Where's Frank?

It was 2:30. AL'S BAR opened at 3:00. Al, sitting by the counter, squinted at the door.

“Is that you, Edna? We're closed.”

The place was poorly lit.

“I know. I just wondered if Frank was here last night. He found some money I hid. I figured he must have gone out drinking.”

“Maybe he went to the track?”

“Nah, not enough money.”

“I didn't see him. Did you try THE TOP HAT or LEO'S LOUNGE?”

“No.”

“How about TED'S PLACE.”

“No way, Al. It wasn't much money, and you know Frank. He only goes to crummy places like this...”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Wanderlust

The pulse of the city is becoming my own. I woke up with a thrumming headache this morning. The night and the dawn are a patchwork in my aching head. When I walk down the street, steam ripples off the pavement, as intangible as my disintegrating memories. How is my stranger? I wonder. The one from last night’s club. Gone now. He’s returned back to his own life after our brief collision: my drunken frame hung off his neck. His glassy brown gaze still holds me. Power lines cross my heart. My eyes swim in the summer sweat and rain.

From Guest Contributor Siri Harrison

Snow

The first thing I did last night was set the alarm for seven o’clock in the morning. I didn’t know the snow the weather forecaster predicted was going to start so early.

There was a message that my interview had been canceled so I got back under the covers and my dog Charlie snuggled next to me.

Large snowflakes pressed against the window and the wind howled. Charlie let out a growl and went back to sleep. I closed my eyes and wished the snow would stop.

When I awakened later that afternoon, the snow ceased, and the sun shined.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Drunk

First, there's a moment when you are just crossing the threshold from complete oblivion, wrapped in blankets and darkness, to reemerge into the light of the living. You are not a person yet. You have no recollections or anxieties. This is probably what it was like right before you were born.

You don't realize you have a hole in your memory until you're halfway to the bathroom. How did you get home last night? Where's your car? Why is the floor slanting away from you?

You stare at yourself in the mirror and promise you're never going to drink again.

We Lost A Room Last Night

We found a house out on the dunes, beyond the golf course. The conservatory had crumbled already but soon a jagged fissure opened up across the living-room floor. Soon the front door burst from its hinges and other people started to show up. A tramp slept on the wrong side of the crack one night; he was gone in the morning but we didn't know where. You know we'll have to leave here soon, she said one night as she held me. Maybe head up the coast? I squeezed her back and we watched a window slip from its frame.

From Guest Contributor Geoff Sawers

There’s Been A Murder

Sunday, April 12

A murder has occurred at the Johnson’s mansion and Earl Johnson was found dead in the basement. The following are transcripts between the investigator and suspects.

Investigator:

“The murder took place around 8:30 p.m. last night. Where were you all during that time?”

Chef (Mr. Washington):

“I was cooking Mr. Johnson’s favorite meal; it was his birthday.”

Ms. Johnson:

“I was freshening up and putting on my dinner gown.”

Maid (Ms. Paddington):

“I was out getting the mail.”

Everyone stopped and looked at the maid with wide eyes.

Investigator:

“Ms. Paddington, the mail doesn’t run on Sundays.”

From Guest Contributor Daemion McKellar

Scriptless Dream

Alright, I’ll tell you about the dream I had last night.

Several older women – I guess your mum and a couple of your aunts – were trying to match you with a movie director. And I stood there, saying nothing, convinced he had nothing to offer you I didn’t.

Suddenly, we found ourselves in an undefined take away chip shop (remember, it’s a dream) and guess who’s there? That same director. You acted like you didn’t notice him, but somehow I ended up home with two meals just for me.

So, that’s why I don’t want to see that movie tonight.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé Suys (°1968 - Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury. He generally writes them barefooted and hatless.

The Last Call Before A Trek

He woke up early that Sunday morning excited to go on a trek. His friends had been calling since morning, planning the route, discussing apparel. He was enthusiastic. It was a perfect getaway from the usual day-to-day stress. Chirping birds, a cool breeze, and serenity!

Last night had been disastrous. His wife was not satisfied with their sex life. She was adventurous and experienced. He had made bad decisions at work. To top it all off, he'd brawled with a friend.

He was about to leave when his phone rang. His ex-girlfriend said, "I love you". He skipped the trek.

From Guest Contributor Manmeet Chadha

Manmeet is an Alumunus from the London School of Economics & Political Science. He works in India as an Economist & Writer.

Hindsight

Debbie got high last night.

Her conscience weighed on her, but not enough to refuse her friends. There was no explicit peer pressure. Rather, not joining in would have meant that she'd forever be considered apart from them..

Once the high came on, her reservations disappeared. It was the best decision she'd ever made.

Twelve hours later, lying in bed as the guilt tries to set in along with the nausea, she's no longer so sure. Hindsight suggests getting high was a mistake.

Debbie remembers kissing Eric Bradshaw and decides that no one listens to hindsight. No one cool anyway.