Mr. Softee

by Lisa Michele Smith

 

When my boys were in their "tweens," they went crazy when the ice cream truck hit the block. Having moved from a private apartment complex in suburbia in which such trucks did not exist, hearing that Mr. Softee song was a treat.

One day I flagged down the driver to ask how much for the ice cream, and when he told me, I yelled to Son #2, "Gabriel! Get me my purse!"

The driver, who was Middle Eastern and Muslim, repeated in a thick accent, "Gabriel ... Jibra'il ... the messenger, God's messenger."

I smiled and said, "Yes, the archangel," and he nodded.

Funny how this memory just popped into my head. We are all connected.

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Lisa Michele Smith is the author of the short story collection, The Things Your Eyes Have Seen. She has taught at several colleges in Connecticut, and holds an MFA degree in professional writing from Western Connecticut State University.

Maggie's Escape

by Victoria Libretto and Shakeel Choudhury 

Maggie hates being a young student in the middle of nowhere. All her life consists of is tests, papers, and chores. This can’t be all that life is, reasons Maggie. I need something better than what I have now. 

Today, Maggie discovers the excitement she was craving. She is investigating a gruesome crime scene with her partner. A man had seemingly slipped off a cliff. The police had already declared that the man had simply taken a wrong step in darkness of night while returning from work. Maggie knew that there was something afoot, and she must discover it soon.

The foolish police neglected small details that only a skilled detective like Maggie could spot. She saw the long streaks and faint footprints in the mud ten yards back. She noted the lack of money in man’s pockets, which was strange since the man should have received his pay for the week. She added up the clues and deduced that there was a mugging, and this innocent man was murdered. 

But who could it be, thought Maggie. The only one who was out at that time of the night was –. Suddenly, she heard faint calls. “Maggie, Maaaaggiiiie …” the voice called. She would have to continue the investigation later, maybe later in the day. For now she would have to close her copy of Sherlock Holmes and investigate what her mother was calling her for.

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Victoria Libretto is a second-year student at Asnuntuck Community College. She plans to finish her schooling at Asuntuck and go to a four-year college to continue her education to become and ultrasound technician. 

Shakeel Choudhury is a second-year student at Asnuntuck Community College. She hopes to continue her education and attain a degree in a computer IT field because she loves working with technology. 


Both authors are enrolled in Jessica Handly's ENG 102 course.

The Circus Affair

by Dawa Drolma, Allison Kulas, and Amber Pelletier


Lucy planned to take her husband to the circus for their honeymoon. As they made their way through the seemingly never-ending woods, they finally spotted the colorful tent.

Davis, the ringmaster, led the show’s elaborate performance. He was the stereotypical tall, dark, and handsome gentleman. He specialized in the show’s intense magic tricks that left the audience speechless.

Lucy and her husband joined the audience with their popcorn and peanuts to enjoy the show. During the middle of the performance, Davis spotted the young couple kissing lovingly during his act. He called the husband down onto the stage as a guest for his magic trick. The husband entered a large mysterious box, and Davis shut the door. After a few minutes of interaction with the audience, the doors opened to reveal an empty box. The show ended here.

Lucy stood up quickly and ran out of the tent to find Davis standing beside a tree. They met with sly smiles and held each other in their arms.

“I missed you so much,” exclaimed Lucy.

“I’m all yours, forever and always,” replied Davis.

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All three of the coauthors are students in Jessica Handly's ENG 102 course at Asnuntuck Community College in Enfield, Connecticut.

Dawa Drolma is an international student from Tibet at Bay Path University.

Allison Kulas also attends Bay Path University in Longmeadow, Massachusetts.

Amber Pelletier also attends the University of Bay Path. She is a sophomore majoring in Occupational Therapy. This is her first publication.

The Mysterious Woods

by Alison Thomas, Joe Tarasek, Jason Despard, and Seth Bernard

“Do not go into the woods because of the evil clown that lives there,” said Raphael and Jimmy’s mother.

Later that day, the boys decided to venture into the woods. Thinking that what their mother said was a lie, they decided to walk deeper into the woods.

As they were playing in the woods, Raphael noticed a tent in the distance. They slowly walked towards it, their adrenaline building. Jimmy decided to throw a rock at the tent, and Raphael soon followed. They then decided to rain as many rocks as they could throw.

Suddenly a clown came out of the tent in great anger. He stared down the boys for what seemed like a century. The clown started to walk towards them. The boys took notice and decided to run as fast as they could back home.

The boys returned home and went straight to their beds. Their father noticed that they returned to the house with great haste.

The father walked upstairs and into their room and asked, “What’s wrong guys?”

The boys had the lights on and were both cuddled in the same bed.

They replied, “Nothing, we are fine.”

The father then closed the door and walked towards his wife saying, “It worked.”

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All four of the coauthors are students in Jessica Handly's ENG 102 course at Asnuntuck Community College in Enfield, Connecticut.

Alison Thomas is currently a sophomore in college. She enjoys reading and writing and particularly welcomed the opportunity to cowrite "The Mysterious Woods."

Joe Tarasek is a second-year student at Asnuntuck Community College. His goal is to pursue management information systems at a four-year college.

Jason Despard is in his second semester at Asnuntuck Community College. He is 19 years old and plans majoring in accounting. Next fall, he will attend Eastern Connecticut State University.

Seth Bernard is 21 years old and from Enfield, Connecticut. He is a sophomore at Asnuntuck and plans transfer to the University of Connecticut to major in environmental science. He enjoys riding his BMX bike and traveling and has a pit bull named Louie.

Welcome Back

by Wayne Barr

Drink a few drinks. Think to yourself, what was that show from the seventies about a teacher in Brooklyn? Remember the show, Google the opening credits, realize that you remember watching this when you were no more than four years old, that you remember the cutaway to some bird flying against the cityscape, this one bird that's been dead for over forty years, longer than you've been alive, you remember watching this bird and the camera panning around to follow it, and now you're watching this bird again. Reflect on something like mortality, memory, pour another drink, go to bed.

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Wayne Barr teaches English full time at Tantasqua Regional Senior High School in Fiskdale, Massachusetts, and part time at Asnuntuck Community College in Enfield, Connecticut.

Cool Shirt, Bro

by John Sheirer

I bought what I thought was a really cool flannel shirt at Costco yesterday, and then in the checkout line I noticed an older guy buying the same shirt. And then I saw another guy even older in another check-out line actually wearing the same shirt. And then I noticed that everyone in Costco was older than I am. And then I noticed they weren't older by much. And then I felt tired. 

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John Sheirer edits this publication.

Spring

by Herm Rawlings

Ahh ... you know spring is just around the corner when you're awakened by the sweet sound of a little bird ourside your window with its two-toned chirp happily welcoming the new day. The early sun's rays warm your face as you begin to think what has to be done. Did I mention the bird outside the window? You continue lying there gathering your thoughts, and all the while that bird continues to call to you with its high/low melody every few seconds. You feel like you'd like to just stay right where you are and enjoy just a few more minutes of silent solitude. But you can't. There's work to be done, plus ... THAT F@#KING BIRD IS STILL AT THE WINDOW! I HATE YOU BIRD! I HATE YOU WITH EVERY FIBER OF MY SOUL! WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE OUTSIDE MY WINDOW YOU WRETCHED LITTLE WINGED CREATURE? SHUT THE F#%K UP ALREADY! I HOPE WHEN YOU'RE FLYING AROUND, YOU FLY RIGHT INTO THE GRILL OF DEATH ATTACHED TO A SPEEDING 18 FRICKIN WHEELER! OH HOW I LOATHE YOU, YOU FEATHERED F#*KER. I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND GIVE YOU A NEW HOME ON MY ROTISSERIE AND HAVE YOUR YOUNG FOR BREAKFAST TOMORROW MORNING. I DESPISE YOUR VERY EXISTENCE YOU LITTLE BASTARD! QUIT WAKING ME UP 45 MINUTES BEFORE THE ALARM GOES OFF! DIE, DIE, DIE YOU NOISY FLYING MOUSE! ... Have a great day everyone!

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Herm Rawlings is a retired Coast Guardsman currently working for the U.S. Navy in Wallops Island, Virginia. He has had multiple articles published in Shore Secrets Magazine and is currently working on a book about his life. Humor and self-depreciation are always key ingredients in his writings.

Four Minutes

by John Sheirer

I saw a group of students playing basketball, so I stopped to watch.

After a minute, I thought, "It's hard to believe I'm more than thirty years older than those guys."

After two minutes, I thought, "I could still get out there and play."

After three minutes, I thought, "My bad knee hurts too much to stand here and watch."

After four minutes, I was gone.

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John Sheirer edits this publication.

I Should Have Thought

By Chad Greene

When I saw the streetlight reflect off an object in the hand of the man huddled in the darkened doorway, I thought “Knife!”

I should have thought “Swiss Army Knife.”

I should have thought “can opener on a Swiss Army Knife.”

I should have thought.

Instead, I let the streetlight reflect off an object in my hand. That was the third object that hit the street. After I shot the homeless man, the can opener and the can slipped out of his hands. Then the pistol slipped out of mine.

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Chad Greene is a graduate of the Master of Professional Writing Program at the University of Southern California and an assistant professor of English at Cerritos College. His writing has appeared in Cuento Magazine, Journal of Microliterature, Nailpolish Stories, Nanoism, One Forty Fiction, Southern California Review, The Southlander, and the flash-fiction collection Book by Authors.

Last Night

By Joannah Keats

Last night when I realized and accepted that my phone was dying, I decided to spend my final moments with it as I would an old Chinese grandmother. We played mahjong in bed.

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Joannah Keats is a graduate of the University of Connecticut and a Field Sales Representative for a large children's book publisher. She has at least 3 novels in progress between her mind and her hard drive, but wishes she could publish a compilation of her Facebook statuses and tweets instead.

Leona's Unfortunate Fortune

By Jonathan Dion 

I want nothing more than to rid of this dreadful house, thought Leona.  Everything about her life made the woman depressed. She was single, no kids, boring job, and ever hated her house.  

To rid herself of this foul mood she decided to walk through the park.  It was a beautiful day out--birds chirping, blue skies, 75 degrees, and vivid fluffy clouds.  

Eventually, Leona lay down to cloud watch but dozed off. The sound of an alarm jerked her out of her sleep.  Strange, she thought.  As she looked at the last cloud, it took the form of an oven ...

"That's not a cloud--that's smoke!" she exclaimed. "I left the oven on!"  

She rushes home to see fire fighters putting out the last of the charred embers that remained of her house.

"Someone left the oven on. This house can't be saved," the fire chief said.

"No, no it can't," Leona said slowly a smile half hidden on her face.

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Jonathan Dion is 20 years old and currently a first-year student at Asnuntuck
Community College in Enfield, Connecticut. He has always been a fan of writing and reading, so he is pursuing a degree in English with plans to one day be an English professor.

Teen Pressure

by Marie Corcoran

Fitting in can be difficult, boys, girls, all trying to find themselves at a judgmental teen age. Not knowing if peers will accept them, not wanting to be a disappointment to family.

Walking down Deadman’s Hill, an appropriate street nickname, I was with two very popular girls in my high school. Two girls my parents weren’t sure were good role models in school.

At the bottom of the hill, down a dirt path, my friends brought out a pack of cigarettes. One friend lit up and then the other. I was the odd man out. Friends.

Silence, standing with them, I was nervous. Wanting to be popular, not knowing what to say. One girl turned to me, teasingly holding the pack. “Don’t you smoke? Everyone does it.”

I took a cigarette, held it and looked around, wondering if I should light it or leave. I didn’t want to smoke but I didn’t want to go back home alone. The cigarette felt smooth to the touch. One friend blew smoke in my face. Laughing, my supposed friends said I could go. “No,” I stated, “I’m fine.”

The cigarette tasted bitter as the flame licked the end. I breathed in and coughed, tears pricked the back of my eyes. Deadman’s Hill, an appropriate place I probably shouldn’t be.

Walking slowly going up my front steps, I turned to see those girls skipping away. Walking into the house, my parents happy to see me, my dad asked, “What’s that smell?”

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Marie Corcoran wrote this piece for a creative writing class she is taking at Asnuntuck Community College with Edwina Trentham. Having written for many years, she has a completed mystery manuscript and several children's manuscripts that she is looking to place with an agent. Marie love making up stories.

Easily Entertained

by Sarah Badger

My dog chases her tail for 10 minutes straight and I watch and think, Wow, dogs are so easily entertained. Then I just realized that I watched my dog chase her tail for 10 minutes.


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The first decade of Sarah Badger's life, she was overbearingly inquisitive. The next two decades was a life led by all things philosophical. From here on out, the rest of her decades will be, alas, purely contemplative.

Fire

by Elizabethe Plante

I am in dire need of a fire that will talk back to me with a series of cracks and an occasional pop, embrace me in its radiant cloak of warmth, let me look into the blaze, and inspire my imagination. Wait a minute--is this a fire I'm talking about?

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Elizabethe Plante calls herself an ordinary person who at age seven wanted nothing more than to be one of the three Supremes, to be a scientist, and to marry a firefighter. She has not yet managed to accomplish these three wishes.

True Blue

by Christina Vernon

Their love was true. They had the kind of love you would read about in a romance novel or listen to in a steamy love song, the kind of love you envied and could only wish for. There they stood, hand in hand, gazing into each other's eyes as they recited the traditional vows: "I will love you, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health." No one could ever deny them. It was time, the final moment we had all waited for. The world would continue to turn. "Bailey and Jerry, I now pronounce you husband and husband."

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Christina Vernon is a full-time student at Asnuntuck Community College who enjoys writing about the wonders of everyday life. This story was written about two very special people whose love inspires her.

Homecoming

by Jessica Handly

The young man had gone to war a boy.  Although he had returned a man, the boy within him still thoroughly rejoiced in the fact that he would soon be reunited with it. The word it was simplistic, he knew, and he thought about it with a sort of half smile. But it described far more than my car.

His whole life had been this car; as a boy he had done any odd job in order to have it. He had squeezed oranges, cut leather for jackets. In Germany, sitting in the rain one evening, on guard duty in enemy territory, the young man’s thoughts had turned to his car, and these thoughts had warmed him throughout the night. Before he had gone away, when the draft notice had come, the young man had taken his car for one last drive. He had washed it and polished it; put it up on blocks so the tires wouldn’t rot.

And now he was within distance of home. Overcome, the young man clad in fatigues ran. He threw down his pack, opened the garage, and beheld … nothing. It was gone! Where this car, this symbol of American freedom and boyhood should have been, was an empty spot; the blocks stood barren. For a moment, the young man didn't believe his eyes. But then, he heard his mother calling. It was quite a homecoming.

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Jessica Handly teaches at Asnuntuck Community College and is the author of three published novels (under the name Jessica Barone). "Homecoming" is loosely based on something that happened to Jessica's grandfather when he came back from serving in World War II. Jessica can be found here: http://jessicabarone.tripod.com.

Two Stories

by Ebby

The Pants

My father had the shortest legs of anyone I've ever known. One Halloween, as part of my costume, I wore a pair of his old trousers. Although taller than me, the pant legs flapped well above my ankles. I remember my mom, carefully measuring, cutting and hemming them after having searched the store for the pair with the shortest length. At one point, their width exceeded their length. As a child, it was comical to see them so wide yet so short as they hung out to dry. Those days are gone forever now. And I can't help but check the legs of my own children to see if they inherited grandpa's short-legged gene.

Chance Meeting

She saw him walking around when she slipped out the back door of her small restaurant for the night, looking at everything with great interest, but still keeping a low profile. He was dirty, like he’d been on the streets for a few days. At first, she was frightened, but she knew showing fear would be the worst thing she could do. She waited and observed his demeanor. Slow steps, jumping every now and then if he heard a sound that could be trouble. What would she do? He looked over at her. His expression wasn’t much more than curiosity. He wasn’t angry or concerned that she was snooping on him. He knocked the top off the trash can and down it went. He’s looking for food. That thought made her stomach jump a little. How could he live this way? Her heart went out to him, and she wondered if she should try to get him to go inside to get a bite with her. Visions of the news flashed across her mind. Woman found behind restaurant, mauled. Film at eleven. She had to. He looked too shaky and hungry to harm her. Slowly she walked over, making no sudden moves. Her voice was trembling as she started to speak, “It’s okay, boy, it’s okay. Wanna go have some food? Come on, I won’t hurt you.” He looked up and began wagging his tail. After a few minutes of sniffing, they walked to the door together, fast friends.

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Ebby is an assistant editor and web mistress for Boston Literary Magazine. Her chapbook, Sacred Onions, will be available from Big Table Publishing in the spring of 2011. She lives and writes in Maine while her dog snores beside her.

Gramma's Vitae: The Final Years

by Michael Schulman
 

My grandmother lived to age 104.

At 70, while baking schnecken, she went to re-light the pilot in her gas oven and it backfired, singeing her eyebrows. She bought false ones.

At 80, she played 9 holes of golf every day, drove her friends to the movies (they talked about Kramer Versus Kramer for months) and baked schnecken.

At 90 she had a fall, and started a slow decline, but her overall health was still excellent. She learned to settle for store-bought schnecken.

At 95, she complained "I don't have any pep." Specialist after specialist dismissed her in frustration, finding nothing tangibly wrong with her.  Even my brother-the-Doctor gave up on trying to help.

When I visited her in God's Waiting Room (Miami Beach), I asked, "Gramma, do you think it has something to do with the fact that you're NINETY-FIVE years old?" She turned away, smiling with the defiance of a child.

At 100, two "girls" moved in with her: home-health aids (with grown children of their own) who cared for her round the clock.

Four years later, one of the women made the frantic call to my mother: "She was sitting at the table, and I was feeding her soup, and she just closed her eyes and died."

My mother called her friends, and one she knew the longest asked, "What was in the soup?"

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Michael Schulman has his grandmother's recipe for schnecken, and will take it with him to his grave. Visit him at www.manforallseasonings.com.

Finish Line

by John Sheirer 

While running his first marathon at age fifty, Jake finally spotted the finish line ahead. But why was the finish line bathed in a tunnel of heavenly light? And was that Jake's grandmother floating there, waving and calling him to her?

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From your humble editor of One-Screen Stories. This little story is much exaggerated from my recent middle-aged running experiences. I wrote this while listening to other wonderful writers at a reading last night at Asnuntuck Community College.

Feedway

by Barry Ergang


“What’re you thinking?” the resort owner demanded. “I ask for a first-class chef and you hire a race-car driver.”

“Retired race-car driver,” his president of operations said, “who’s studied at some of the world’s finest culinary institutes.”

The owner snorted. “Yeah--he’ll give the customers gas, right?”

“The customers’ll be revved. Racing’s popular all over the world. Drivers are superstars—including our boy. The novelty’s a great shift for us because we can advertise a five-star restaurant featuring a dual-celebrity chef.” He snapped his fingers. “We could rename the restaurant Grand Prix!”

“Which of you do I spin out of here first?”

“Neither. At least, not till you’ve lapped the fare. You don’t know heaven till you’ve tasted his Lamb Borghini.”

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Winner of the 2007 Derringer Award from the Short Mystery Fiction Society in the Flash Fiction category, Barry Ergang has had fiction, poetry and non-fiction appear in numerous publications, print and electronic.