Announcing New Fall Short Story Workshop
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The Train to Modena by Rozanne Charbonneau
Suzanna visits her Italian friend, but cuts the visit short to hide an indiscretion, and gets sexually harassed on the train back to Paris; by Rozanne Charbonneau. Image generated with OpenAI August, 1982 I wake in the night to fingers stroking the flesh of my inner thigh. So do you want to go again? Let me touch your lips, let me kiss your hair. Don't rush so fast up north, or it will be over, before it began. What happened? Is this really you? Last time you fumbled like a boy, but hey! you've come back as a man. I breathe in, hungry for the scent of cinnamon and earth on his skin. The fumes of Drakkar Noir cologne hit the back of my throat instead. "Who are you?" I shout and sit up with a start. The man who was sitting across from me in the train compartment puts his finger to his lips. "Be quiet! There's no need to wake my daughter," he whispers, motioning to the sleeping child in the shadows. She clutches a purple rabbit and ...
Brother Cedric by Thomas Eggenberger
The reverent peace of a monastery is disturbed when a resurrected monk decides to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh; by Thomas Eggenberger. Image generated with OpenAI Brother Cedric did not return to us the same man who had died. We unbolted the door after the ten Hail Marys required and found him there. Not sitting quietly in wait, as had Marius. Not weeping on his knees to the Almighty, as had Gregory. No, Cedric greeted us as God had made him, though with skin more like a prune - and at full staff, engaged in vigorous onanism. I clutched the cross at my neck and averted my gaze, as did Gavin beside me. Our eyes met, our eyebrows steepled. "Peter," Cedric groaned at me, "I know this must look awful, but I assure you - I warmed my hand first by the fire." With a strangled heave, his seed spattered the cobbled stone. I thought I felt it wet my toes, somehow, though I did have on my shoes. A peek confirmed the Lord had saved me this ugliness....
It’s time to take a break
When you come to a stop sign or red light, you stop and look both ways. Likewise, at a yield sign, you pause and look both ways. It keeps us safe. The same thing happens when we take care of ourselves. We must know when to stop, pause, and take a break. After spending two weeks with my husband in the hospital this year, I noticed the words, Pause, Reflect, and Heal, on each patient’s door. Of course, I’ve seen this before, but it felt like a message to me this time. When we never feel rested, overwhelmed, scattered, or burnt out, When nothing is restoring us or refreshing our souls, we must pause and reflect on what our body and mind need. I have recently felt this way and in different seasons in my own life. Taking a break can help us adjust our current routine and re-focus on what is important and life-giving to us. Saying yes to everything and everyone can cause stress, and too much stress creates diseases, such as obesity, heart disease, Alzheimer’s, diabetes, depression, g...
In Captivity by Andrew Hart
Andrew Hart's character is trapped in the service of a mysterious and nefarious organization, but what will happen when he falls in love? Image generated with OpenAI One It isn't the prisoners that frighten me so much as their guards. The prisoners might have committed the most horrendous of crimes, but most of them enjoy my visits and seem sad to see me go, whereas the guards enjoy exercising their pathetic power; being rude and unhelpful and taking pleasure in keeping me waiting in cold or over-heated offices. And then there is always the danger that they might realise that something is amiss and have me dragged away, for "questioning" or worse. In fact, I was only stopped once; that was at a high category prison in the Scottish Highlands. I was not at my best after a sleepless night at a shoddy hotel in the middle of nowhere, which was far, far too quiet, and I had got lost on my way to the prison and so was late, which I always hate. The guard at t...
Another Short Story by Bill Tope
No good deed goes unpunished in Bill Tope’s story about a sexual harassment case in an Illinois office, 1994. Image generated with OpenAI Pete Fountain's clarinet played sad, sexy notes of sweet vintage jazz from the turntable on the bedside table. Elise shook her head, determined not to let the music distract her from what she had decided to do. She sighed. She didn't recognize the tune. Pete played on. Elise had, after great thought and many misgivings, decided to report her boss to her superiors on a charge of sexual harassment. She knew there would be an investigation into both her allegations and the alleged victim herself. There might even be blowback on Elise, though she was just the messenger. She knew the drill: did the accuser - a little known intern named Peggy Turner - encourage her boss in his advances; did she purposely dress provocatively, try to use her sexuality to gain favors, win influence? Elise had already answered those questions to her own s...