The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
California Murder Mystery
By Helen Lehman
QuailBellMagazine.com
Tom Duncan hid in the boxwood hedge which ran between the estate where he lived with his father and stepmother, and the property next door. The hedge was his refuge from the games of seduction and blame, which his parents played, using Tom as a pawn. The hedge was six feet high, and just as wide.
Teri Byron was a professional companion. She worked through a firm which advertised in high-end magazines, like The New Yorker. The ads said that these companions could converse about anything, from the poetry of William Butler Yeats, to Japanese flower arranging. Both men and women asked for these companions. Teri was a good looking, intelligent woman, with red hair and freckles. She liked her job, because, as she said, “I’m paid to enjoy myself.” She was happy conversing with other knowledgeable people. The firm sent Teri to be a companion to Elliot Burns. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Icarus
I walked into my house.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Mother
She takes the seeds from her womb,
scatters them to the wind and sings to them, the Mother. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Bus
I got on this bus when I was still in diapers.
I didn't know anybody only the woman who carried me on. I grew into a boy on her lap looking at the other passengers and the scenery out the window. The bus made several short stops and I nearly fell off my seat. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Stellar Age
By Elizabeth Schneider
QuailBellMagazine.com
She hadn’t noticed the multi-colored glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling before, but now she wasn’t sure how she’d missed those prominent reminders of his childhood. The stars were all she could see.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Alone
By Melanie Bikowski
QuailBellMagazine.com
Have you ever sat so still that you could count the snowflakes?
One snowflake, two, three, four, and it's a blizzard. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Taken
He stole my heart by kicking my foot and smiling
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
A Prisoner Named Andrew Croswell
By Tim W. Day
QuailBellMagazine.com
It is April 2nd, 1952, in a Montana State Prison. A prisoner named Andrew Croswell, number 5716 stitched on his left breast pocket, has been locked up for nearly five years. He tends to get tired of wearing the same uniforms daily, as he and the other prisoners wear black and white vertical-striped jumpsuits. Andrew misses wearing his casual clothes and grey fedora, which is locked away at the front desk, waiting for him to be released in two weeks. He plans to return working as a detective. None of the criminals are the wiser about his past as he has been good at keeping it a secret.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
10 Godina Poslije ("10 Years Later")
By Sabahudin Hadzialic
QuailBellMagazine.com
Hands buried in sand.
Deep. Blood stained hands. Both. |