King Of The Court

Every afternoon, Marcus ruled the court. Sneakers squeaked as he crossed defenders, launched impossible threes, and hammered dunks that rattled the rim. His friends groaned while commentators crowned him a legend. He knew every hesitation, every perfect release, every seam in the opponent's defense. He was lightning—untouchable, unstoppable, airborne.

When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd’s roar thinned to a mechanical hum. “Marcus, dinner’s ready,” his mom called from the kitchen.

“Coming,” he answered, while unlocking the brakes on his wheelchair, gripping the rims of the wheels and pushing himself back from his desk. Beyond the doorway, reality waits.

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes

E. has work published at A Story In 100 Words, Spillwords, The Purple Pen, The Haven, and Medium.

Former Glory

She sits in a worn wheelchair, slightly swaying to the raspy and sultry melodies playing on the radio behind her. Drunkenly sloshing the dark brown liquid in the bottle she’s nursed throughout the night. Her eyes are as heavy as her heart, drooping with sadness and weeping with grief. Taking another sip, she sighs as the liquid scorches down her throat. She hums along to the music, reminiscing times when she played the same syncopated rhythms on stage. Her knobby and wrinkled fingers dance in the air on her ghost piano while swallowing sobs, thinking about her glorious old memories.

From Guest Contributor Sa'Mya Hall

Chair

Once a month the dance band section of the Lake Oswego Millennium Concert Band plays at a local Oregon church. It mostly plays big band numbers from the 1940s and 1950s. Many of the dancers are middle aged or older couples who ballroom dance. Some singles come and dance with different partners, and there is an attractive young couple. Editor and I combine some basic steps with my freestyle wildness. The big attraction is the fellow in a wheelchair who moves expertly while waving one hand. He usually is with a woman who follows him while holding his other hand.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Written Florida

The hospital counter balanced the consequences of Chloe’s belief in radiological.

“Poise Samuel. It’s dosage and daydreaming. Don’t slam this shut, there’s no ambush in it.”

Samuel’s reptilian wheelchair spontaneously defended his ego with a damp pelvis moan.

“You need to explore your obsession with maintaining haste.”

And then Chloe was behind him, creating an exit.

Outside the gravity of habit drew dated windows and naked brick into Samuel’s response.

“Chloe, you are the answer to a whistle.”

Her blouse threw out naked holes of laughter until the urban inside her tongue finished the joke.

“But you have no teeth.”

From Guest Contributor Geoffrey Miller

Theodore’s Halloween

Ten-year-old Theodore sat in front of the window and watched the trick or treaters. A boy dressed as Dracula flapped his black cape and his fangs glowed under the streetlight. Theodore took a sip of cocoa and listened as his mom wished the children a ‘Happy Halloween’ while they chortled and chose their favorite candy.

His mom placed her soothing hand on his shoulder before walking into the kitchen to prepare their dinner.

Theodore finished his hot cocoa, pushed his wheelchair in front of the television and stared blankly at the screen until his mom called his name for dinner.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Red Tape Mania

James scooped mail, spinning the wheelchair precipitously for the turn, a big grin on his face. Wheels clattered on tiles as he righted.

“I would have got those. Those stunts–”

Envelopes in lap, the veteran mock-pouted. “Self-entertainment. Can’t just wait to die, honey. Adapt and move on. I was thinking of entering the Paralympics.”

Tanya sighed noisily. The smile she sought to force died at the sight of his expression. His hand still gripped an open letter and envelope.

“What?”

“Remember the Disability Benefit reappraisal?”

“Ye-aah?”

“Seems they reckon loss of limbs and Kidney Impact Syndrome don’t–”

Pages...

Floor-ward...

“JAMES!”

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Summer Days

Joseph peered out his bedroom window, the summer sun beating on his old tired face. At ninety-five, he didn’t care. He enjoyed watching the children play hopscotch, giggling and waiting for the bells of the ice cream truck. Every time, the girls would drop their chalk and run to the sound. In the background birds flew from tree to tree. Joseph remembered those summer days as if it were yesterday.

“Time for your medication, Joseph,” said the home care nurse.

Joseph turned in his wheelchair and took his medication. He knew any day he’d never see those children play again.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Unfamiliar

It had been three years since Lea admitted her mother into the nursing home for Alzheimer patients. Sometimes she knew Lea and sometimes she was just a stranger visiting.

“Mom, wouldn’t you like to get some fresh air outside. Let me take you for a walk.” Lea pushed the wheelchair to the door.

“Where is my daughter? I don’t know you!” She struggled to break free from her wheelchair.

“I’m your daughter. It’s me, Lea.”

The nurse came in and helped Lea’s mother back into bed.

“I raised a nice girl.” Lea’s mother said.

It wasn’t Lea she spoke of.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher