Rose City Sisters

Is this PolySci 204? Are you Professor Adams? Can I sit anywhere? Is the textbook online? What’s the WiFi password? Where can I plug in my mini Himalayan salt lamp? Do you grade on a curve? Do you want to pet my Emotional Support Animal? Are you allergic? Can I eat in class? Can I vape? Is texting my term paper okay? Can I save seats for my sorority sisters? When are your office hours? Can my mom audit this class? Why is the syllabus three pages long? Can I leave early? When is the last day to drop?

© Copyright 2018 Paula Johnson. All rights reserved. Photo courtesy of Pexels.

Paula Johnson is the founder and editrix of The Rose City Sisters website. Join her email list  and get invited to her book launch party! (First she needs to finish writing the book.)

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.

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.

“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.
• • • • •
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.

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.
• • • • •
Paula Johnson is the founder and editrix of The Rose City Sisters website. She is working on a micro fiction anthology.

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.
• • • • •
Fariel Shafee has degrees in science, but enjoys writing and art. She has published prose and poetry in decomP, Ygdrasil, The Foundling Review, etc.

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.
• • • • •
Paula Johnson is the founder and editrix of The Rose City Sisters website.

Dropping my kids off this new school year meant getting used to a new routine, commitments and time management. I had tears, joy, and one hour before work. A quiet realization: Bring on the bra shopping….. alone. I tried on everything. Sometimes twice. My trash can full of old bras were slowly killing me. My two smarties started a new journey, so did I. Mine was comfort and curves. I indulged in numerous perfect over-the-shoulder boulder holders. Pure decadence. I picked up my babies a happier mama, happier wife, happier woman!

© Copyright 2018 Amanda K. Rudd. All rights reserved.
• • • • •
Amanda K. Rudd is closing in on 40. She serves coffee to the go-getters. Her mother’s death breaks her daily. Her children and hubby give her joy. Taking photos of humans is awakening and she’s learning to love reading. An introvert, she finds that her anxiety can be a death trap.  Amanda had to drink a glass of wine to generate enough courage to submit this story. 

Neighbors protested the opening of this place with its non vertical wood gentrification fence. Doctor’s orders.: he needed coffee before he became unstable. He stumbled there in sweat pants, which he knew to be his pajamas. The place had been a toy store for 30 years, now it had minimalist fascist light fixtures and white on white décor. He ordered $7 coffee with a Groupon. He sat outside to drink it and steady himself, observing the shabby, rich hipsters. He admired and envied them, that they could have this most days, and then realized that they were all homeless people.

© Copyright 2018 Arabella Field. All rights reserved.
• • • • •
Arabella Field is a writer who divides her time between Los Angeles and Joshua Tree California.

“Fifty yards,” he utters. The street is narrow and smooth, like a watery ribbon. “We are almost there.”

She stares ahead, and then to the right, the signpost not yet visible. Then she listens to the sound of crickets and blackbirds imposed upon the backdrop of the silently departed thunderstorm. She thinks of a warm bed, and of a hot bath. He reflects inward for a closure to a long tumultuous journey tied with her with outer-world’s inclemency.

The pebble had rolled in quietly. The fall then lasted for a minute. Silently, they held their hands together to the end.

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

After Phil and Sally had kissed under lampposts in a bunch of different weather, Phil got this tremendous hope. He invited over Sally and some neighborhood two-year-olds for a puppet show. “Remember, puppets may speak only in falsehoods,” Phil instructed the children, winking at Sally. “Wait! Spotto doesn’t know the alphabet!” cried a child with a finger giraffe. “My luck, too,” Sally said, putting on Mr. Blue Ears.

© Copyright 2018 Jonathan Blum. All rights reserved.
• • • • •
Jonathan Blum is the author of the forthcoming collection of stories, The Usual Uncertainties (Rescue Press). He teaches fiction writing workshops in Pasadena.

He stepped back from the door of death half alive, his fingers trembling, his gaze affixed to a horizon tucked in elsewhere inside his mind. He ate, spat out, sipped water fearully, and lay quietly on the bed until the summer breeze muted into thicker icy covers that wrapped around clarity.  The trees outside looked bare, and under the snow, creatures voluntarily slipped into seasonal forgetfulness. Inside the forest of his nerves, sparks looked out for forgotten islands, reached out to complete scattered phrases.  That room looked familiar.  The newborn giggled, and beckoned him to the land of provocative belonging.

© Copyright 2017 Fariel Shafee. All rights reserved.
• • • • •
Fariel Shafee has degrees in science, but enjoys writing and art.  She has published prose and poetry in decomP, Ygdrasil, The Foundling Review, etc.