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Mrs. Ruzicka’s seat in an orchestra box to the far right of the concert hall allows her to look directly into the face of the concertmaster. She thought she had fallen in love with him during Dvorak’s Symphony No. 6 in D, but now that the orchestra has begun Dvorak’s Serenade for strings, she is sure of it. The grace of his bow splits her chest like a surgeon’s knife[...]
From his usual spot at the counter, Carter Bingham followed the waitress as she made coffee, first shaking the contents of a metallic pouch to one end, then ripping it open with the bright colored talons of her fingernails. Lime green today, a color that reminded him of antifreeze.
Honorable Mention, Latte Short Short Awards 2009 We’ve been told to escape. We’ve been told not to expect assistance, given the circumstances. We’ve been told that the enemy is not merely closer but is inside….
A Tale from Websters… “I should have taken better care of myself.” After drink and drugs and various forms of excess — some better left in memory’s shadows — his hands occasionally shook and his res
piratory system was . . . well, let’s just say it was not always reliable…
Second Prize 2009 Latte Fiction Awards. Brian was late getting home — he’d gone surfing with Rob, down at Rudee Inlet, and they’d stayed out a little too long, waiting for one decent spring wave — but even now, Carly’s minivan wasn’t in the driveway….
First Prize 2009 Latte Short Short Contest. In airborne darkness, the pain of birth. She grabs her neck just above the locket and feels the pointy head of a small creature…
The listing sounded good…. I arrived exactly on time, breathless, dripping from the humidity, hair captive in a rubber band, flat and lifeless, white tank top sticking to my back. A trickle of sweat ran down between my breasts and itched, but I didn’t dare scratch.
Second Prize 2009 Latte Fiction Awards. We got this assignment in our Adult Ed creative writing class, the assignment being to write a little story about our mother, Mother’s Day being just a couple of weeks away, and all. Just one page. Like a sketch or a vignette. A little scene, maybe, with some action and dialogue.
Harriett Hemenway made the decision to become an artist during her freshman English Literature class. She didn’t make the commitment out of a dislike for literature, quite the opposite actually, but it was her way of not tempting fate[...]
The plan was, i would go into the hole, sit in the queen’s chair, and exit my body.