Facebook invited me to the party two days before the event. I felt like an afterthought but what the heck, I said. I’ll go. To be honest, I was surprised he’d friended me. We’re not exactly on good terms. Continue reading
Nearly three years ago I wrote a flash fiction story about a dog with “issues” and sent it around to a few journals. It was rejected many times. Then in June this year I attended a small press trade show in an Ottawa community centre and found Common Deer Press. Their submission guidelines for the Short Tail section of their website said this,
We tend to prefer work that might be literary if it weren’t so genre….
and I thought “Hmm. Maybe Nelson would like to live here.”
Without further ado, here it is – The Dog Shakes
edited by Emily Stewart. Thank you, Common Deer Press for giving Nelson a home.
Tired as the huddled masses she used to welcome, old lady Liberty suddenly realized the colossal irony of her gender. Like her sister, Justice. Continue reading
She stuffed Hershey’s Kisses into the numbered pockets of the soft, felt advent calendar. The kiss tradition began back when Hershey had a factory in a nearby town called Smiths Falls. She felt virtuous supporting a local business and keeping its workers employed by sweetening the December mornings of their children with a sugar kiss. (Chocolate breath still reminds her of Christmas. ) That small factory closed a few years ago and the death knell rang its last gong. Then an entrepreneur purchased it to grow medical marijuana. Continue reading
My heart beat so fast I almost missed her whisper “I’m your cocktail hour.”
The first time I drank her colour, I hovered above her wondering the best way to approach her delicate petals. Finally I dove, and emerged dripping in her juice. Continue reading
She worked outside, which was better than working inside. Inside, clutter tripped her as she walked in the front door, the front hallway paved with mismatched shoes scattered over two mats and a 3 tier shoe rack. A multi-pronged coat rack leaned left, overloaded with jackets, hats, backpacks and purses. It blocked the light from the narrow window the length of the door frame. Continue reading
Between lovers a little confession is a dangerous thing. – Helen Rowland
“What kind of name is Kip Hofias,” Harry asked Vee, handing her the envelope noting the return address in Vancouver.
“A magician’s name.”
Vee held the letter at arm’s length pinched between her white knuckled thumb and index finger.
“I used to love his magic.” Continue reading
Yesterday it happened in the produce section. I was squeezing a cantaloupe thinking “Harry would like this” and as I caressed the thing it occurred to me it felt like my puckered bald scalp. I put the cantaloupe in the grocery basket making a mental note to ask Harry to cut it. Then the curly parsley caught my eye just as the mist sprayer came on like a fire hose. I bolted Continue reading
I don’t want to be front and centre, Harry. You know how I feel.
Vee, your kenspeckle head is famous.
No one in Kootmacs knew Vee before the scalp fire except Harry. Infamous Vee, Lady Mexican Hairless, she thought. Bald as an egg.
The hunt started. The grounds of Twist of Fate were a cat’s cradle of yarn threaded from trees to fence posts, scribbled through the bars of the fence, down the hill to the llama pen and back again. Wool rainbows hung from branches. Continue reading