May 29, 2023

Impact! A Sci-Fi Trilogy by C.K. Westbrook

Impact! A Sci-Fi Trilogy by C.K. Westbrook

We recently attended a book fair where we met the author, C.K. Westbrook, and were intrigued by “The Impact Series,” a science fiction trilogy: The Shooting, The Collision, and The Judgment. In each volume the story, told a day at a time, is that of Kate Stellute, who works for the United States Space Force in the near future and while out for a run is abducted by an alien. She becomes its media connection to the people of earth, who are warned they must change their ways or be obliterated. As the author writes: Life will never be the same for Kate. After almost every gun owner worldwide turns their weapon on themselves in a terrifying fifteen-minute window, Kate Stellute, like the rest of the population, searches for answers. The mass shooting is enormous…

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May 25, 2023

“The Worrymajig,” by Rhea Thomas

“The Worrymajig,” by Rhea Thomas

When Amy tripped on her way out of the office parking garage and ended up sprawled on the sidewalk, a noise came from her mouth that was a cross between a gasp, a screech and a squawking chicken. In addition to skinning her knees, she broke the heel on one of her new, cute winter boots. Luckily, she had some back-up tennis shoes in her desk due to some client freebies and no one would have noticed her cute boots anyway, because she would be stuck at her desk all day with the mountain of work she needed to complete. Despite this being only a few weeks into January, Amy wasn’t feeling very hopeful this year would be any different from the last. Everyone was so excited about “the new year, the new you,” and…

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May 23, 2023

“Can We Ever Atone?” by Thom Wainwright

“Can We Ever Atone?” by Thom Wainwright

It’s a memory so dark and shameful that words almost fail me. It’s been hidden away for some five decades now. The details of the incident now present as both hallucinogenic and mundane. At times, it banishes me to that terrible place where no one would ever dare to come find me.  We were on a dusty red road just outside of Cu Chi. Stevens and I were setting up a broadcasting post on this well-traveled section of Highway 13, which links the City of Tunnels with the capital city of Saigon. It was well known that the Viet Cong frequented this stretch, usually under cover of darkness, to brazenly plant land mines in the clay and stone of the road bed. Mamma-san and baby-san would be posted along the roadway during daylight hours, purportedly…

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May 17, 2023

“Burial,” A Short Story by Peter Dellolio

“Burial,” A Short Story by Peter Dellolio

Leaves and twigs scattered suddenly, as if the last, hurried pat of her seven-year-old palm, hitting the flattened surface of moist earth that moments ago revealed a fourth hole, was somehow acknowledged by the secret watchfulness of nature, and the little whisking breezes, surrounding her finished labors, had somehow bestowed their blessing upon her task.  She had left the house as surreptitiously as her tiny form and sincere energy would allow, running down the old boards, almost jumping across the eighteenth-century backdoor steps of the farmhouse, charging into the woods like an infantryman rushing into battle, head held high with quiet dignity and deadly purpose, without even an atom of fear, soul impervious to danger, defying threats to life and limb, lying just ahead in the enemy’s midst.  She felt that if the subjects of her…

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May 15, 2023

“Wheels of the Bus,” by Bethany Reid

When the brakes failed, Claire did not panic. Later, describing the accident—which she was asked to do an ungodly number of times—she insisted on her level-headed, calm reaction. Cool under fire, grace under pressure, all that crap. No panic. She did everything as she had been taught in bus-driver school. She pumped the brake pedal all the way down, twice, three times. She shifted into third and then into second and got ready to shift further down. All the while muttering under her breath, first, reverse, like a prayer. Or a curse.   But then the idiot motorcyclist weaved into the HOV lane, right in front of the bus, not signaling, just darting from between rows of moving cars, hugely illegal. And at the same instant traffic swelled and slowed. With working brakes, it wouldn’t have…

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May 11, 2023

“The Greatest of These,” by Kathie Giorgio

“The Greatest of These,” by Kathie Giorgio

Faith wished she could pray, and then wondered if, by wishing, she was already praying. What was the difference between lighting birthday cake candles and lighting a votive in a church? With one, she closed her eyes and wished. With the other, she closed her eyes and prayed. Faith thought of all the years she tried to earn a wish by blowing out her birthday candles with one big gust, and all the Sundays she knelt in her space in the pew, she at the end, her parents at the aisle, and her siblings in between. They folded their hands in prayer.  It was all about asking for something, Faith decided, and then believing she was going to get it. With one, she asked God; with the other, she asked the universe or the air…

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May 9, 2023

Col. Jon D. Marsh — Poetry and Prose

Col. Jon D. Marsh — Poetry and Prose

“Pagan” THEY made this so. It was so even before the Others came. Too many moons ago to consider. Even before the Fathers of the Father’s Fathers, it was so. But that does not matter. Before the Others came They called Us Mana-Hoka. The Others called Us Machu Grande, and They were forced to use the Other’s words. The Others are gone now. They gave the Others to their Gods to appease them. Now We are Mana-Hoka once more. But that does not matter, either. At those times when They became of many, the Gods would often grow angry and send a curse of hunger or sickness, so They learned to appease the Gods, as They would on a night when a complete moon fills the jungle with soft light. Just as They had many…

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April 27, 2023

Our National Poetry Month Finale: Vera West

Our National Poetry Month Finale: Vera West

Please welcome Vera West, The Fictional Cafe’s Poet in Residence, who shares her thoughts about our National Poetry Month celebration: chickadee  I’m not always angry but  I am mostly melancholy,  thinking about those  little potholes of memories   riddling a twisting road  of disappointment;  these memories jar me:  pancakes, carnivals,   front yard barbecues,   black fridays and   pastel pink egg hunts,  nicknames no one else called me;  these memories always jarred me,  they’re so different than   the standard of both  back then and now.   ** thinking of you Things you did right: encourage me to be authentic, drive me around town, instill independence, and push high expectations. [I want to be somewhere in the middle, between the good and the bad, between emotion and logic, but I’m stuck in extremes. either I miss you terribly or hate you…

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April 25, 2023

Week Four: Eric Forsbergh, Susan Simonds, and Eric Goodman

Week Four: Eric Forsbergh, Susan Simonds, and Eric Goodman

Two Erics? How did that happen? Is it a coincidence or kismet? Let’ give ’em both a read before we decide. Here’s our first, Eric Forsbergh. The Love Poetry of Eric Forsbergh My Lucky Jacket  My lucky jacket drapes me pleasingly:  a cross between the wings of victory  and an asbestos fire suit.  A cloth talisman,  it buffs my confidence   to polished brass.  After all, I wore it  during our initial kiss.  It’s my fabric shield   the eyes of trolls roll off.  On my motorcycle, in the rain,  I swear this jacket wards me   from a lightning strike.  You’re my loving skeptic.  You claim it’s not a coffin or a cure.  You claim what counts  will rise within my skin.  My lucky jacket? Some days  it’s like a rescue blanket made of foil:  shiny and…

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April 18, 2023

“The Great Adverb War” by Russ Lopez

“The Great Adverb War” by Russ Lopez

Time out from our celebration of National Poetry Month for a fun, witty short story about the nemesis of all writers: the adverb. Or is it? The Merriam-Webster Dictionary states, “Adverbs are words that usually modify—that is, they limit or restrict the meaning of—verbs. They may also modify adjectives, other adverbs, phrases, or even entire sentences. Got it? Read on. The Great Adverb War A Short Story by Russ Lopez To nearly everyone’s surprise, the most contentious divide among Provincetown’s writers was not fiction vs. nonfiction, prose or poetry, or even the need for an Oxford comma, though Benji Camarillo’s husband had famously threatened to file for divorce over his refusal to use one after the penultimate noun in a series. No. The large, historic writing community in town violently splintered over adverbs.  The war…

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