Archives for November 2015

Flash Fiction–In or Out

In or Out?

From his wheelchair, Bob reached for the doorknob and dropped his hand.

Jay, his caregiver, leaned over his shoulder. “Aren’t we going in?”

“I can’t face them.” Bob looked at his legs. “What will they think of me, now?”

“As the strong man they knew and loved,” Jay said.

Bob shouted, “Look at me. I can’t walk into the room. Turn around,” he snapped. “We’re out of here.”

“Tough,” Jay said. “We’re going in.” He pushed Bob to the door.

Bob turned the knob and heard cheers from the men in the room. “Welcome back, coach.”

Margaret Leis Hanna
Central Ohio Branch, OH

Thank you to all our veterans who served our country and our freedom.

Flash Fiction–That Sounds Better

That Sounds Better

Summer in the Hampton’s: nine year old Jack, his Grandpa Tony, Grandma Peggy and I are in the living room of the rental house.
Grandpa Tony says, ‘Jack I have to get a new dinghy for the boat.’ ‘Why Poppa?’ ‘Because it’s old and worn out.’ ‘Sort of like me,’ I immediately say.
Jack quickly replies, ‘No, no Nana, you’re not worn out, you’re just old.’
Now, that made me feel better.

Etta Schaeffer
Boca Raton Branch, FL

Flash Fiction–Postcards

Postcard #1

The second time the waiter spilled soup in Archibald’s lap, he ended up with bouillabaisse stains on his pinstripes. The waiter—he’d better succeed next time—was positively abject with apologies. I plan to wear yellow to Archibald’s funeral before I leave for Paris. See you soon, my dearest.

Postcard #2

Well, mum, you were right. Why didn’t I see it as clearly as you did? Had to trip the blundering fool twice. If she could pay him, I can pay him more. Tonight, I think. Then I’ll be home for a good long rest. After her funeral.

Fran Stewart
Atlanta Branch, GA

Flash Fiction–Between Duty and Devotion


Sitting with John, my mind reflects back fifty years to the day of our marriage.

A hot August day in Maryland, sweating in his Navy uniform, then a short honeymoon, duty called.

John’s breathing coming hard and erratic. Last night he held my hand tight and gave a weak smile.

This morning nothing, simply curled in a fetal position, eyes shut and that deep, hard breathing.

I hold the form to sign for relieving him of his pain allowing him to die with dignity.

Sign for devotion or sign, as he would say, for duty.

By Mary F. Twitty
Boca Raton Branch

Flash Fiction–War


Strategy is the only order in the chaos of battle. Can’t tell if we’re winning or losing.

Combat subsides with an uneasy calm. Losses are surprisingly limited; strength renewed.

Enemy approaches.
Walls fortified.
Attack fails.

Curious, then furious: “Weren’t these soldiers weak and undisciplined in war? Haven’t I been their master?”

Young soldiers watch as the enemy circles and strikes without success.
“We have been injured before, why not this time?”

His eyes light with rage. “I can’t get in! I can’t get in!”

“He can’t get in!”

One who had power through fear suddenly had none.

Elizabeth Martin
Pikes Peak Branch, CO