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.