All posts in Writing

December 26, 2021

“The Grudge Store,” by Richard David Bach

(Advertisement) THE GRUDGE STORE Are you holding a Grudge, but don’t know what to do with it? We can help. Grudgestore.con is the online repository for those who are carrying Grudges but don’t have the time nor space to hold their Grudges themselves. Our satisfied customers select the level at which each Grudge is to be maintained, from an intense boil to a low simmer, with an option to slowly cool to room temperature. We have a cryogenic unit for those who wish long-term cold storage, and microwave reheat capability in the event a dormant Grudge requires rekindling. Our flat-rate annual membership comes with the privilege of reviewing each Grudge once every 90 days to ensure that the Grudge is intact, valid, and worthwhile retaining. Additional visits and revisions are available at small additional fees, and we have quantity discounts for those with multiple Grudges. …

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December 20, 2021

“Thousand Faces,” Poetry by Gazala Khan

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

1. Thousand Faces Ten thousand we saw in a blink, It’s not daffodils moving along with zephyr, With the bounties showered in plains. This time, it’s the migrants. The migrants, Fighting two deadliest pandemics: COVID and hunger. The latter is familiar And former is in voices everywhere. The beads of sweat rubbed by red gumcha* never evaporated, The yearning to return home is discernible. One of them named Sakina walked a thousand kilometers for days So did many others. The kaccha house** awaited her arrival But the journey never culminated. Abandonment commenced, The invisible guest reigned Bleeding toes, sunburnt faces and many empty stomachs Fastened their way to homes. Beyond every pain, the rest of us numbed still moved on. And the second harrowing journey began. * Hindi word used in India to describe cotton towel for wiping sweat. ** A kind of…

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December 16, 2021

Founder Jack’s New Novel and a Great Offer

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Book Reviews, News, Writing

Get a book and a chance to do some good at no extra cost! Fictional Cafe Members: Enjoy a great read and support cycling safety too! If you ride a bike, as I do, you might be interested to know we ride one of the most innovative machines in world history. Bikes became popular in the 1800s because of a shortage of horses caused by – whoa! would you believe a volcano eruption? – and henceforth were called “hobby horses!” Before they made the first airplane fly at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, the Wright Brothers had a bicycle shop where they sold (doh) bikes named “Van Cleve” and “St. Clair.” Mark Twain wrote a ludicrously humorous article about his experience riding – and falling again and again – from a “penny farthing” bicycle, pictured here. I got…

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December 15, 2021

Vera West Is Our 2022-2023 Poet-in-Residence!

Posted by Mike Rochester in News, Writing

Editor’s Note:We are excited to announce our second Poet-in-Residence, Vera West! Earlier this year, we were introduced to Vera through our all-star Poetry Barista, Yong Takahashi. Michael and Jennifer were throwing around the idea of doing a “potpourri post” of poetry. The timing worked out for it to fall on National Poetry Week, so we organized a lineup of poets for the post. I reached out to Yong to ask if she knew any poets who would want to contribute a poem and she replied with an enthusiastic request to include Vera. (You can see that National Poetry Month post here.) Over the summer, us baristas were discussing who we wanted to nominate for the next Poet-in-Residence position and again Yong came back with Vera’s name. We perused her portfolio and had a delightful Zoom…

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December 12, 2021

“Sang / Lait Chaud, ” A Short Story by Cathleen Davies

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

What’s good about the telly is that Susie can blather on and on and it doesn’t bother Dave at all. He’s always been pretty good at multi-tasking, keeping his mind on two things at once. It was a nice evening. Dave managed to leave work at the door. Susie was doing her knitting and the Tigers were still drawing with Stoke City. Dave sipped his beer. It was good to be home. “I think I’ll do a little hat to go with these if I have any wool leftover,” Susie said, as she held out a little booty on curved needles. “Oh, aye? Lovely.” “I hope it won’t offend your mum though. I know she got Alice that little white hat at Christmas, but she’s nearly grown out of it and she’ll need a new…

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November 24, 2021

An Excerpt and News from Mbizo Chirasha

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Editor’s Note: Mbizo Chirasha is The Fictional Café’s Poet-in-Residence. We have featured his work for two years now and are closing in on the end of his term. You may have noticed that we have featured less of his work this year, which, we are sad to say, is because Mbizo has been fleeing his home in Zimbabwe and trying to find asylum in another country. Due to his criticism of African politics and corruption in his writing, he has frequently been a target of violence from his government. We have partnered with a few organizations to help him find a safe place to live and write, but he continues to meet challenges. Mbizo has recently published a new book, which we announced earlier this year. Here is an excerpt from his book, called, “Along…

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November 22, 2021

“Professor Crow,” A Short Story by Salvatore Difalco

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Things were a little hazy. I had resurfaced after an entire year. I knew it would take time to get my legs underneath me, and not enough of it had passed yet. Not by a long shot. Nevertheless there I stood, out in the world again. How much had it changed? How much had people changed? Had anything changed at all? I’d soon find out. The red floor was sticky. When I lifted my heel you could hear it. I looked around the dimly lit tavern. Sparse crowd, folks still wary, or paranoid. We might still be doomed. We were doomed. Likely somewhere in that spectrum, not forgetting our recent ineptitude and iniquities as well as our successes. Dudes reeking of ganja wheeled about the place with bleeding eyes and slobbery mouths. The bald endomorphic bouncer, in a black turtleneck with a large gold crucifix hanging between his pectorals, stood by the door keeping six on them like an elephant with…

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November 18, 2021

“Once Upon a Dog,” A Short Story by Bob Calverley

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

One day Chief Warrant Officer Walters of the 99th Assault Helicopter Company would complain that the Tet Offensive began a month early for him. But on New Year’s Day, 1968, the company’s gun platoon, known as the Headhunters, was still basking in a lull that had begun a couple of weeks before Christmas. No one had been killed or wounded. Not a single rocket or mortar had exploded in Nui Binh Base Camp. Only one helicopter had been hit by ground fire. On New Year’s, the Headhunters returned to the base camp shortly before lunch after a long-planned combat assault was called off. Then they were given a rare afternoon off. Led by Walters, the gunship pilots decided to visit a Filipino engineering battalion stationed in Nui Binh. After lunch, most of the Headhunter enlisted…

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November 15, 2021

“Heather, Ludwig and Nathaniel,” An Excerpt by Derrick R. Lafayette

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

LUDWIG I was surprised she’d read the first chapter. My tutor usually found small detours in any narrative I put forth. It reminded me of looking at a sheet through a magnifying glass, judging the components that hold it together. Inside my glasses were three strands of hair, dust, and a fingerprint, yet, I blinked away the annoyance and kept going. When I finally finished chapter two, I emailed my document to her. She unearthed a cellphone twice the size of her hand, stuck her face into the screen, and scrolled with her pinky. “Do you know what a journeyman is?” the tutor asked slyly, leaving a hum of arrogance in the question. “A nomad?” I responded, unsure. “Ah, but you do know what failure is?” “A worker or sports player who is reliable but…

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November 8, 2021

“Orphan Smile,” The Poetry of Gopal Lahiri

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Orphan Smile How hard it is for the stars to weave a story. It breaks through the wall and chain, and then in turn, with eyes closed. Words filter into dark rooms, unnoticeably, to the tune of the evening. It is not unexpected, nor is it striped, wood pencils sketch grey and grey sky. Each strum is a haze that thins and fades, the one who sings with all the heart for a while, is now trapped in the web of memory. Each mirror reflects the orphan smile, what remains is the rising smoke of the pyres. Ancient Palms We must learn to read, to hold them ever among the corn fields of the golden year. Before our eyes, the deep unique shadows take me up…

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