Sitting in his car outside Omar and Mary Broadhurst’s house, Reverend Sizemore hesitated. It was 12:20. Maybe he should eat lunch first. He was a big man with a big appetite, constantly tempted by the women in his congregation with cakes and cookies and pies and friend chicken and, oh, on and on, and because of his high blood pressure, he’d fight these temptations to the point of rudeness sometimes. But he did not like to delay regular meals. Still, the visit to the Broadhursts shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. Go in ask how Omar was doing, say a short prayer, get out of Dodge. He got out of his car, strode up to the front door, and rang the doorbell. Almost immediately Mary Broadhurst opened the door. She must have been standing…

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The Blue Writer Editor’s Note: The Fictional Café was created with the old coffee shops of the 60s in mind. Back then, they weren’t just a place to grab a cup of joe on your way to work. They were hubs of social activity where poets would read to a captive audience, artists would hang their thought-provoking work and musicians would perform to set the mood. When we came across Phil’s work, we were instantly reminded of the archetype that our Café was build upon. From music to art to poetry, Phil is a one-man show. We hope you enjoy immersing in this café experience. * * *   “Life On Earth”     The Misplaced Journey I’ve lost it. I’m lost. Two roads diverged in the disappearance of the would have been I’m back…

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Editor’s Note: Judith’s short story is intercut with some of her own paintings, including the featured image above. * * * Winter has its way with Boston, Massachusetts; it captures and enslaves the place. The deadly cold, the snow and ice, the gloom, creep in and take over. Cars, windows, doors, all freeze hard. Snowplows, salt, shovels, tire chains, even ski poles emerge. The city succumbs, then accepts, bears down, fights on. Yet the still young enough enjoy it. Some college girls and boys, or as they like to be known, college women and men, revert to being girls and boys again. Ironic, but true. Some ski, some skate. There are sleigh rides. They have fun in the snow. A certain young woman, however, was not one of these winter revelers. Heather Ellen came from…

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Editor’s Note: Our latest installment in our Children’s Literature Issue is a short story about a girl who uses her burden help a new friend escape danger. Illustrations by Jennifer Bolten McDonough. * * * Mirror Girl Mercy, a thin girl with long dark hair climbed out of bed. Her mirrored body reflected the grey, stormy clouds from outside the window onto the gloomy bedroom walls. Mercy’s entire body was covered with sharp pieces of mirror, glued to her like shards of armor. Only her head, soft and pink, bobbed out from the glass. From a distance, she looked like a walking Christmas ornament. Today, like every day, she would spend the day reading at home, alone. She flinched as she walked towards the library, the pieces of glass digging into her flesh. She opened…

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Editor’s Note: This one’s just for the parents. Betsy’s poem takes the classic nursery rhyme “Hey Diddle Diddle” and puts a new, PG-13 twist on what the cat, dog, moon, dish and spoon may have been thinking that fateful night when so many fantastical events transpired. * * * Hey Diddle   hey diddle (the dish thought) what have we here – you don’t see a leg like that anymore. i want that to tap my well – what a line, so classy. i love a good party.   hey diddle (the spoon thought) here’s something – lovely and round with wide hips and smile. i want that to fill my bowl – how sturdy, how fun. i’m so glad i’m here.   these gigs suck crickets (the cat thought) the costume uncomfortable – the…

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