Sheri Reynolds is the 2nd place winner of Streetlight‘s Flash Fiction Contest The garbage disposal made a horrible racket, a gritty, grinding, clonking commotion. Avocado pit, she thought, and reached for the off-switch just as a knife flew up from the sink’s black hole. It was a paring knife, the one with the slender purple handle, silver blade so thin and sharp that the gleam still shined in her eye as it hit her throat, bull’s eye, like her throat had been its one true target. She’d been making guacamole to take to book club … Continue reading Unzipped by Sheri Reynolds→
Here’s what the Left—of which I am a dyed in the wool member—needs to understand: many adherents of ‘conspiracy’ theories aren’t crazy. I mean a lot are. But a lot aren’t. Not yet, anyway. Democrats have got to start acknowledging that a great deal of the distrust that is expressed about government and big-business is well-founded. There have been/are bad actors and institutionalized policies resulting in injuries, bankruptcies and deaths. Think Purdue Pharma and opioid addiction, for example. Or losing your house because of a hospital bill. Categorically blowing off somebody’s pain and reality is … Continue reading The Big Tent Of Dangerous by Erika Raskin→
And if you were that old collection of smudged walls and dusty glass, you would be embarrassed to be caught by the morning – stretched out fence to fence, your top half in scaffolds, cross in repair from the super storm, gravestones covered September leaves in March, unprepared for the sun, bleary-eyed, pulled from that dream of the underground railroad – belly full of tunnels, tunnels full of bloody songs. And if you were a stone, you would miss the touch of … Continue reading Belleville Reformed Church by Josh Humphrey→
Red-wing blackbirds flew overhead, their red shoulders gleaming in the afternoon sun. The air was thick with the chirping and buzzing of wild fauna. Most of them—apart from some of the insects—fled before our canoes as we penetrated the swamp, following channels invisible to the outsider’s eye. Tall shrubs and grasses lined our channel, providing a modicum of shade against the direct rays of the sun, this vegetation caressing our crafts—and occasionally us—as we paddled in deeper and deeper. Lily pads with flowers growing from their hearts floated aside, making way for us. Frogs seated … Continue reading The Drowned Place by Miles Fowler→
Phyllis Brotherton has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2023 Essay/Memoir Contest I carry my brother’s heart all the way to Salina, Kans. When we’re still an interminable hour away, his wife texts, “Hurry.” My wife speeds the rented Traverse up I-35 North, the smoothest, blackest, flattest expanse of four-lane we’ve ever seen. The well-kept interstate, fresh asphalt, closely mown center medians, stretch before us in the 2 a.m. darkness. I imagine the SUV’s front wheels lifting off, separating from tarmac, rising up, flying over these final miles in minutes. Alas, we’re bound to … Continue reading My Brother’s Heart by Phyllis Brotherton→
Who doesn’t love mysteries and secrets? I can recall sitting under a shade tree as a child with stacks of Nancy Drew, Alice in Wonderland, Tom’s Midnight Garden and the Boxcar Children series. Before that, there was Aesop and Grimm, rife with gore and violence, all the jealousies, abandonments, and disguises that life can throw at you. And how instructive to observe the way choices made by heroic children can lead to downfall or triumph! Psychologist Bruno Bettelheim in The Uses of Enchantment argues for the utility of the classic European fairy tale, supernatural and … Continue reading Writing the Family Secret by Sharon Ackerman→
P. W. Bridgman is the 1st place winner of Streetlight‘s Flash Fiction Contest She told the story about him, but only once. About how she found him on a chair, pushed up to the kitchen window leaning out over Baskov Lane from their second-floor apartment in Leningrad. He was holding between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand the bloom of a Siberian Fawn Lily, plucked from her window box. His little hand was steady, his gaze was too, as he waited. She dried her hands on her apron, bread rising on the … Continue reading Little Vova* by P. W. Bridgman→
Father Fagus Grandifolia, silver grey with muscled shoulders fingers traced across the soil like a hawk’s nest suturing the slope. Beech tattoos give proof to Jake and Sue that they were, indeed, in love in 1962. Proof that Peter mattered and that Harlon was, in fact, here. Slow growth in acid earth, with polished nut. Sweet scent a dozen decades old still luring pilgrim children to the woods, knives drawn. Ned Kraft, a librarian by trade, has published satire, poetry, and short stories in such places as Phoebe, Against the Grain, Grimoire, The Pennsylvania Literary … Continue reading Beech Tattoos by Ned Kraft→
As I Found It: My Mother’s House Sometimes I envy my baby-boomer friends for having lost their parents quickly. Mine left this life piecemeal. It took my father two painful years to die from cancer, and soon after, without her husband to moor her, my mother began her decade-long descent into dementia. When she could no longer live alone it fell to me to empty her house, a rambling, creaky Victorian on Boston’s South Shore that she had inhabited for over forty years. Paperwork piled high on her desk told a sad tale. … Continue reading Photographer Russell Hart→
I am waiting at the Chicken Co-op, pronounced ‘coop,’ inside the Exxon gas station and convenience store in Lovingston, Virginia. A couple of blocks away the mechanic is changing my car’s oil, rotating the tires. I’m not very good at waiting. Delayed planes, bank lines, stop-n-go stalled traffic. Pedicures. In the Chicken Co-op a narrow island counter is a few feet away from the hot food display. I climb onto the metal chair and sit at the lunch counter. To survive the wait, instead of reading and not remembering much of what I’ve read, I … Continue reading One August Afternoon by Trudy Hale→
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