write 10 stories in 80 words each

WRITE: 80 Word Stories

Title: 80 Word Stories Role: Author Challenge:

Write a story in exactly 80 words, not 79 or 81 but exactly 80. Titles don’t count against the word count but have to be reasonable. This was a challenge I started doing on an airplane when I wrote the story that inspired “The 2nd Best Story I Ever Wrote” below. That story really was the best story I ever wrote, and I lost it somewhere between the plane and baggage claim. I was devastated, but am working towards recovery.*

What I learned: I continue to use this challenge as a reminder to efficiently use all the words in my stories. Why is each word chosen, and what impact will it have? It also motivates me to use those short moments between things to do something creative.

“That is the biggest fucking jar of pickles I've ever seen."

"I like pickles." 

"I know you do, but seriously…where are you going to find room in the fridge?"

"I'm navigating the milk shelf right now.” I pull the oversized jar towards me.

"Oh shit! Was that the light?"

"Yes," I croak. There is a stinging in my neck. My fingers find the sharp edge of a shard of glass. I pull and blood spurts onto the condiments.

“I’m Abby Beam, Mutha-Fuckahhh!” 

The playground a cacophony of laughter, yips, yelps, jeers and taunts come to an immediate halt. Everyone stares. Eight year old Abigail Beam. A tear in her overalls, dirt on her knees. Grass in her hair. Her fists clench and unclenching.

“You just swore!” says the boy responsible for the tear, the dirt and the grass. Abby reaches a fist back and missiles it, through the air, into his nose.  “I’m Abby Beam,” she whispers. 

His aviator sunglasses are cool. His pearl-buttoned collar shirt with roses embroidered on the shoulder are cool. His gelled hair is very cool. Perfectly out of place. His willingness to breach the code of conduct in this basement dive bar is not cool. Not cool at all. Just keep texting. Keep “Checking-in.” Keep tagging, swiping, liking, finger-banging till some tells you they’ll swipe you back.

Or change course. Disengage. Disengage, Roses!

The sun beats down upon you.

The 2nd Best Story I Ever Wrote.

The best story I ever wrote was on an airplane, about a girl, her book and her thoughts. I wrote it on a napkin, a meandering tale of wonder and intrigue. 

She had red hair. A black skirt. The seat she sat in was blue. My pen was black, My napkin almost full. 

It was a tale of adventure, discovery and romance. It was a rollicking affair. We landed. I forgot napkin on the seat, and ran for the gate.

Elizabeth Gambles

Elizabeth gambles sometimes. With her fun money. She gets on a bus. She watches the farmland roll by until it stops in-front of a magical fortress of open arms, pinging sounds and blinking lights. Oh, the lights.

Oh, the lights.

She puts her money in the slot. Bell’s ring, lights flash, her heart starts to pound. Coins with the face of Caesar tumble out the slot, plinking & pinging. Elizabeth’s heart pounds and pound and pounds and stops. Elizabeth wins.

The light blinks red. Then red again. Again. Again. Again. A man up ahead orders a tapas, and I cringe. A stranger succumbing to marked up airline food, tapas no less, makes my heart ache. What choices led you to these tapas I wonder? 

His head is balding. His sweater blue. One tip of a collar is untucked, one flattened agains the wool. I’m guessing Arrow-branded oxford. I hope your dinner fulfills you sir till you reach your destination. 

There Was An Axe

There was an axe. That much I remember. 

It was hocked halfway through a maple. Stuck. Staying there. I had no say in it.  It was fall, no spring. The air cooler than expected, but chopping of the tree had kept me warm until now. 

Now I shivered. 

“You are cold,”  said a Voice. 

“Yes.” I said. 

“I can make you warm again.” The Voice said. 

“Please,” I replied.

“Close your eyes,” It said. I felt so warm after that. 

The Jesus soap sits on the back of the toilet. He, as in “He,” with a capitol ‘H’ looks up at me. Judging me for the things done on the other side of the wall. 

“Jesus,” I say. “Stop looking at me.” 

I’m not ashamed. I’m only a man. She is the cheater, not me.

“Who are you talking too?” she says.

“Jesus,” I say.

 “The gardner doesn’t come today. That’s Saturday,” she says.

The Jesus soap rolls his eyes.

I was staying at Rob’s old place, a triplex, when I saw the security team. They were hauling duffel bags out of the back of blacked-out bread truck. They were precise. Professional. Lots of action while I watch from the window.

Dog is on my lap. A knock on the door. I make myself small, scrunch on the lounge. Dog growls.

The gun disappears. I make my move. “Run!” My voice is hoarse but Dog understands. Out the back.

“You look like a mutha-fucken wizard.”

Derek extends a hand towards me. It is rough and callused, covered in dirt. A man’s hand. Even after two days in the desert my hands are soft from a continual regimen of aloe vera lotion I keep in my leather satchel. Also, I carry a satchel.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean you look like a mutha-fucken wizard.” Derek spit. A dust cloud mushrooms.

Derek was funny that way.

*Just for fun that description was 80 words. Go ahead. Count them. I’ll wait.

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Learning is sweet

As a first grade Reading Recovery teacher, I had to do assessments at the beginning of the school year to determine which students qualified for the program. Part of the assessment was having them read a sheet with randomly ordered upper and lowercase letters. One of the students I was testing came to a lowercase “m”. He looked and looked at it. Finally, he turned to me and said, “I have seen that letter on M&M’s, but I don’t know what it’s called.” — Submitted by Heidi Bailey, Tremonton, Utah. Read these quotes that prove teachers are the best mentors .

Fueling the fire

My three-year-old daughter was trying to roast a marshmallow for the first time. Her first and second attempts ended in flames. Both times, I took the scorched marshmallow off of the roasting stick and threw it into the fire. The third time, I helped her a lot more and, together, we achieved a perfectly toasty golden brown. Once it was cool, I handed her the marshmallow which she promptly threw into the fire. No one had told her she was supposed to eat it. —Submitted by Lou Roess, Parachute, Colorado.  Here are more cute, funny mistakes kids have made .

The long and the short of it

I am an 84-year-old gentleman who stands 5’4” tall from the basketball-crazy state of Indiana. Recently, my wife and I were having dinner at a local restaurant. Our waiter was a young man, around 6’8”. Naturally, I asked him if he played basketball. He looked down at me, replied, “Yes, I do,” and then asked me if I played miniature golf. —Submitted by Paul Kinghorn, Rising Sun, Indiana

The wild bunch

Truth in advertising.

In front of the grocery store, a bubbly Girl Scout stood beside a table full of cookies. “Please buy some cookies from me!” she begged. “How much are they?” I asked. “They’re $5 a box, except these two kinds over here. They’re $6 a box.” Figuring there must be something special about the two $6 boxes, I asked why that was. “Well, this box is gluten-free,” the little girl replied. “What about the other box?” She beamed, “Oh, those are overpriced!” —Submitted by Kathryn Thayer, Spokane, Washington.  Gotta love the honesty! These funny cartoons about money and politics will make you laugh.

A very special finish

My son, Mark, volunteered to help Cherie, a young runner at a local Special Olympics. Cherie was happy and enthusiastic. Mark encouraged her, kept her calm, and helped her know when it was time to line up for her race. When the starting pistol sounded, she took off like a lightning bolt, leaving her fellow racers behind. As she neared the finish line, she stopped, turned around and motioned for the other runners to hurry. She waited for them so they could all cross the finish line together. —Submitted by Debra Holley, American Fork, Utah

A soldier’s surprise

It is spring of 1943 during World War II. Standing among hundreds of new soldiers at Camp Grant, in Illinois, my father, Sam, just 18 years old, waits as a truck slowly drives by. A full field pack is randomly tossed to each soldier. “How strange,” my father thinks, as he sees his last name, Litrenti, marked on each item in his pack. “How did they know it was me when they tossed the pack?” He was impressed! Beating all odds, my father was tossed a field pack from World War I—his own father’s. —Submitted by Gail Litrenti-Benedetto, Park Ridge, Illinois.  Read powerful letters from soldiers on the front .

Smoke signals

On a cool night lit only by the orange glow of fire, we rushed to my grandfather’s home as his decades-old barn burned to the ground. The firemen let us stand nearby as they pumped water from the creek a quarter mile away. We watched the barn go up in flames, which stirred memories of jumping off foot-wide wooden beams into the hay below. The real sadness came as my elderly grandfather, who did not get out of bed, quietly asked if his cows were safe. He hadn’t had dairy cows in a dozen years. —Submitted by Dan Rolince, Golden, Colorado . These old age cartoons make getting older a little more bearable .

A mother’s wisdom

I have always worn my children’s birthstones around my neck. One morning, when I was late for work, my infant son Larry’s topaz birthstone fell from my gold chain. I frantically searched for it, whispering to myself, “I lost my Larry, but I will get him back.”

That day, Larry’s cardiologist called with test results from one of his first checkups. He would need emergency heart surgery. Happily, the operation was a success, and I whispered in Larry’s ear, “I thought I lost you, but I knew I’d get you back.” —Submitted by Lori Armstrong, Kelseyville, California.  These touching motherhood quotes will make you want to call your mom.

The good doctor

Toto was a white dog with a small red tongue, and his stuffing was red as well. When his seams began to come apart beneath his knitted collar, it looked to my six-year-old eyes as though he were bleeding. That night, my father left for his shift in the emergency room with Toto wrapped in a blanket. The next day, Dad showed me the X-rays and Polaroid photographs of the surgery. Beneath the bandage on Toto’s neck was a clean row of stitches. I still have the injury report! I love you, Dad. —Submitted by Danica Helfin, Tifton, Georgia . Awwww! Here are 20 of the funniest animal stories of 2020 .

A small fortune

While walking across an open, grassy field, I became excited as my hand swooped toward the ground like an eagle attacking its prey. I picked up half of a $5 bill. I continued to walk around looking for the other half but thought to myself it would be impossible to find it on such a windy day. As I lifted my head, I spotted the other half of the bill tangled in crabgrass. Somehow, finding two halves of a ripped $5 bill felt better than working for a twenty. —Submitted by Ron Fleming, Fort Drum, New York

Sweet sleep

“Don’t let her sleep in your bed.” That’s what I heard over and over after my daughter was born. So, I didn’t, unless she was sick. Now my baby is almost six, and every night, after we read and sing songs and turn off the light, I lie down with her before she falls asleep. We whisper to each other, and I watch her eyelids start to flutter. I smell her hair and kiss her forehead. And I wish I had done this every night. —Submitted by Suzanne Cifarelli, Albany, New York

My masterpiece

I was four, playing outside in the humid Kentucky air. I saw my grandfather’s truck and thought, Granddad shouldn’t have to drive such an ugly truck. Then I spied a gallon of paint. Idea! I got a brush and painted white polka dots all over the truck. I was on the roof finishing the job when he walked up, looking as if he were in a trance.

“Angela, that’s the prettiest truck I’ve ever seen!” Sometimes I think adults don’t stop to see things through a child’s eyes. He could have crushed me. Instead, he lifted my little soul. —Submitted by Angela Bradley-Autrey, Deer Park, Washington . Here are the funny things only first-time grandparents can relate to .

The long life of room 1108

A long flight of weathered steps led to a hollow wooden door with rusty numbers beckoning us into room 1108. Inside, we barely noticed the lumpy bed, faded wood paneling, and thin, tacky carpet. We could see the seashore from our perch and easily wander down to feel the sand between our toes. We returned again and again until the burgeoning resort tore down our orange-shingled eyesore. Forty years later, my husband periodically sends me short e-mails that declare the time: 11:08. “I love you, too,” I write back. —Submitted by Laurie Olson, Dayton, Nevada. 

A date with fate

In a kitschy bar in Cambridge, he asked to sit at my table, though later he would insist that I made the first move. I was intrigued by his tattoos. He thought I went to Harvard. All we had in common was that we’d both almost stayed home. Friends had dragged us out on a frigid February evening. We still never agree on anything, except that it’s a darn good thing we sucked it up that snowy night. Our wild blue-eyed son always stops us in our tracks, reminding us that fate is just as fragile as our memory. —Submitted by Emily Page Hatch, Wilmington, North Carolina.  These are the true stories of how 28 couples knew they’d found “the one .”

Perfect day

We went looking for a wedding dress on Sunday. Laughing, we made for the door of a bridal shop. This would surely be the first of many stores before we found the perfect gown. Having witnessed other brides and their mothers, we vowed to be happy in these moments. Unexpectedly, my mind went back to the day we brought her home some 27 years ago. I said a silent thank-you to the young mother who, by letting her go, allowed her to be mine at this precious time. Two hours later, there she stood, in the dress of her dreams. My beautiful girl. —Submitted by Marybob Straub, Smyrna, Georgia

My elderly sister decided for the first time to stay up until midnight on New Year’s Eve in New York City to watch the ball drop. The next morning, she reported that she was disappointed. When I asked her why, she said that on the news the day before, the reporters had talked about the crystals inside the ball and what a piece would be worth if someone got ahold of one. But then the ball descended very slowly. She’d expected it to crash and that people would scramble for the pieces. She’d wanted to see that! —Submitted by Pat Guthrie, Pulaski, Virginia. 

Always growing

Dad auctioned off his faithful red tractor, rented out the land, and retired from farming in 1982. He and Mom moved to town. But they reserved a small plot of land for a garden and returned each week of summer to tend it. Winter brought new challenges. Dad had his hips replaced, bypass and cataract surgeries, and a stroke. Yet each spring the garden was planted, watered, lovingly tended—the bounty shared with all. Now Dad is 93. His pale blue eyes dodge the sun as he gingerly plucks red tomatoes from the vine. “What will you remember about me?” —Submitted by Julie Liska, Seward, Nebraksa. Check out these 50 amazing dad quotes .

Dark waters

Night wreck diving in Micronesia is scary. One hundred feet down, the water is the blackest. Two of us dived toward a sunken ship that soon loomed large in the dark water. We felt the ghosts of the Japanese sailors who had died with this WWII freighter. Swimming deeper into the ship’s bowels, my buddy suddenly hit a layer of reflective silt, blinding us. Together we groped through the ship, breaking through the uninterrupted, silent blackness of the sea. Watching our bubbles, we rose to the surface, where I ripped off my mask to breathe the tropical air. —Submitted by Daryl Eigen, Portland, Oregon

A wee bit of a kitten, she meowed louder than a freight train from behind the shelter’s cage. “Can we get this one?” asked Katie, age seven. “I don’t know,” I said. “A black cat may not be good luck.” To her, I was the young live-in girlfriend and sometimes the one claiming her dad’s attention. A week later, we picked up our loud but little black kitten and named her Jasmine. Twenty years later, Jasmine’s old and loved, and when Katie comes home to visit, she greets me with a hug. We both agree: Black cats aren’t bad luck! —Submitted by Kelly Hennigan, Lacona, New York. 

Monster patrol

As a child, I had awful night terrors—at one point, I stopped sleeping. Then my dad’s younger brother lost his job and had to move in with us. Uncle Dave slept in the room next to mine. From then on, he was there to comfort me, sometimes even sleeping on the floor beside my bed “to keep the monsters away.” After he landed a job, he could have moved into a nice apartment, but I begged him not to go. When my parents asked why he was staying, he smiled and replied, “Monsters.” —Submitted by Aaron Hampton, Seattle, Washington

Excess baggage

“Ticket is $287. But all of that is a problem.” She’s referring to my luggage cart, stacked with suitcases, boxes, and a bag full of shoes. “One bag is free. Everything else is $100 each.” I tell her I packed my Volkswagen after discovering my boyfriend was cheating. Fried the engine. Hitchhiked to the airport in flip-flops. She left her cheating husband recently, hardest decision she ever made. She checks it all, charges me nothing. As I leave, I don’t feel the crush of having no plan, only the weightlessness of being free. —Submitted by Eileen Dougharty, Chicago, Illinois.  Read 21 people revealing the random act of kindness that changed their lives .

Prayer quilt

I started quilting so I could spend time with my aunt. I didn’t accomplish much until my little sister was put into the hospital. She lived 13 hours away, which meant I couldn’t be at her side, but I could pray, and I could make her a blanket. Every stitch was sewn with prayer and tears, memories woven in between layers of cotton and polyester. Doctors said she was going to die at least three times. I sewed faster. By God’s good grace, I delivered that blanket two years ago, and my sister still sleeps under it today. —Submitted by Jennifer Thornburg, San Tan Valley, Arizona

Backup Band-Aid

I was riding the subway and happened to be seated between two young guys. The one on the right eyed the slightly grungy Band-Aid on my thumb and said, “You should really change that, you know. You have to keep it clean.” Then the one on my left said, “Here, I have one,” and pulled a fresh Band-Aid out of his knapsack. “I keep them on me because I’m always hurting myself.” Incredulous, I thanked him, changed my bandage, and got off at my stop feeling pretty good about people, life, and New York City. —Submitted by Babette Lazarus, New York, New York

Love, edited

When I was raising my 14-year-old son as a single mother in Toronto, he helped me publish a magazine. One day, an incredibly handsome, soft-spoken, well-mannered visitor from Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, visited my office. We shared our experiences as volunteer editors. When he left, my son whispered, “Mom! Now, that’s the kind of man you should marry!” I blushed and laughed it off and didn’t think about it again. Eight years later, I met the same man again. He was now a widower. We married and are still together nine years later, coediting an international magazine. —Submitted by Mahjabeen Daya, Brampton, Ontario . These true summer love stories will make you swoon .

The yellow house

I’ve lived in my condo 15 years now—long enough that I don’t even see it anymore. I started dreaming about moving into a house, where I was bound to be happier. I fixated on little yellow houses somewhere in the suburbs of Chicago and watched for them from the train on my commute. “Oh, look—there’s one!” I’d say as it slid by. Then one day, sitting in the sun on my patio, I looked up and realized the outside of my condo was done in yellow siding. I already had a yellow house. And I was home! —Submitted by Rose McMills, Woodridge, Illinois

Emergency contact

We’d divorced three years earlier and hadn’t seen each other since, but for whatever reason, I never took her off my emergency contact list at the nearest hospital. After my accident, I was put in a medically induced coma, and when I woke, she was the only person in the room. She sat in a hospital recliner, watching The View, looking unshowered. She turned her head casually as I slowly came to. “It’s just like you to have something like this happen,” she said. “I’m here, so I figure I’ll get us something to eat. What do you want?” —Submitted by James Gates, Watertown, South Dakota

SS Serendipity

In July 1915, Henry and his eight-year-old daughter, Pearl, were excited for the company outing the next day. That evening, Henry had a violent argument with his landlord, ending with the landlord spitting on a painting of the Virgin Mary. Henry was so upset, he fell ill and canceled their trip. He and Pearl missed the cruise on the SS Eastland, which sank with over 800 people on board—but not my future grandfather and mother. Thanks to that miracle argument 100 years ago, 22 descendants are alive today. —Submitted by Vernon Magnesen, Elmhurst, Illinois.  Here are 10 more split-second decisions that changed history .

Clear eyes, full hearts

Every day, upon picking up my 11-year-old son from school, I would ask, “How was your day?” For years, I got the same response—“Fine, fine”—with no eye contact. His autism, it seemed, was going to deprive me of the normal chitchat parents unconsciously relish. One early spring afternoon, I asked the question, expecting the same answer. “How was your day?” My son replied, “Good, good.” Then he looked at me and said, “How was your day, Mom?” With tears streaming down my face, I said, “It’s really good—the best day ever.” —Submitted by Stephanie Adair, Metairie, Louisiana

A neighborhood kid with branches and leaves sticking out of his pockets and a headband came into our front yard. He looked like a little soldier in camouflage. “I’m acting like a tree so butterflies will come,” he said. As he waited on the grass, I brought out a huge blue preserved butterfly I’d purchased in Malaysia and hid it behind my back. I walked over, kneeled, pulled out the butterfly, and said, “A butterfly has come to see you.” He gasped, and his eyes widened. His wishes won’t always come true, but one did that day. —Submitted by Monte Unger, Colorado Springs, Colorado. 

Who goes there?

In 1943, I was 19 years old and worked at a barbecue located about a mile from my home. It was a beautiful, warm June night, so I decided to walk home from work rather than take a bus. As I walked up the back porch steps, I heard a male voice: “Kiss me, or I’ll scream.” After my initial shock, I turned around to see a young soldier in an Army uniform. I kissed him softly on the cheek. He smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and walked off into the night. —Submitted by Nettie Gornick, Butler, Pennsylvania

Big shoes to fill

I cleaned out Dad’s closet yesterday. There were two things I couldn’t box up: his work shirts and his two pairs of Red Wing boots. He couldn’t remember birthdays or anniversaries, but he remembered the date on which he’d bought his first pair. I remember it too—April 16, the day after Tax Day. What does a child do with her dad’s favorite boots? I think I will make a planter out of them or use them to store something valuable. You can’t throw away a man’s favorite boots. You’ve got to keep them and pass them down. —Submitted by Theresa Arnold, Tioga, Texas . Read about incredible family secrets people learned after someone died .

A guiding hand

En route to work, I turned right to leave my yard when a firm hand restrained my right shoulder, shoving me left. No one else was present. I followed a longer route to a traffic light intersection on Lincoln Highway, where traffic was not moving, and headed for my work site. At the end of the workday, I returned home and learned of the accident that morning only minutes after 8:00, when two vehicles crashed, pinning the crossing guard between them and killing him. I would have been in that accident. My guardian angel had preserved my life! —Submitted by Grace Napier, Greeley, Colorado

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Mother of rock

For my brother, my sister, and me, Guitar Hero was a competition of who could score the most points on the hardest level. Mom, on the other hand, would play the ten-minute “Freebird” on the easiest level while we kids prepared for our next showdown. When Mom restarted the song after missing a note, we all shouted our disapproval. “Rock stars do what they want,” she said, and we laughed because we agreed: Mom was a rock star. That’s why, later, her funeral felt more like the last stop on a farewell tour, with “Freebird” as the perfect send-off. —Submitted by Paul Anderson, Mt. Pleasant, Michigan . These funny mom quotes will have you cry-laughing .

The little things

When I was in first grade, my father lovingly brought home a colorful schoolbag for me. I shouldered the new empty bag like a prized possession for an hour; then I heard a barely audible clunk from within it. I sifted through every pocket until I found a little clown man and a red fish. Even though today my tiny red fish can’t swim in water anymore and the clown can’t move in funny circles anymore, I can still feel the ultimate joy of those unexpected little toys. —Submitted by Anum Wasim, Karachi, Pakistan

A cut above the rest

The Vietcong lobbed mortars into our base camp. My friend and I were asleep when a shell hit close by. He had a tattoo on his left arm, a bulldog with the letters U.S.M.C. underneath. We were both wounded and evacuated, and I did not see him again until months later when we encountered each other at Great Lakes Naval Hospital. I noticed his Marine Corps tattoo was completely gone. He said the mortar shell had sliced it off with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. There you have it: free tattoo removal courtesy of the Vietcong. —Submitted by Ken McBride, Chesterfield, Missouri

Mind the web

One morning, I walked down the path to my car and right into a huge spiderweb that had appeared overnight. I felt foolish for not having seen it, rid myself of the web tendrils, and went on my way. The next morning, the very same scenario occurred, and I felt even more foolish. On the third day, I was careful to look for the web—the spider had rewoven it, but this time off the path in the bushes. How humbling to realize that the spider and I had learned the exact same lesson in the same amount of time. —Submitted by Jerrold Schwartz, Pompano Beach, Florida .

Crossing over

Geriatric intensive care unit—heart failure. I watch my mother’s labored breathing as she holds on, mouth grim, trapped in a lifetime of memories. I wait, knowing the cycle is near completion. “Go in peace,” I say. In another hospital ward, a new phase of my life awaits. Neonatal intensive care unit—meconium aspiration. I welcome the sight of the mechanical ventilator, knowing it’s easing the newborn’s distress. Soon, my granddaughter’s bad start will be a mere memory. “Welcome, little Olivia,” I whisper. —Submitted by Belinda Nicoll, Westerville, Ohio

First in flight

The little Cessna had just cleared the pattern in its climb to 1,500 feet when my father said, “OK, we can land now.” With my newly minted private pilot’s license in hand, I had wanted him to be my first non-instructor passenger. I’d planned to circle the Michigan State University campus and come back to the university-owned airport. I reminded him of this, and I’ll never forget what Dad said, more than 40 years ago: “I’m not fond of small planes. I just wanted you to know that I have confidence in you.” —Submitted by Kay Lockridge, Santa Fe, New Mexico. 

My wife, Loretta, who had terminal pancreatic cancer, received a package containing a beautiful white ceramic swan. It had cost $100, and our bills were multiplying rapidly. “How could you do this?” I burst out. “I ordered it a long time ago. I really wanted it,” she replied tearfully. “It’s all right,” I said, ashamed. “I love you, Bill, and I don’t want to die,” she said. “I love you too,” I said. The darkness of my scolding turned into a bright moment of mutual love. Twenty-five years later, the swan remains. That moment is etched upon my heart. —Submitted by Bill Coulson, Logan, Utah

Kindred spirit

They were the best cookies I’d ever baked, the ingredients more expensive than a state dinner’s, a mix of my son’s favorite recipes. I wrapped each cookie in plastic, sealed the box, affixed the customs declaration form, and presented the parcel to the postal clerk. Destination: Afghanistan. She pointed to an uncompleted section of the form. “If non-deliverable: Abandon; Return; Redirect.”  If non-deliverable —an incomprehensible phrase. I stood stone-faced. “My son’s in the military,” she said quietly. “You can check Redirect, then write Chaplain  to redistribute at his discretion .” Our mother eyes met. I nodded. Thank you. —Submitted by Judith Spargur, Cody, Wyoming. These are the triumphs and tragedies military families understand .

Roses for Charlotte

When I came home after the birth of my granddaughter, I found a tattered copy of Charlotte’s Web on my kitchen counter, along with a rosebush in a gallon jug, cookies, and a card—gifts from my neighbors. I was puzzled until I read the note: “Thought you might want this back.” I had given them the book years ago, when their kids were young. The inside cover had my daughter’s name written in her fourth-grade cursive. My granddaughter’s name is Charlotte. And the rosebush is thriving. —Submitted by Laurie Whitman, La Grange Park, Illinois.  These are the 25 best children’s books ever written .

Mirror image

In mythology, humans had four arms, four legs, and two faces. Fearing them, Zeus split them into two, forcing an eternal search for their other half. Zeus failed. When my (now) husband arrived at my house for our first date, I opened the door to my other half, dressed exactly like me, head to toe: aviator Ray-Bans, Levis, Timberland boots, the same yellow ski jacket. After our amazed laughter, he said, “One of us has to change.” I changed my clothes but not my mind. I knew we’d be together forever. —Submitted by Elana Pate, Palm Bay, Florida

My shining light

I volunteered at Ground Zero after hometown firefighters responded but never returned. Lt. Timothy Higgins was one of them. I felt Timmy’s presence during dark moments, guiding me along every path. Working in sight of the burning piles, I met a fire marshal named Steve. I told him I was from Freeport. Steve said he’d been a firefighter with a guy from Freeport. I asked, “Who?” He replied, “Tim Higgins.” I followed this path and married Steve in 2005. I think of Tim every day. He must have been a shining light. Certainly, he was my beacon. —Submitted by Deborah Kahn Schreck, Sayville, New York.  Read these twists of fate that saved people’s lives on 9/11 .

Destiny at the dentist

Having just cemented a new bridge, my dental-assistant mother said to her patient, “Your girlfriend’s going to love your new teeth.” He replied, “I’m between girlfriends right now.” She said, “Don’t go anywhere. I have two daughters, Kathy and Vicky. Let me get their pictures from my wallet.” Dan was still reclined in the dental chair with his bib on and wasn’t going anywhere. Rushing back, she showed him her daughters’ photos, saying, “Here is our phone number. Give Kathy a call—she’s the older one.” He called, and we’ve been happily married for 39 years. Thanks, Mom! —Submitted by Kathleen Curran, Canyon Country, California

Coming from a destitute family, my brother and I were used to having very slim Christmases. We expected nothing more one Christmas morning, as we scooped wrapping paper from the floor. “Grab the blanket hanging over there and wrap it around your mother when she comes in here and tell her how much you love her,” my father whispered deviously. Grabbing the blanket and pouncing on our mother, we noticed two upright guitars that the blanket had been draped across. Those guitars became the sole form of expression all throughout our growing-up years—and up to this day. —Submitted by Brianna Blanchard, Springfield, Massachusetts. These Christmas miracle stories will restore your hope for the holidays .

Her favorite carol

Ruth was in the end stage of Alzheimer’s disease. She could no longer move or speak, but she had always loved to sing, her husband said. At the facility’s Christmas party, we sang our favorite carols. When we got to “Silent Night,” Ruth squeezed my hand, smiled, and then began to sing. She sang every word clearly in a beautiful alto voice. When the song finished, she grew silent again, but the smile never left her face. These moments are the reason I go to work every day. —Submitted by Andrew Caruso II, Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio

At war on Christmas

Christmas Day, 1969, Vietnam, 101st Airborne Division. On a hill somewhere around Hue, the supply chopper comes in, usually loaded with mail, C-rations, ammo, and sometimes clean clothes. What is this? An ammo canister full of beef stew. We have no utensils to serve the stew, so the platoon leader uses his hand as we go through the line. When he finishes, he has stew up to his elbow! What a pleasant surprise that leaves a lasting memory. —Submitted by Jim Griffin, Chickamauga, Georgia

Last, best visit

Our relationship lasted just five years. He was a gentle, caring man who put me at ease when I was stressed and made me laugh when times were tough. He was the kind of person you want around all the time, yet I will not miss him. In fact, our last day together was one of the happiest days of my life; a cause for celebration. I smiled as I hugged my oncologist goodbye after five years of being cancer-free. —Submitted by Diane Rhodes, San Jacinto, California

A mutual calling

Brian and I have been married three years, but we’ve been together ten. We met as AmeriCorps volunteers on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in Porcupine, South Dakota—a tucked-away place with a scattered population of 1,000. He taught computers and played guitar. I taught English and wrote poetry. In the volunteer house, we courted each other by making a phone out of tin cans and a string. I still remember his voice in my ear. Automatic goose bumps. A year later, our mothers discovered we were born in the same hospital in New Jersey, 1,600 miles away. —Submitted by Lauren Belski, New York, New York.  Learn some of the most bizarre coincidences in history .

A scarlet symbol

My mother was my best friend. She loved cardinals, the male red ones. When she got sick with pancreatic cancer and knew death was near, she told me to always look for the red cardinal—that would be her. I never paid too much attention to that statement; I was too busy becoming an adult. Twenty-five years later, every time I feel at my wit’s end, there is a cardinal flying past me or in a nearby tree. Is it coincidence, or my mother, all these years later, letting me know that everything will be OK? I’ll take the latter. —Submitted by Priscilla Hartling, West Allis, Wisconsin.  Here are some chilling reincarnation stories of people who lived before .

My grandmother’s secret

One summer during college in Beijing, I visited my grandma in Tsingdao. I was one of her favorite granddaughters since I lived the farthest from her, and she let me stay in her bedroom. There on the wall was a big color poster of a white lady with a gentle smile. I never dared ask about this poster. When I brought my mom to America years later, as we left the airport, she asked if I would take her to a church. I realized that my grandma’s family had hidden its Catholic identity for the last 40 years. —Submitted by Angie Ruan, Los Gatos, California

Flower power

The hummingbird was lost in the supermarket, exhausted, starving, and near death as it spiraled towards the ground on helpless wings. I snatched her away from the crushing carts, cupped her in my hands, and rushed for the exit. She was tiny and soft against my palms. I ran out towards the flowers. She was too weak to perch; I cupped her in my palm and held her up to each flower to drink. Slowly, she perked up and her claws tightened on my finger. Then she spread her wings and flew on her own: a tiny, sweet miracle. —Submitted by Marissa Reay, Peoria, Arizona. 

Monkey see, monkey do

I sat in the comfort of my grandparents’ house, enjoying the rain and the “Cat Concerto” episode of Tom and Jerry with my grandfather. Munching on one of my grandmother’s fresh, scrumptious rotis, I saw a monkey suddenly swing onto the bars on our door. My grandfather encouraged me to offer it my roti; it gently accepted the gift. Peering in, my new friend stared with interest at the TV. The curious monkey, my grandfather, and I watched the rest of Tom and Jerry’s adventure together, astonished at the harmony that exists between humans and animals in our world. —Submitted by Vrinda Vasavada, Cupertino, California

The truth of the matter

At 12, I believed honesty was always rewarded. One afternoon, I hit a ball through a vacant apartment’s window. The sound of shattering glass was followed by kids running in all directions screaming, “Run! No one will tell.” I went to the manager, expecting praise for being so honest. He laughed, saying, “I’ve never had a kid snitch on themselves. Kind of dumb.” I didn’t understand until my mother said, “How did you feel when you told the truth? Remember that instead of what he said. Pride in yourself will always be your reward.” —Submitted by Barbara Whapeles, Spokane, Washington. 

License to wed

One summer day in 1957, we headed to the courthouse for a marriage license. My husband-to-be, Steve, asked the clerk for a fishing license. She advised him a fishing license cost $1.50 and a marriage license cost $2.50. With some thought and a smile, he chose the marriage license, and so our life together, later filled with two children, began. Whenever we had a disagreement, I would remind my husband that he could have saved money had he chosen a fishing license, and it would have expired in a year. The extra dollar cost him 53 years of wedded bliss. —Submitted by Donna Kelsey, Lake Nebagamon, Wisconsin

Meet the parents

When I was 39, my longtime foster mom and her new husband were planning their retirement future and decided the time was right to officially add me to their newly blended family. They asked if they could adopt me. I was quite touched. Just before leaving for family court that morning, I was getting my kids ready for school. My son (age 11 at the time) looked at me quite seriously and said, “Mom, I think it’s nice that Nana and Papa want to adopt you, but…we sure are going to miss you around here.” —Submitted by Karen Chipman, Lynn, Massachusetts . These funny parenting stories prove that kids are downright hilarious.

Pardon me, neighbor

A friend told me that as a kid, his father—a poor farmer and binge drinker—became abusive when drunk, forcing the family to escape into their cornfield, with him frequently shooting after them with his .22 rifle. Their neighbor, an elderly Amish farmer, came by one day explaining that rats had been in his corncrib and asked if anyone could sell him a .22. After a bargain was struck, my friend followed the neighbor and observed him crossing the river bridge, stopping midstream, and dropping the rifle and ammunition. —Submitted by James Didlow, San Antonio, Texas

Angel with a donut

Several years ago, my tire went flat while I was driving with my young son asleep in the backseat. It was a heavily traveled road, so I pulled over. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw that a man had pulled up behind me. He offered to help. As he installed the donut, we talked. He explained that he was from a long distance away. His face was kind, his voice gentle. My son awoke, and I went to care for him. When I looked back, the man was gone. Do angels walk the earth? I believe they do. —Submitted by Mary Beth Asenjo, Timberlake, Ohio . This story of an “angel” visiting a small-town funeral will give you goose bumps.

One bright year

Once, a filthy stray kitten just appeared in our kitchen. She looked so weak and thin that I knew she would die soon. I adopted her; surprisingly, she lived with our family for a whole year. One night, I knew she was dying. I listened to her weak breaths and watched her attempts to respond to my gentle touches. For the last time, I held her and felt proud to see how beautiful and healthy she had become. I was ready to let her go. She looked at me one last time, smiled, and died peacefully in my arms. —Submitted by Maria Cecilia Hular, Legazpi City, Philippines. Check out these touching stories of pets finding homes during the pandemic .

Reel trouble

I was fishing all week in Canada with Dad and my brother, with no luck catching anything. We decided to set our poles in rocks, our lines in the water off the front of a small island in the lake, and swim naked off the island’s back. Just as an unattended line bent with the weight of a fish, a boat full of guests from our lodge came by the front side of the island. Faced with a decision between catching the fish and enduring dinner-table gossip that night, Dad chose the fish. Sometimes, man’s primitive instincts must be served. —Submitted by Bill Harris, Cincinnati, Ohio

Good vibrations

My dad died unexpectedly at age 78, leaving our family heartbroken. During the funeral mass, my sister felt her phone vibrate in her purse. She was a little surprised that someone would be calling her, knowing she was at dad’s funeral mass. Afterward, she found there was a message: “Hi, this is your dad,” said the male voice. “I wanted to let you know I made it home.” The caller obviously had the wrong number, but the message was clear. My dad had completed his journey to heaven and wanted us to know. Thanks, Dad—until we meet again. —Submitted by Nancy Perkins, St. Johns, Michigan

Not made for TV

Thirty-two years ago, I had hoped to see my daughter’s second birthday . Well, I’ve seen 30 more than that! On September 13, I even danced at her wedding. I had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and my prognosis was not good, but I had no intention of leaving my handsome young husband a widower with a beautiful baby daughter to raise. I’d rather leave that for a Lifetime or Hallmark movie, thank you very much. And I look forward to the day when once again I’ll hold a beautiful baby in my arms: my grandchild. —Submitted by Susan Horn, Nanuet, New York

Covert cash

A woman in front of me rummaged through her purse looking for a gift card to complete the remaining $14 of her grocery purchase, which was just over $30. When she found her gift card and the cashier swiped it, the card was empty. I slid $14 to the cashier. She tried the gift card one more time, then acted as if the transaction had gone through successfully. The woman got the groceries that she needed without finding out that I’d paid the remainder of her bill. —Submitted by Tari Jacobson, Wasilla, Alaska. You’ll tear up at these 24 stories about the kindness of strangers .

Ripple effect

It was September 14, 2001. I had gathered the class for a story to end our labors of the day. Suddenly, a crack of thunder came from above. A little boy across from me began whimpering. I whispered a few calming words, but more children joined in, some with tears in their eyes. Soon, all 28 first-graders were crying. I realized it was not a storm above, but the gamut of emotions from millions of people in the infinitely longest and saddest week in American history, funneling down to the hearts of tender little children. —Submitted by Lorraine Fox, Caldwell, Idaho. Here are some heartwarming stories of teachers who changed their students’ lives .

My sister’s finger

My sister was 16 and I was seven. On summer days, our mother would allow her to drive to the drugstore to buy a fashion magazine. Cissy would call to me, “Do you want to go with me?” What a thrill! Off we would go. When we arrived, she would hold out her forefinger for me to hold. The finger had a tiny wart on it. I am now 85, and she has been gone 22 years, but I can still feel that finger with its little wart, held out in loving kindness to a little sister. —Submitted by Cora McClure, Dallas, Texas. These are the 30 things only sisters understand .

Little brother, grown up

When we first married, my husband was in the Big Brother program. His Little Brother, John, was ten years old. They had two great years together until John’s mother had to move out of state. We wondered about him over the next 30 years—his name was so common that we had no way of finding him on the Internet.

One day, our garage door broke. As the repairman answered the phone and repeated my husband’s name, standing next to him at that moment was John. He was married with three wonderful children, and had been looking for us, too! —Submitted by LoyAnn Rossel, Lincoln, Nebraska. 

Considerate Aunt Caroline

My Aunt Caroline, whose strength was slipping, lived in my hometown. Occasionally she fell, and I would lift her back up. When I began dating Sarah, who’s now my wife, A-Caroline kept up with our relationship. She wasn’t shy. The first time I invited Sarah to my house for a meal and a movie, A-Caroline knew every detail. At the end of our date that evening, A-Caroline called and asked if I would come over after Sarah left. When I got there, I found her on the floor. She had fallen hours earlier, but didn’t want to bother our date. —Submitted by David Charvat, Wheeling, West Virginia

Finding sweetness in sorrow

I volunteer at a free café feeding homeless and hungry people. One day, a frail lady in her late 40s wearing many layers of clothing walked up and down the line of people waiting to be served, handing out little candy hearts. She sat at my table and told me her story: Once her children were grown, her husband had severely beaten her and cast her into the street. After she became homeless, she learned that he had given her AIDS. She knew she was dying, but gave out candy hearts to try and bring happiness into every person’s day. —Submitted by Fred Hoffman, Tampa, Florida

Pennies for candles

When I was a child, during the Great Depression, my mother sent me to the store to buy candles because our electricity had been turned off. I gave the clerk in the store my pennies for the candles, and he sarcastically said, “Didn’t pay the electric bill?” I held my head up high and replied, “Of course we did, but we want to have dinner by candlelight tonight.” I still laugh when I recall our “candlelight” dinner and the look on the clerk’s face after my retort. We didn’t have much money, but we had pride. —Submitted by Jean Smidt, West Milford, New Jersey. Check out these vintage photos of what family time looked like 100 years ago .

Just one question

My brother, my two sisters, and I started a serious conversation one day, which is unlike the playful ones we normally have. We started talking about what we would ask God if there were a telephone in heaven and we could each ask him only one thing. My sister, Dawn, won: The one thing she would ask God was, “May I speak with my Daddy?” —Submitted by Sherry Lawrence, Amarillo, Texas

A beautiful romance

He left a single red rose on my windshield. He wasn’t allowed to send me flowers at work, since my husband had died only six months before. When the time was right, he sent me flowers on my birthday, Valentine’s Day, and eventually every anniversary. The guys at work told him he made them look bad. They were joking, but he wasn’t. He kept sending me flowers. He made me breakfast in bed. But most importantly, he invited my daughter and her three children to move in with us after she split from her then-husband. What’s more romantic than that? —Submitted by Carmen Marden, Campbell, New York.  Read these 40 romantic ways to say “I love you.”

“Mom, I’m having heart surgery tomorrow and know I’m not going to make it. I’m just calling to tell you goodbye and ask you to forgive me for all the heartache I’ve caused. I know I’ll have the smallest funeral ever because I don’t have any friends left. Please forgive me.” He died three days later in prison, loved and not forgotten by friends. A Facebook posting resulted in his funeral not being the smallest one ever as he’d feared. His childhood friends, neighbors, and extended family members were there, and the chapel was full to the brim. —Submitted by Edna Peters, San José, California

Baby in the basket

When I was about two, we visited Aunt Dorrie’s house. She had a large oval willow basket like the one my mama always used for laundry. Standing on tiptoe, I peeked into this basket, and there was a baby! I was breathless with astonishment. How could laundry turn into a baby? I never asked, but for years after that, I checked Mama’s basket frequently, in case hers had that same baby-producing capability. It didn’t seem to, but I always felt it might if I could catch it at just the right moment … And I still believe in magic. —Submitted by Katie O’Brien, Hoquiam, Washington .

Floating to freedom

The uncooked noodles were left on the porthole by someone who no longer wanted it. By the looks of it, no one else would want it, because it had become moldy. I didn’t care, I was hungry. Our riverboat had been on the South China Sea for days, battered by a typhoon, making its way to freedom, to the Malaysian shores. We were escaping Communism during a premature post–Vietnam War decade, seeking anything better­—my parents told me we were “going to visit Grandma.” The noodles tasted bitter but gratifying. We made it to freedom two days later. —Submitted by Tuan Tran, Taunton, Massachusetts

Grand adventures

We met in 1966: two little girls. The adventures we’ve shared in our 48 years are exquisite. Buying the kitten, hiding her in Denise’s bedroom for a week. We weaved tall tales at the playground. Teen angst set in; we “ran away” from home, taking a Greyhound bus on a Friday night with a paper sack of clean underwear and Oreos. In 1978, a road trip to California, just two naive girls with a tin can of cash and my Plymouth Scamp. We’re moms now. Our children shake their heads as we laugh, giggle, and embarrass them. Grown-ups we’re not! —Submitted by Jean Poeschl, Apple Valley, Minnesota.  These best friend quotes sum up the value of friendship .

How to have your baby on the floor

1) Have doctors who believe you’ve just got a bladder infection during your ninth month. 2) Scream at your husband to run to get doctor-prescribed bladder medication. 3) Start to panic when you realize a human is emerging from your body! 4) Have your mother-in-law scream that even though she has had five children of her own, she has never seen it from this angle! 5) Plead with your mother-in-law to catch the baby! 6) Close your eyes! 7) Welcome baby girl. 8) Have the best true story ever. —Submitted by Heather Krizovski, La Vista, Nebraska

Dad’s secret spot

My dad was a gardener before it was cool. He would proudly tell people, “I can grow just about anything.” He could—except for my beloved lilacs. He tried everything, with no luck or lilacs to show for his efforts.

One night when I was a teen, it was raining in that way it does in Minnesota in April: violent and cleansing. I heard the creak of the side door, and he stood soaking wet, etched with scratches, holding an abundance of lilacs. “I found a secret lilac spot,” he said. “It wasn’t easy, but I got them.”

That’s how he got everything. —Submitted by Lucia Paul, Plymouth, Minnesota.  Here are the best gardening tips for beginners .

The day everything changed

As an 11-year-old African-American boy growing up in Philadelphia, playing baseball outside was my passion. My neighborhood was mixed black and white, and no one cared how anyone looked. We just played together. One spring day—April 4, 1968, to be exact—my world changed. My mother ran outside and told me to get in the house. Martin Luther King, Jr. had been shot and killed. As I sat on the floor and watched the fires, riots, and looting on the news, I knew I was different. My innocence was now forever lost. —Submitted by George Rucker, Glenside, Pennsylvania. When a high school athlete was told he couldn’t compete because he was Black, all of his teammates stood with him .

My wife, Barb, and I love camping. We go many times a year, rain or shine, and we carry a huge, industrial tarp. On one such trip we were camping with our best friends, Rick and Jo-Ann. The weather that day was, to say the least, unstable. The tarp was up to cover the campground, but I pulled it back when the weather cleared. After a few hours, having pulled back the tarp twice, I finally sat in my camping chair.

“What are you doing?” Jo-Ann asked.

I replied, “I am playing chess with God, and it’s his move.” —Submitted by Terry Wells, Surrey, British Columbia

Back where I belong

It feels good to move back home after two years. It was the last place I saw him alive, the last place I kissed him goodbye, and the last place I would hear him say, “I love you, Baby—see ya tonight.” He died that day of a heart attack shortly after arriving at work.

Tonight the fireflies came out for the first time this summer. As I planted flowers, a grandpa and his granddaughter walked by on their way to fish at the lake. I guess life goes on with or without us. It’s good to be home. —Submitted by Lisa Mizzell, Cropwell, Alabama

Embarrassed but undaunted

At 21, I was proud to have moved by myself from Nebraska to New Jersey, but it took me several months to work up the courage to venture into New York City alone. The subway sign over a solitary doorway near my apartment building promised to deposit me in the Big Apple, and I finally got brave on a crisp Saturday morning. Heart pounding, I flung the subway door open, only to find a receptionist surrounded by shelves of beauty products. I had summoned all my courage to enter the strangely windowless Subway Hair Salon. —Submitted by Susan Cerbone, Newtown, Pennsylvania. 

Love boat reunion 

The moment I met Denise aboard the Love Boat, I knew she was someone special. She became my first love, but we lived 90 miles apart. After the cruise, we maintained our love affair through handwritten letters. Eventually, geography took its toll. We went on to separate lives, yet I thought about her quite often. Thirty years later, we reunited in Grand Central Station. I hired a violinist to play our love song as we held each other for the first time in three decades. After wishing to be with her all those years apart, we finally married. —Submitted by Rick Bennette, Tequesta, Florida

Sweeter when shared

On a beautiful summer day, I was volunteering at a Special Olympics event. I was assigned to help a 20-something-year-old man throughout the day. He held my hand as we walked around. When he wanted candy, we went up to the refreshment stand and bought a chocolate bar. He took the candy, broke it in two, handed me half, and said, “Lois, eat.” What a special moment to share with a stranger. —Submitted by Lois Sims, Sun City, Arizona

He found me

I was thinking I’d be alone forever after a terrible time in my life, when there he was. While I sat soaking in the fresh air after a two-week bout of bronchitis, he stood watching the waves roll in. He asked if he could sit next to me. “Sure, why not?” I said. We people-watched and talked about which dog breed was our favorite. We watched the sunset together.  I didn’t know it then, but I’d found my husband—or rather, he had found me. We now return to that spot every year on our anniversary. —Submitted by Sandra Dopierala, San Marcos, California

Little puffs of love

Cream puffs: I never realized how much love they would exude over a 40-year period with my family and friends. My dear mother-in-law, Norma, shared her secret, luscious cream puff recipe with me in 1974.

Annabelle, my dear friend who had terminal cancer, requested my cream puffs throughout her illness. They were such a comfort food to her every time she smiled and took a bite. Up until three days before she passed, I was baking fresh cream puffs for her. Now she is smiling down on me every time I bake them. —Submitted by Betty Heidt, Harrisonburg, Virginia. 

A bird’s best day

He was a big parakeet in a tiny cage that forced his body into a stoop.  His water dish was dry and his food bowl was empty. A family had moved and left him behind, alone in an empty house. I transferred him to the biggest habitat I could find and filled it with parakeet toys: mirrors, balls, bells, chewing sticks. I named him Re for rebirth. Then one day I saw that he had straightened his body. He stood tall, gripping his perch with new strength. His green feathers shone, and his eyes were bright. Re’s rebirth had begun. —Submitted by Kamran Smith, Middletown, Virginia.  Laugh at these 22 hilarious bird photos you need to see .

It was moving day for my son and his bride. As I drove the rented truck to their new home, one of the four rear tires blew out on the highway.  I pulled off into an empty lot of a private school. My son joined me, and as we waited for the repair, we sat in a beautiful courtyard laughing about our predicament, sharing our lives, and discussing his future. What could have been a bad day turned into a special and private moment with my son.  I knew even at the time to cherish our time alone. —Submitted by Ruth Miele, Davisburg, Michigan

Eternally grateful

Just out of the Navy, we were pulling our 29-foot-long house trailer through the mountains on our way to attend the University of Florida. When the car’s overworked clutch gave out, we found ourselves stranded on a dangerous curve. A truck driver pulled over, detached his trailer, and pulled our car to the next town where we got help. Before we could get his name or properly thank him, he was gone, back to pick up his trailer and continue in the opposite direction. That was 50 years ago. I hope he reads this. —Submitted by Cecilia Hannes, Sheboygan, Wisconsin

Sweet thievery 

“Stay out of the cellar!” Grandma called from her TV room. We crept into the dirt-floored room off her kitchen, which was filled with candy from Thanksgiving to Christmas. She knew each family member’s favorite and made them all.

Living next door allowed frequent dashes to snatch confections awaiting the next holiday. Grandma didn’t mind the thievery. We left behind bags of sugar in trade. It was our game. She laughed. We grew fat.

“I hear ya!” she yelled as we snuck back out her front door, drooling divinity. Dad had already exited ahead of me. —Submitted by Alan Daugherty, Bluffton, Indiana

Wake-up call

I was flying with C-130 cargo planes for several months, moving cargo all over the world. I would be gone for two to three weeks, home one day, then gone again for several weeks. Upon returning home late one night, I knocked on our front door.

“Who is it?” My wife called out.

“Pat,” I answered.

“Pat who?” she snarled.

I got her point and applied for a desk job the next day. —Submitted by Pat Ferry, Mesa, Arizona. This woman’s husband went missing—15 years later, the doorbell rang .

The heart endures

A tree was given to our mother the week she gave our youngest sister a life-saving kidney. The Redbud tree, with its heart-shaped leaves, was the perfect tree to symbolize the gift of love. Our sister did very well with the new kidney for ten years. The tree thrived along with her.

Heartbreakingly, we lost our beautiful sister to eventual complications. The tree outlived her, but lost its struggle to thrive. As our parents reluctantly cut down the fading tree, they noticed the stump was in the shape of a heart. —Submitted by Mary Lazar, Sarver, Pennsylvania

A moving lesson

In my 86 years, I sometimes wished I had grown up in one place knowing all the same folks. Now, I know I was blessed with a more unusual life. How many girls have lived in 13 different towns—or lived in apartments, a pole cabin, a houseboat, and a three-story home—all before marriage? I never knew a stranger. No, Dad was not a preacher or a military man. He was a baker by trade and only had eight years of school, but he knew travel was educational and was not afraid of change. He taught me well! —Submitted by Evelyn Smith, Greenville, South Carolina

Tom’s tag

Twenty years ago, we got a handicap-accessible tag. You know the kind: a long, blue placard with a cartoon wheelchair.  As my husband hung it on the rearview mirror, my eyes stung. We needed it for our three-year-old son.

Twenty years have passed quickly. Tom is grown, and he is by all accounts a success. He volunteers, has friends, and is gentle with animals. When we go places, he sits up front with his dad and plays his music on the radio. We are very happy. And we still have our tag. —Submitted by Colleen Wolford, East Syracuse, New York

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For 40 years, I had wondered about my baby sister. Does she look like me? Where does she live? I hope she’s happy. After eight babies, my parents had divorced. They almost reconciled several years later, but a pregnancy brought out the old problems. Mom did the hardest thing, and gave up the baby for adoption. We were dirt-poor, fractured, and dysfunctional, but we had love. Last summer, that baby girl decided to find us. She has now met five of the six remaining siblings. My heart is so full. And yes, she does indeed look like me. —Submitted by Jeannette Bram, Rockwell, Iowa.  These adoptees found their birth parents through DNA tests .

A stand-up woman

My mom had a great sense of humor and a knack for making everything fun. One thing that resonated with me, even as a small child, was how much she seemed to enjoy her own company and found ways to entertain herself. As a kid, I remember her giggling while paying bills. What was so funny about bill paying? She would put humorous notes in the reference section of the check: For the electric bill, she might put “You light up my life,” and for the mortgage she’d write “Four shingles closer to owning it all.” —Submitted by Robin Hynes, Slingerland, New York.  Here are 12 of the most hilarious things moms have said .

The best bad hair day

The air smelled strongly of salt. My boyfriend had asked me to meet him at the beach. I love the beach, but today the sea breeze really wasn’t helping my hair. I grumbled as I made my way to the shore.

I saw the light of candles in the distance, but couldn’t make them out, as I’d forgotten my glasses. Why couldn’t he have picked another place for dinner?

I walked up to him and was about to open my mouth to complain, when he suddenly got down on his knee and said, “Will you marry me?” —Submitted by Saveeta De Alwis, Colombo, Sri Lanka

A bird’s sad words

Pets commonly express feelings through sounds and actions, but words by nature escape them. Sugarcaine, our blue and gold macaw, uses over 30 words and phrases, yet these are merely repetitions without thought or reason—or so I thought. For two weeks we boarded him with our vet, where he resided in the top corner of an examination room. One day, a severely injured kitten was rushed in. The doctor and assistants worked dutifully, but to no avail. In reverent silence, as they stepped back from the lifeless body, a compassionate voice from the corner spoke: “I’m sorry.” —Submitted by Bill Brusick, The Woodlands, Texas

November 26, 1975. I was at a party with friends playing ping-pong. I was 15; she was 16. Her name was Joanne. I ripped a portion from a paper bag and wrote, “Can I kiss you?” She nodded yes. We left the party and went to our hangout spot. It was 6:30 p.m. and already dark, with huge snowflakes falling. I kissed her for the first time and saw fireworks. We married August 4, 1979, and this November 26 will be the 39-year anniversary of that first kiss. I still see fireworks! —Submitted by Greg Hajduk, Valparaiso, Indiana

A star is born

Christmas, 1962: I was at Harrah’s Lake Tahoe watching Liberace and a then-unknown Barbra Streisand. She sang and was fantastic. Later, at the craps table, I saw a girl with her hair in curlers wearing a scarf. I played by her, saying, “Ms. Streisand, I saw the show and think you have a great talent.” She said, “Yeah, sure, sure.” Later, she picked up her chips, touched my arm, and said, “Thank you very much.” I think she was so new to fame that she was embarrassed. I have been in love with her ever since, but that’s another story. —Submitted by Buck Brkich, San Antonio, Texas.  Enjoy these 14 ironic “failures” of wildly successful people .

Passing down pride

After my father passed away, my brother was cleaning out Dad’s wallet and found a small American flag. As a young boy in Alice, Texas, my dad found the flag on the street after a parade. Even then, he loved this country and felt our flag should be honored, so he folded it and put it in his wallet. He carried it everywhere he was stationed, through Europe and Vietnam. My brother is retired military, but my other brother’s son, also an army officer, carries the flag now. I’m proud to be the daughter, aunt, and sister of Americans. —Submitted by Nancy Duderstadt, Woodridge, Illinois

I wear a skeleton key on a silver chain around my neck. It is from an antique desk my mother gave me, which I never locked. My son Josh collected such keys, and I gave him this one. He loved it, especially since it had once belonged to his beloved grandmother.

Josh wore the key around his neck after he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer at age 33. He was wearing it when he died at 35. People often admire my necklace and ask, “Is that the key to your heart?” I say yes. —Submitted by Joyce Worley, Mauldin, South Carolina

Call of destiny

For most couples, it’s love at first sight. For me and my wife, it was love at first sound.

She called my apartment in a huff at 1:00 a.m., looking to tell off my roommate, whom she had just started dating. My roommate wasn’t home, and I happened to be standing by the phone, so she vented to me, the faceless stranger. We ended up talking for two hours, learning a lot about each other, and falling in love. Twenty-seven wonderful years later, her voice is still music to my ears! —Submitted by Louis Corio, Mount Airy, Maryland . These are 50 of the most romantic movies to watch .

Confessions of a donut thief

When I was in second grade living in Indiana, my mother would frequently send me to the little neighborhood store. One day I went with a list, and when the storekeeper’s back was turned, I couldn’t resist reaching into his doughnut box on the counter and pocketing one. On the way home, I enjoyed it immensely. But over the years, my sin bothered me—so much so that when I spotted the old storekeeper at a football game during my high school years, I confessed. He smiled, held out his hand, and said, “You owe me a dime.” —Submitted by Hal Denton, Cookeville, Tennessee

Playing with fire

Mom was in the basement, washing clothes through the wringer washing machine. Darryl, my brother, was four years old, playing with matches in my mom’s bedroom on the first floor. He accidentally set the large dresser drawers on fire! Smelling the smoke, Mom rushed upstairs to find the dresser in flames. Then, before my mother’s unbelieving eyes, the fire extinguished itself in a puff of black smoke. As the burnt dresser cooled, she opened the half-charred drawer to find a small, blessed crucifix slightly burnt on the tip of the arm. —Submitted by Denise Marra, Antioch, Illinois

One last time

One afternoon Mom and I took a walk around her neighborhood. She had dementia and no longer recognized her surroundings. It was like taking a child for a walk. The day was perfect, quiet, and calm. I reveled in it. Mom’s care had become suffocating, but today I felt peaceful and enjoyed our leisurely stroll as I held her hand. A feeling came over me: Make this count. It won’t always be like this.

That was the last walk we ever took together in her neighborhood before Mom moved to assisted living. Less than a year later, she was gone. —Submitted by Steven Fehr, North Las Vegas, Nevada

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War is over

My first job out of high school was in an office in downtown Council Bluffs, Iowa. On August 14, 1945, Japan announced its surrender and WWII was over. We heard the news and we all ran outside to join the cheering and singing crowds of people. Traffic was stopped in the middle of the street as drivers honked their horns and blared loud music from their car radios. Perfect strangers hugged and kissed.  Now, almost 70 years later, I still remember that day as an exciting time in my young life. —Submitted by Paula Hassler, Tempe, Arizona

They found their way home

While I was getting ready to move from New York to Florida, I decided to take some of my things to an antique dealer. It was hard, because a few things really did have memories attached—but it seemed senseless to have them boxed up. Today, I received a package in the mail from my girlfriend, Abby. It contained three old beaded bags I had sold. She had tracked them down, bought them back, and sent them to me. It is one of the most wonderful things anyone has ever done for me. Thank you, Abby—it means a lot. —Submitted by Martha Goehner, Port Orange, Florida. 

My son comes first

Homeschooling my children is the bravest thing I’ve ever done. Daily, I forge ahead with math, reading, spelling, and handwriting, wondering if I’m adequate. I battle impatience and discouragement. I fight against the lies that I’ll never be good enough to set my children up for success, for a lifetime of learning. I fail and then set my face toward the goal, committing myself to courage. And when my little boy asks me to hold him for the rest of his life as we dance around the kitchen during a break, I know I must be doing something right. —Submitted by Allison Lee, Orlando, Florida.  Lots of us are getting a taste of homeschooling nowadays. We’ve homeschooled our kids for three years—here are the tricks you should know .

Our romance began with sparks. But over the years, our passion shape-shifted into smoldering resentment, periodically erupting into fiery altercations. Our two sons were in middle school when I moved us away from the inferno. We settled in my old hometown. My husband wrote me a letter filled with animosity for leaving. Then one day, everything changed. My husband called. “I realize now that nothing in life is more important than family, and I will do everything I can to keep ours together,” he said. “Please come home.”

So we did. That day was September 11, 2001. —Submitted by Krista Swan, Columbus, Ohio. You’ll doubt these 13 coincidences are real, but they are .

A hard call

The phone was ringing. My palms were sweaty, and my heart was pounding. I was fearful that the recipient of my call would be angry. A pleasant-sounding woman picked up: “Hello?” “Can I speak with the parents of Sergeant Jones?” I asked. The woman paused and then replied, “I’m sorry. He was killed in Iraq a year ago.” I took a deep breath and said, “I know. I was the nurse who took care of him. I wanted to let you know that he wasn’t alone. I held his hand.” She wasn’t angry. I was relieved. —Submitted by Erin Pope, Riverside, California

My father’s tears

Three times in my life I saw my father cry. The first was when his mother died. I was seven. The second was at the airport when my brother departed for Vietnam. The third was when my father was in his 80s. My mother, in late-stage Alzheimer’s, resided in a nursing home. He had visited her daily for ten years, except for three months when he broke his foot. Finally he could walk again. “I thought Mother forgot me,” he said, “but when she saw me, she smiled and said, ‘I love you.’” Then my father sobbed. —Submitted by Nancy Abeshaus, Wakefield, Rhode Island

Raccoon stew

“We’re having raccoon stew. I scraped it off the road.”

He’d laugh. As a little girl, I’d run screaming from him. As the years passed, roadkill jokes became paramount. I began to join in. We would gross each other out, a game that yielded two winners, me and my grandfather.

As illness slowly began to take him from me, we’d say, “Watch out for those raccoons,” even when his voice became a whisper. My beloved grandfather passed away on January 17, 2011. We had never said “I love you.” We always let the raccoons do the talking. —Submitted by Tresa Matulewicz, Altamont, New York. 

Sometimes I tend to think about what I don’t have: a house on the ocean, a big career I could use to impress people at my high school reunion. Then I hear his car in the driveway. I think we’ll grill tonight. Later we’ll watch some reruns of sitcoms from a long time ago that remind me of when we were young. He’ll doze off, and it’ll be time for the day to end. We’ll say good night to the cats. We’re all still here, a miracle. When I’m very old, I will wish for a day like this. —Submitted by Kathy Cornell, Haddam, Connecticut.  Here are some little things to always be grateful for .

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FREEDOM CREATIVES

The creative output of ryan woldt.

80 Word Stories

I’ll be posting 80 Word Stories in my “ WRITE ” section going forward. There is only one rule: Each story has to be exactly 80 words! So expect them to be concise. Here are the first three.

“Wizard”

“You look like a mutha-fucken wizard.”

Derek extends a hand towards me. It is rough and callused, covered in dirt. A man’s hand. Even after two days in the desert my hands are soft from a continual regimen of aloe vera lotion I keep in my leather satchel. Also, I carry a satchel.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean you look like a mutha-fucken wizard.” Derek spit. A dust cloud mushrooms.

Derek was funny that way.

“The 2nd Best Story I Ever Wrote.”

The best story I ever wrote was on an airplane, about a girl, her book and her thoughts. I wrote it on a napkin, a meandering tale of wonder and intrigue.  She had red hair. A black skirt. The seat she sat in was blue. My pen was black, My napkin almost full.

It was a tale of adventure, discovery and romance. It was a rollicking affair. We landed. My notepad left on the seat. A story lost and forgotten.

“Elizabeth Gambles”

Elizabeth gambles sometimes. With her fun money. She gets on a bus. She watches the farmland roll by until it stops in-front of a magical fortress of open arms, pinging sounds and blinking lights. Oh, the lights.

Oh, the lights.

She puts her money in the slot. Bell’s ring, lights flash, her heart starts to pound. Coins with the face of Caesar tumble out the slot, plinking & pinging. Elizabeth’s heart pounds and pound and pounds and stops. Elizabeth wins.

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3 thoughts on “ 80 Word Stories ”

I really enjoyed the second story. Even though I kinda guessed the twist 🙂

Thanks! I started writing 80 word stories on napkins in airplanes years ago. I just never kept them until now!

Like Liked by 1 person

Well you should 🙂

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• Cover Story

100 Word Stories

Good storytelling is most challenging when it has to be brief. so, we were excited by our readers' stirring response to our call for complete stories with a beginning, middle and end. and in not more than 100 words..

TOWARDS FREEDOM (1st Prize)

" Jana gana mana …" The schoolboy squirmed. Another two minutes? He knew he should stand at attention. The drillmaster's cane loomed large." Vindhya Himachal …"He grunted in discomfort. This was unbearable. He considered making a dash; after all he was in the last row. What if the master noticed? The cane loomed again. He gritted his teeth." Tava shubha …"This is it. He cast his eyes around." Jaya he …"He started running." Jaya he …"He was almost there." Jaya he …"The chorus floated from afar. He was already in the toilet, heaving a relieved sigh.

--Subramaniam Mohan, Chennai

THE WINDOW (2nd Prize)

On a windy winter morning, a woman looked out of the window.The only thing she saw, a garden. A smile spread across her face as she spotted Maria, her daughter, in the middle of the garden enjoying the weather. It started drizzling. Maria started dancing joyfully.She tried to wave to her daughter, but her elbow was stuck, her arm hurt, her smile turned upside down. Reality came crashing down as the drizzle turned into a storm. Maria's murdered corpse consumed her mind.On a windy winter morning, a woman looked out of the window of her jail cell.

--Saanchi Wadhwa, New Delhi

IDENTITY CRISIS (3rd Prize)

The country was on fire. Communal riots had paralyzed most of the state. Reyaz, with the help of a friend, got a fake identity card--his new name was Rakesh--and booked a ticket to Aligarh. The ticket checker on the train asked for his identification--Reyaz nervously showed the one he had recently procured. He seemed satisfied and Reyaz heaved a sigh of relief.At Aligarh there was none to fear. " Assalamu alaikum ," said Reyaz to ward off a group of enraged people. The angriest of them, with bloodshot eyes, approached Reyaz and asked for his identity card.

--Junaid H. Nahvi, New Delhi

LEERING LOTHARIO (4th Prize)

She peered over the open magazine, and there he was, still staring at her, disconcertingly. For the past 30 minutes, she'd endured his irritating attention. Time to call airport security. The burly cop strode in purposefully, with a sleek Alsatian on leash. "Sir, there's been a complaint. I need you to come with me. Quietly, please," he growled. The leather-jacketed man didn't move a muscle. His hands were rock-steady on the trolley handle in front of him. The cop waited for a minute, and then reached out to handcuff the Ray-Ban-wearing guy. The hands were locked in rigor mortis.

--Ed Sudhir, Bengaluru

LOVE ACTUALLY

"Do you believe in shooting stars?" she asked."Do you?""There is no harm, is there?" She paused. "I'd love to sit in the balcony amidst all the flowerpots and watch the busy world go by."He said nothing. She needed no assurance, no promise. She squawked a reply when they asked if she was ready to go back to her room. It would be another 10 minutes before the duty nurse wheeled him away.She had laughed at the last tooth he had lost. He had teased her about the silver hair at the back of her sweater.

--Maya Davi Chalissery, Thrissur, Kerala

A BROKEN PROMISE

Hearing a knock on the door,  she hustled towards it with her  little feet, her lips uncloaking the cutest smile and her voice singing, "Daddy's home!" Her mum, glued to the news channels for the past week, approached the door hesitantly and opened it with trepidation.Two men in military uniform were standing at the doorstep. One of them handed her an envelope with a mournful expression, adding plaintively, "We're sorry, Mrs Bhatt.""Where's my dad, Uncle? He promised we'll celebrate Diwali together this time," exclaimed the girl. They stared helplessly, with a lump in their throats and moistened eyes.

--Aditi Sharma, New Delhi

MEETING THE ONE

They met at a cafe, stealing glances at each other while the parents  spoke animatedly.They remained silent throughout, only exchanging shy smiles while ordering snacks at the counter.Returning with the food, he moved to the head of the table to get a good look at her.Noticing his manoeuvre, she smiled down at her coffee, making him beam like a proud schoolboy.When the two families parted at the end of the meeting, he rushed back to the cafe, praying that the girl, who had been at the table behind theirs all afternoon, would still be there.

--Preyanka Paswan, New Delhi

It was pouring, as I entered a  nearby porch.Out of the blue, a kid startled me from behind--I panicked and scampered away. His father asked him not to scare anyone.After some initial hiccups we became good friends. I often visited their house, ate with them.One day, while I was slurping down the milk, a man entered their portico, begging for food.The father yelled at him and pushed him out of the entrance.I was terrified, and in a jiffy, I ran away screaming, "Meow! Meow …"

--Aswin R. S., Chennai

Border guard Melissa Walter fumed, "Madam President's lost it." A new batch was arriving. The count had crossed 10,000. "As if the country doesn't have enough mouths to feed."Officer Gerald was off-duty, so here she was, about to 'welcome' refugees. The boat arrived. She pasted on her best professional smile.So many people, all skinny and gaunt. Teary, scared eyes, with a weak gait. Clinging to the elders, the children walked on."Look!" a boy exclaimed, dropping down. "The sand is so soft here. It's not red. Can I touch, Mama?" he pleaded.Melissa stood still, stunned into silence.

--Geetha M., Kanchipuram

WHAT, SERIOUSLY?

Varun called his friend over to his house. When he arrived, he told him he had to speak to him about a problem. They both went up to Varun's room."What is it?" asked the friend. "I think I am having an identity crisis," said Varun."What do you mean?" asked his friend."MOOOOOO!" he bellowed like a cow.His friend stood frozen, in stunned silence. Varun burst out laughing, "I was just kidding!""Are you sure? Because we just ran out of milk," came the reply.

--Aditi Ashok, Chennai

THE GOODBYE

Out jogging, I saw two elderly women hugging each other and weeping inconsolably. The women had been good friends, living in adjacent apartments on the ground floor, for years.One of them was now having to shift to the fifth floor, as the house owner wished to undertake major maintenance work.Since there were no lifts in the building, she would be carried upstairs, unable to come down--ever again. Her friend, just as frail, would not be able to visit her upstairs either. Accepting the inevitability of their permanent separation, the poor dears said their final goodbyes.

--Deepak Nair, Thiruvananthapuram

ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE

As a married couple, they led a charmed life. Jantu had his own circle of friends and Tulu had hers. And every morning they exchanged and savoured their previous day's experiences over breakfast. Jantu was not immune to the seven-year-itch, though. The days he strayed were few and far between. Faithful Tulu was quietly accommodating. On the nights he slipped, Jantu would indicate it by skipping his daily apple at breakfast.That morning, Jantu was devastated to see Tulu's favourite pear was left untouched.

--K. L. Narayanan, Bengaluru

THE UGLY TRUTH

"Hello," said the figure cloaked in darkness."Who are you?" I asked."I am that which you fear the most," it said to me and stepped into the light.What I saw next sent me into a paroxysm of fear. There stood a creature most hideous: twisted body, gnarled fingers, with a semblance of what might have once been a face. Chillingly revealing a gaping hole where its heart should have been, spilling oily blackness.Overcome with revulsion and trembling in horror, I fell to my knees."I am you," said the creature.

--Vaishnavi R. Krishna, Thiruvananthapuram

During our visit to Egypt's Alexandria National Museum, I took my five-year-old son to the basement to see a mummy and started explaining what it was. Confused, he bolted from the room and rushed to his mother, who was busy chatting with other tourists.He told my wife breathlessly, "Mum! Dad just showed me another mummy. He is looking at her."Surprised, my wife followed him to the basement. She sized up the situation instantly and retorted, "Oh! Mummy is a daddy."Confused, sonny asked innocently, "If mummy is the daddy, then who is the mummy's mummy?"

--Dhananjay Sinha, Kolkata

STREET SMART

It was 9 a.m., 26 January. The politician's car, on the way to the flag-hoisting ceremony, stopped at a red light. A 10-year-old street vendor came running to the car and waved the tricolour, hoping that selling one more flag will help him buy some vada pav. With no intention of buying, the politician rolled down the window and smirked, "Today you are selling the national flag. On other days, I have seen you sell toys, umbrellas and kites. Is there anything you have not sold so far?""Our country," the boy retorted at once.

--Kalpesh Sheth, Mumbai

All entries have been edited for clarity. They were graded on grammar, language, originality, plot device and storytelling technique by RD editors, basis which the winning entries were selected. Winners will receive book prizes, courtesy HarperCollins Publishers India.

Only Good News!

Finding Light Amidst Shadows

Swimming with Orcas

Lighting Up The Night

50-Word Stories

Brand new bite-sized fiction every weekday, patrick yu: you.

I climbed so high I couldn’t see I sank so low I couldn’t breathe But now you The stars aligned Your Hand stretched out I began to shine You You rolled the carpet out You You Set the stage You You named the tune The tune This old heart plays

Patrick Yu says life can be full of surprises.

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FIONA H EVANS: Suffocation

You wipe your tears and vow he will never hurt you again: stuff toys in a bag, tuck the baby under your arm, plead with the car to start quietly. You don’t notice the moment when darkness lifts and you can breathe again, only the glow of a new dawn.

Fiona H Evans is a mathematician and wanna-be writer. She lives on Noongar Boodja in Western Australia. You can find her on Twitter at @FionaHEvans and fionahevans.com .

JACQUI TOWNSEND: The Waiting Room

Why did I choose to sit by you? I don’t want conversation or to get to know you. I will read—in silence. Like you, I won’t look up— No bonding glance. But, Maybe you called out To me. A message to come and Sit close by. Nothing more.

Jacqui Townsend is just a wannabe writer. Everyday.

CHERYL SNELL: Cut

I start with the curls, snip the dark with the silver somersaulting to the floor. If I drop the scissors you’ll say it means one of us is unfaithful, but I’m not superstitious. I know the quirks of scissors: twin arms easily uncoupled but better together, though crossed as swords.

Cheryl Snell’s most recent work is a series called “Intricate Things in their Fringed Peripheries.” See more at cherylsnell.weebly.com .

KAPKA NILAN: Mirroring

Tapping up and down against my window, wing flapping, wild chirping. I thought this little bird must be hungry. I go outside with seeds and water. It refuses any of my offerings. In a frenzy, it keeps attacking its own reflection on the glass until one of them drops dead.

Kapka Nilan was born in Bulgaria and lives in the UK. She lives between languages and likes spending time crafting little stories. Her flash and microfiction have been featured in Bath Flash Fiction Award Anthology 2018 and online.

STORY OF THE WEEK: March 12

The story of the week for March 6 to 10 is…

Vernacular by Laura Besley

CARMEN FERNÁNDEZ MARTÍNEZ: A Day to Remember – March 11, 2004

“I’m late!”

Suddenly I hear a big noise.

The radio says that there’s been an explosion in Atocha Station. I hear news about another explosion in Santa Eugenia. I should have taken that train. I think about the people…

A day to forget but also a day to remember, forever.

Carmen Fernández Martínez is a Spanish civil servant working in Consorcio de Compensación de Seguros, Madrid.

GIULIETTA NARDONE: Evergreen

I climb higher and higher into the white pine, anxious to see my childhood kingdom below. Meadows, streams, boulders. It is the place I feel most at home.

My dad said our new neighbor plans to cut down the tree. Its life-giving needles have created dry spots on his lawn.

Giulietta Nardone has felt a special bond with trees since she was a young child. When she isn’t trying to save them, she writes and paints from her suburban Massachusetts home.

STORY OF THE MONTH: February 2023

The Story of the Month is chosen from the Story of the Week winners announced from the past month.

The finalists for February were:

Postcards by Susan Gale Wickes The Invisible Girl by Nikki Davison Father’s Stories by Jenise Cook Sunday Afternoon in Ward C by Mof Afdhaal

The winner of the February 2023 Story of the Month, and the $10 prize, is…

The Invisible Girl

WENDY K MAGES: Geneses: Traces and Tribulations

She soaks and rinses the spinach, attempting to remove the sand and grit from the leafy greens. Soak after soak, the grit remains, a persistent trace of earthy origins. Not unlike the accent she’s trying so hard to lose, but which, despite her efforts, still reveals her true ancestral roots.

Wendy K. Mages, a Professor at Mercy College, is a storyteller and educator who earned a master’s and doctorate in Human Development and Psychology at the Harvard Graduate School of Education and a master’s in Theatre at Northwestern University. As a complement to her research on the effect of the arts on learning and development, she  performs original stories at storytelling events and festivals in the US and abroad. Her stories appear in literary publications, such as  3cents Magazine,   Antithesis Journal Blog ,  Five Minutes ,  Funny Pearls, Harpy Hybrid Review ,  Hearth & Coffin, The   Journal of Stories in Science ,  New Croton Review, Potato Soup Journal, Quibble, Route 7 Review, Sea to Sky Review, Star 82 Review , and  Young Ravens Review . A triptych of her poems appears in  Scenario . To learn more about her work, please visit  https://www.mercy.edu/directory/wendy-mages .