Ascent by Linda Gorman

Jason finned frantically toward the surface, his teeth clenching his mouthpiece, as terror wrestled with guilt.

How could he do that? To the love of his life. Desert her…

Kick, kick! 

…as she struggled in the maw of that great beast.

Jason’s gaze was fixed on the surface. But in his mind, he could see only Caroline’s face. Contorted with horror—and worse, betrayal—as the man she loved abandoned her.

Faster, faster!

Jason knew that image would haunt him for the rest of his life—which the air embolism traveling to his brain would make mercifully brief.

© Copyright 2018 Linda Gorman. All rights reserved.
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Linda Gorman is an editor, writer, and blogger who lived in the City of Angels for 21 years before escaping to Vancouver Island in 2016.

Do’s and Don’ts by Linda Gorman

“Cheryl, do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband, and do you promise to love, honor, and cherish him as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” said Cheryl.

“Paul, do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife, and do you promise to love, honor, and cherish her as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” said Paul.

And they did, for five mostly happy years. Until Paul got restless and canoodled with the summer intern. And Cheryl found out and shot off Paul’s canoodle.

And now they don’t.

© Copyright 2018 Linda Gorman. All rights reserved.
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Linda Gorman is an editor, writer, and blogger who lived in the City of Angels for 21 years before escaping to Vancouver Island in 2016.

The Strange Life He Recalls by William Wren

A man with strange memories lived a few years ago. He may still be alive; I couldn’t say. We haven’t spoken in years and I’ve heard he doesn’t live in Belize anymore. I don’t have a current address.

He was a man who always dressed well. Always wore smart clothes. Fashionable, but not in the day’s fashion. A step to the side of whatever the current trend was.

A fastidious man, his hair was always groomed; face studiously clean-shaven when he didn’t have a beard or mustache. When he had either, it was always crisply trimmed.

Fingers manicured. Toes pedicured. Definitely fastidious.

His eyes held had a look of quiet concern. It seemed something permanent. He wore sunglasses all the time, day and night; cloud or sun. Continue Reading

The Sharon Economy by Paula Johnson

It wasn’t that she borrowed the odd punch bowl. To Sharon, the neighborhood was a mall where merchandise was free and returns were rare.

She was at my back door at dawn for toothpaste (“A squeeze?”), around noon for my daughter’s skateboard (“My ollie needs work!”) and at 3 pm for a stamp (“For your thank-you note!”).

My friend Jenny and I commiserated over a single glass of Gewürztraminer. Sharon had bummed the other 11 wine glasses.

“It could be worse,” Jenny said. “Remember Wendy’s husband, Larry?” I nodded before my turn to sip. “He belongs to Sharon now.”

© Copyright 2018 Paula Johnson. All rights reserved.
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Paula Johnson is the founder and editrix of The Rose City Sisters website. She is working on a micro fiction anthology.

Just One Snake on a Plane by Stephen R. Wolcott

“Is that a snake?” asked a stunned steward.

“Technically it’s a cobra—a comfort cobra,” said the intense gentleman. “Have you not seen the latest data?” In exasperation, he shoved an official-looking scientific document into the steward’s face.

“He’ll stay in his pouch on my lap.” The steward peered around nervously, reread in his mind the revised guidelines based on recent controversial incidents, then quickly ushered the man to the back of the plane in an empty row.

This might work, thought the steward. Until he heard some ruckus up front. Then he noticed the woman with the mongoose.

© Copyright 2018 Stephen R. Wolcott. All rights reserved.
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Stephen R. Wolcott was an award-winning writer/producer with over 100 television, behind-the-scenes “making of’ and documentary projects to his credit before shifting gears to become a teacher. He has been contributing stories to the Rose City Sisters since 2009.

Unplanned Break by Fariel Shafee

When the fog rolled in, she shrieked. The road in front was narrow and surreptitious. The jungle was thick on both sides. The air was heavy and gray. She waited in the car for an hour, listened to banal tunes that should have inspired but just rolled on. When the first rock smashed onto the chassis, she cursed herself and the innocent black bird that had sought refuge on the thin bough to the right. Then she ran up to the mountainside, crawled into a narrow crevice.

It was in that darkness that the lost box of golden dust sparkled.

© Copyright 2018 Fariel Shafee. All rights reserved.
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Fariel Shafee has degrees in science, but enjoys writing and art. She has published prose and poetry in decomP, Ygdrasil, The Foundling Review, etc.

The Cloud by Paula Johnson

When Alex saw his mother’s face in a cloud formation three days after her funeral, he assumed his eyes were playing tricks. “No way,” he whispered. But then the breeze transformed her lips into the half-smile that always meant she had a wonderful secret she just could not keep to herself.

What is it? he wondered. He followed her celestial gaze to a cloud that looked exactly like a leaping dog. It was Dexter, his childhood companion.

Message received, Mom. Alex took a long hard look at his life. Time to grow up, make changes, secure his future. Because…heaven.

© Copyright 2018 Paula Johnson. All rights reserved.
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Paula Johnson is the founder and editrix of The Rose City Sisters website.