The Paisley Tattoo

We couldn’t afford real tattoos – we were too young, anyway – so we borrowed a stick-and-poke kit and I let Jim attempt a yin-yang symbol on my back. Mom called Jim the artistic twin; said he needed an outlet – but that was the encouragement of a mother loving her son too hard. His sweaty hands shook and slipped; after an hour, he quit, and we never spoke of it again. On our eighteenth birthday I had my brother’s work converted to a paisley that I’d later recreate for a favorite tie; Jim spent his money on a different set of needles.

From Guest Contributor Rich Gravelin

Rich writes short fiction from the woods of central Maine.

Her Little Plum

The plum blossoms dance in the spring breeze like pink snowflakes across the yard.

A boy again, mother lifts me into the limbs to pick ripened fruit. “Be careful, my precious squirrel.”

“Ready, dear?” my wife asks.

“Yes,” my voice chafes. I inspect my dark suit, adjusting my tie in the window’s reflection. Wipe my face and rub wet fingers together.

“Your speech is in my purse.”

Words. An inadequate parting gift.

My mouth waters as mother sets down a steaming plum pie.

After her funeral, floodlights illuminate wreckage of the fallen tree. A brittle heart splinters. Sobs erupt anew.

From Guest Contributor Eric Schweitz

Inconsolable

When Daniel heard the first notes of the song begin to play, he immediately broke out in inconsolable sobs. The best efforts of those around him only made his hysterics worse. The tears ran off his cheeks and began soaking into his collar and tie.

"I'm sorry," he kept repeating between desperate breaths. "It's just...that song...always does this to me."

"Pull yourself together, Jones. This is no time to blubber."

Daniel looked around, first at his boss, then his marketing associates at the conference table. The clients were there as well. Indeed, this was no time to blubber.

Corn Cobs

Johnny sure liked the sound corn cobs made as they brushed against his shoulders. It reminded him of a simpler time, a better time. That was when he enjoyed ice cream - now he was lactose intolerant.

He took a deep breath and loosened his tie, glancing idly at his soiled boat shoes. These were the ones Kara helped him pick out when the shop had a going-out-of-business sale. Kara was no longer around, and replacing her would be difficult.

Wiping the sweat off his brow, he couldn't even remember why he was in the corn field in the first place.

From Guest Contributor Schmehl

Office Drone

He adjusted his tie, making sure the knot was centered, and returned to his keyboard. He added a macro to the spreadsheet.

He stood up, and took a lap around his desk. Maybe if he took off his jacket. He shrugged his shoulders, stretching out his arms, then returned to his keyboard. He double checked all the numbers for the third time.

His pants were starting to bunch up. He stood up to straighten out his pleats, and returned to his keyboard. He'd be finished with the spreadsheet in another hour. Maybe he'd have time to fit in some minesweeper.