Short Story
Louise After
Louise didn’t attend a funeral because there wasn’t one. It was lockdown, and gatherings were forbidden. Paul’s body went straight from the hospital to the crematorium, and Annie collected the ashes in an urn she had made years earlier in a ceramic class. It was lopsided, glazed in streaky turquoise with hearts etched in the side—more craft project than vessel—and entirely wrong for him. But that was how things were done in Annie’s world: symbolism without substance, noise without meaning. And of course her name was carved in the bottom. She had to put her name on everything.
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warrior5 days ago in Fiction
The Last Confession of Paul Brennan
Paul Brennan had been dying for four days, though the truth was that something in him had been dying for forty years. The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and gardenias. A statute of Mother Mary on the bedstand and a cross hung over the bed. The hallway outside pulsed with the restless chatter of people who didn’t know how to sit still with death. Annie was among them—loud, frantic, and determined to turn the moment into a spectacle. She had always been that way. Aquarius sun, hurricane heart. Always trying to define the narrative that put her center stage.
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warrior5 days ago in Fiction
LHS Class of 01 Reunion '16
Another alumnus, now a software engineer, spoke about the day Mrs. Wilkes introduced a simple coding exercise in a math class, saying, “She made us see that logic isn’t confined to numbers; it’s a language we all speak.” The collective narrative painted a portrait of a woman who, through gentle discipline and unyielding optimism, shaped a generation of diverse professionals, all linked by the common thread of having once been her pupil.
By Forest Green6 days ago in Fiction
LHS Class of 01 Reunion '16
Students—now adults with briefcases, tattoos, and children in tow—milled about, exchanging updates about careers, marriages, and the occasional misadventure involving a misplaced mortgage payment. In the center of the bustling scene, a long wooden table was laden with platters of finger foods, a towering chocolate cake bearing a handwritten “Happy Retirement, Mrs. Wilkes!” in glossy frosting, and a modest, polished podium that would soon witness a cascade of heartfelt speeches. The scent of roasted chicken mingled with the faint perfume of fresh lilies, a subtle homage to the teacher who had once insisted that “a good education smelled like curiosity, not cafeteria pizza.” The hum of conversation rose and fell like a familiar chorus, each voice stitching together the fragmented memories of a generation that had once been shepherded by a woman whose patience seemed as endless as the school’s hallway lockers.
By Forest Green6 days ago in Fiction
The Spirit of Revenge
A cool, light breeze of false spring swirled around, invading the senses, sending chills down Yushin’s spine. Small patches of warm light broke through the forest canopy, illuminating the snow with greens and pinks. The forest was anything but still, yet it gave both Yushin and his horse the same dread of a silent forest. His horse moved from side to side, glancing about. Rustling in the trees tightened Yushin’s grip on his horse’s reins. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on what might lie past the leaves. His horse shook its head and neighed nervously, the perfume of the cherry blossoms filling its nostrils.
By Kitty Fermengs6 days ago in Fiction
