grinned, popping gummy-bears into his mouth.

“Uncle Max should’ve written: Spying not allowed!” she squirmed, walking away.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

For the prompts Manuscript and Letter.

In Love I Do Write

“Sorry, Ma’am. Nothing.”

Isabel nodded, dismissing the housekeeper. Tears accompanied her sullen soul.

In earlier times she and Alfred exchanged letters frequently. Physical distance between them, when he left for war, mattered not. Had the passion vanished?

Not for her. How could she forget their tireless walks in the countryside, their invigorating conversations, or his warm smiling eyes? He, the son of her parents’ friends.

The expected letter eventually arrived, as did others following.

Only after Isabel and Alfred had died was their love revealed to the world, in a manuscript—a collection of hundreds of letters penned between them.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

For the prompts Manuscript and Letter.

Necessities

My sister thrives on sunshine. She says it lifts her spirits and gives her hope.

I try to avoid the sun, or any bright light.

The other day a flickering light spun my head. I screamed uncontrollably. It took me a while to calm down after the lightbulb was replaced.

I’ve learned to find contentment in being alone. At sunset I go out to kick around a soccer ball in the backyard. It frees me of life’s burdens. It lifts my spirits, gives me hope.

Doubt my sister will ever understand. Few people do, what it’s like to have autism.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Headless

Mr. Morgan was incapable of making wise decisions.

He constantly confused compost and garbage pickup weeks. Waste-collection trucks drove past his house without stopping.

Mr. Gerald down the street didn’t receive his disability payments. A mail-delivery person was reprimanded for not noticing one differing number between the addresses of Mr. Gerald and Mr. Morgan.

The latter meant to take them over to his neighbor but didn’t after a rumour circulated: he was seen stumbling outdoors in the dark appearing to have no head.

Truth be, he wore a coat over his head for warmth because he often forgot his hat.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Dairy Reinvented

“Our regional cows have been highly productive,” beamed Norm, supervising an employee unload dairy products for customers.

But where were they?

The regulars showed up. Tourists trickled in as they did elsewhere in the vacationland—unlike booming pre-pandemic times. Did the current political climate have a bearing?

After days of dismal turnout, Norm called his staff for a meeting.

“Put up a new display poster,” he instructed. “Half price: ALL dairy!

A sampling counter was set up, manned by an employee.

Sales accelerated. Many shopping carts left the grocery store with dairy. Late comers found the refrigerated section emptied out.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Roses

Apprehension accompanied me to my car. How would they react? With sadness? Indifference?I placed the bouquet lovingly into the trunk, holding back tears.

The intended beholders knew nothing of its history. Nor of the person who presented it to me. Roses, once of warmth and vivid pink, had crumpled to shades of aged dryness. Like his love did, when he left for another and I didn’t realize he meant it for real.

I set the vase onto my desk in the classroom, for my art students to observe, interpret and present their creativity onto canvas—of a life stilled.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs