Author Archives: Select Stories

Cheese and Onion Sandwiches

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By Steffanie

I don’t watch much TV these days, it keeps reminding me that it’s partly my fault our country is in such a mess. I’m not spending enough money to fuel our economy and when I do spend my only reward is a warning to save more to finance my old age.cheese-and-onion-sandwich

The newsreader says I’m using far too much electricity, oil and water, I also eat the wrong things and drink far too much alcohol in the evenings. I’m so useless I can’t even dispose of my rubbish correctly and if I take a walk along the beach I’m told my presence will only pollute it.

Where can I begin to help put things right?

How can I save the economy and the environment?

The answer is I can’t, not as things stand. The big social economy is doomed to years of stagflation and the elite who’ve grown fat on it should kiss good-bye to swilling champagne at their banquets. They preach austerity to me and my family, yet there’s no sign of them setting an example. We’re more than happy with tea and sandwiches and so should they be, seeing as they claim to be so concerned about our nation’s diminishing resources.

When I say “tea and sandwiches” I mean it quite literally, my husband now takes a lunchbox to work and we save almost two pounds in money every day. Our base costs have contracted and we’ve already noticed the benefits – which are far more than merely financial. Continue reading →

The Woman With Nine Lives

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By M.P. Witwer

The first time she might have died came at age 17, when a saddle horse reared and threw her, breaking her back.

Over the years, she survived many more life-threatening events, each worse than the last: Guillain-Barré syndrome and its accompanying complete if temporary paralysis, pneumonia, spinal stenosis requiring two surgeries, an aneurysm (two more operations, and yes, they were brain surgery), a stroke, a heart attack, another bout of pneumonia. Resilient and resolute, she snubbed death eight times.

That last morning, she awoke with a little sniffle. By evening she was gone, done in by a common cold.

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© 2013 by M.P. Witwer • All rights reserved

A Writer’s Take on Reading

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woman reading“Reading is everything. Reading makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something, learned something, become a better person. Reading makes me smarter. Reading gives me something to talk about later on. Reading is the unbelievably healthy way my attention deficit disorder medicates itself. Reading is escape, and the opposite of escape; it’s a way to make contact with reality after a day of making things up, and it’s a way of making contact with someone else’s imagination after a day that’s all too real. Reading is grist. Reading is bliss.”
~ Nora Ephron

Milly’s Magical Moment

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By Carol E. Wyer

Millicent Jarvis thanked the air stewardess, stepped out from the aeroplane into the warm evening breeze at Larnaca airport, and promptly slid down the steps, landing on top of the man who had been her unfortunate neighbour during the flight.

“Oh Lord, I’m really sorry,” she spluttered, not for the first time in the last four and a half hours. She had already hit him over the head with her holdall as she tried to cram it in the overhead locker, and had spilt her glass of red wine over his light-coloured trousers. Each time, he had patiently smiled at her and told her not to worry about it. She loathed being clumsy. She was forever tripping over her own feet. Maybe if she were to wear her spectacles more often it wouldn’t happen so much but Milly hated her spectacles. They made her look crabby and old.

The man helped her board the bus which was rapidly filling with excited holiday-makers and insisted she hold on tightly to the strap above her head.

“Staying in Paphos?” his wife asked.

“No, Limassol,” replied Milly. “I’m meeting my parents at a hotel there. They’ve been there a week already. They booked this trip for me as a surprise. I’ve been studying for my finals for months and they thought I needed a break.”

The husband and wife exchanged a look of relief. At least Milly wouldn’t be bumping into them all holiday.

Sometime later, having done no further damage, other than standing on several toes while disembarking the bus and knocking a pile of papers off the desk at Passport Control, Milly arrived at the hotel. Continue reading →

Breathless

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Strawberries-and-Cream-Bowl

By Maggie Rascal

Okay, so we’re supposed to write this ninety-nine word story and — well, it doesn’t hafta be exactly ninety-nine words, it can be less — but anyway, I don’t know what to write about and it’s due tomorrow, so I’m thinking maybe I could tell about the time Grandma took me to tea at a fancy hotel and they served strawberries and cream mixed with maple syrup, but I don’t know if I can describe it in ninety-nine words, it was so opulent — I like that word, don’t you? — or I might talk about Sparky, he’s such a cute puppy, and…

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© 2013 by M.P. Witwer • All rights reserved

Bernard, a Very Brave Bear

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teddybear

By M.P. Witwer

Max was excited. Bubbie was coming over, and Mommy said she was bringing a surprise for him! He could barely wait to find out what it might be.

He thought hard. Maybe it would be a toy truck or a new ball — or maybe even some Legos. Whatever it was, Max knew it would be great, because Bubbie always picked the best presents.

After what seemed like hours and hours, Max finally heard someone climbing the steps. It had to be Bubbie! He ran to the front hall but waited for Mommy to open the door, just as she had taught him.

“Bubbieeeee!” he squealed, bouncing over to his grandmother as soon as she stepped inside. Setting down her purse and the big box she was carrying, she scooped Max up in a hug. This was the best part, because Max liked hugs from Bubbie more than anything else. He felt safe and protected in her arms, and now snuggled against her, for the moment forgetting any thoughts of what she had brought him.

“How’s my favorite grandchild today?” she asked, tousling his already messy hair.

As he always did, Max giggled at the question. He had to be Bubbie’s favorite, since he was her only grandchild.

She lowered him to the floor, then picked up the box. Max studied it with renewed curiosity. It was bigger than a toy truck, not the right shape for a ball, and didn’t rattle like Legos. His excitement started to bubble up again.

“Let’s sit on the couch,” Bubbie suggested. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Continue reading →