All posts tagged with short story

December 12, 2021

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

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 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 4, 2021

“24/7,” A Short Story by Sharon L. Dean

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

A fog hovers over Market Street, catching the pungent salt air. I inhale deeply as I slip the keycard into the slot and punch in the extra security code. By mid-morning, the chill of New Hampshire’s early morning spring will warm to 70 degrees. Right now I could use a jacket over my sweatshirt. Inside feels warm, though I know the temperature is set for 60 degrees. The lights on the security cameras glow. On the far wall, the clock reads 4:05. Its face and hands are large, easy to read from any part of the room even by the people who take off their glasses to exercise. All around, posters clutter the legal-pad yellow walls. Bright images of bright runners and skiers and swimmers, the swimmers posed cleverly in front of the rowing machine. The place reeks…

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October 21, 2021

“The Star,” A Short Story by Jovan Ivančević

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Yes I’m alive. It is a surprise for me as well as for you. I’m about to receive yet another reward. This time it is an accomplishment for my entire work. I feel ecstatic, fantastic but a little bit sad. I am going inside, but before doing so, I will look up to at the beautiful night sky. I always do that, wondering the names of the stars so far away. There wasn’t enough time for me to learn their names. The feeling of loneliness follows me, lingers, if not in me then around, always in close vicinity of my being. You might sense why it is like that, particularly those of you who have walked the same path as me. It is here, less than a cubit away, sometimes even closer, going up the spine, lurking in…

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October 19, 2021

“Professor Walker’s Leap of Faith,” by Robert Pope

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

This all began one lovely day in May as I walked the flowering roadways of Akron, Ohio. On the sidewalk of Portage Path, a street named after Native American lore from the local past, heading toward Market, which runs through the heart of our small-town city, I saw what looked like an enormous chicken coming toward me. My mind told me it could not be a chicken that large, at least the size of a man, so I took my glasses from my shirt pocket thinking it must be a man dressed for a costume party or some sort of promotional advertisement. With my glasses on, the chicken idea faded away. A powerful-looking man came toward me, yet the sensation of having seen feathers coming off him remained, putting my mind in a quandary as…

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October 11, 2021

“Artemis 7,” A Short Story by Zachary Lattman

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

The world watched as a cool, confident man took his place at the podium. “Good afternoon,” he said with a booming voice that filled the room. “I am Administrator Devin Cernan, and I want to thank you all for being here.” He looked down at his feet, and sighed. “Today is both a hard day, and an exciting day for NASA. In a few moments, Artemis 7 will touch down on the lunar surface, bringing NASA, the United States, and the world, back to the moon for the first time in nearly 50 years. That is a tremendous accomplishment, and it belongs to thousands of men and women, who have worked for decades to bring the Artemis program to fruition. However, today is bittersweet, as the highest priority for the Artemis 7 crew will be…

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October 7, 2021

“The Place Where the Chiefs Meet,” by Frank Diamond

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Editor’s Note: We are pleased to announce the return of Frank Diamond to the Café. His latest short story, presented here, is accompanied by the song “To Live Again” by singer/songwriter Camille Peruto, and a reading of the story by actress Maggie Peruto. The Place Where the Chiefs Meet I am 26 and it’s the night my father died. My mother insists that I had nothing to do with it. My siblings don’t play; they curse me over the phone. They’ll be in tomorrow. At one point, I slump at the kitchen table, crying and sick from withdrawal. Crystal tugs my arm: “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” I shake loose and run out. I should head to my apartment, but I don’t want to be alone. Dizzy’s not there. He’s heard about Antonio and decides to visit friends “in Jersey.” That’s…

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September 23, 2021

“Souls of Their Feet,” A Short Story by John E. Caulton

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

So as not to be overheard, I stoop a little and whisper into the youth’s ear, “What’s with the mucky feet again, eh? It’s all right depicting the hoi polloi in such a way, I suppose, but the Virgin? I mean, c’mon!” The youth, not feeling the need to lower his own voice, is not very forthcoming. Half smiling, half sneering, he curtly replies, “With respect sir, my master already explained it to you, on your last visit, if you remember.” Indeed, he had, and rather bluntly too. In fact, I almost wish I hadn’t asked at all, but I simply needed to know about the feet business. We all did. I change tack. “Has he forgiven me, yet?” I ask the youth. He answers, “For asking too many questions, maybe. But for the figurine,…

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August 26, 2021

“Tiny Shredded Pieces,” A Story by Unimke Ushie

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

When my husband told me his mother was visiting London after our wedding in Nigeria when we last saw her, I remembered her not so soft hands tapping my buttocks, touching my breast and every crease around its plumpness, and saying –with a smile that did not wrinkle the skin around her eyes– “nwunye anyi, our wife, I’m just checking if your breasts have enough to support my unborn grandchildren.” I had a bland look on my face when she touched me, that is somehow the same now listening to my husband tell me of her coming to London. And soon I felt something I cannot see or name entering my body, and a damp wetness between my legs. “I’ll finally eat good food” he added. Avoiding my face. “Oh, Chikelu you know cooking is…

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