There are a lot of people who write fiction on Medium. Short stories and flash fiction don’t get as many readers as the ones about making that cheddar or how to get over an ex but they do get some reads — probably from the same people who write fiction on Medium.
So if any of those people are new to me here, I wanted to showcase some of my favorites. At some point maybe I’ll learn how to do an index.
A dead ex and a dog, what more could you want? This appeared in the now defunct P.S…
Everybody was somebody’s baby — once.
This is something that I have to work to remember.
The man audibly hissing BITCH at a woman in line at the pharmacy wearing a T-shirt with a slogan he doesn’t like.
The person on social media gleefully invoking Darwin at the news of another preventable death.
The woman in the grocery store sampling strawberries out of the plastic box before she strolls on, leaving the open container behind.
The driver of the car whose sole purpose is to make sure that another driver doesn’t get to merge.
Who judges all of the…
Is it that hard? Really? You’ve pushed the cart to your car and put the bags in the trunk or backseat. There’s just one more step. To bring it back to the cart return. Why, oh why, then is the parking lot littered with these orphans who cry out to return to their brethren?
You have relegated these lost souls to Purgatory to be crapped on by birds or used as a stunt vehicle for midnight hoodlums, so you cannot go unpunished.
As part of “The Divine Comedy,” Dante’s “Inferno” takes him through the nine circles of Hell — think…
My grandfather had seven siblings. Only three others lived past the age of 21. Teens Alva and Harmon died of appendicitis, 9-year-old George drowned and WWI soldier Buford was getting better after contracting the flu but succumbed anyway in 1918.
I did not understand until much later how these losses shaped my grandfather’s view of the world. And subsequently my own.
From the time I was five until I was a teen, I spent most of each summer at my grandparents’ house in Mississippi. I estimate I watched between six and seven hours of TV a day in the back…
Sometimes you just need the language
to really see something
in a book I read
the writer called the rising sun a runny egg
And when it came up again
I couldn’t see the sun any differently
The yellow yolk through my windshield
running over the pink and purple ripples
Shooting the albumen
(a word I just learned one minute ago)
into the new day
I am both sated and hungry
I might feast on the view
Or maybe eat the sun
with a side of bacon
and my coffee full of clouds
Betsy Denson, 2021
My first thought when I saw the two children in the grass along the Rio Grande River was — the Biblical Moses.
Now a man of the tribe of Levi married a Levite woman, and she became pregnant and gave birth to a son. When she saw that he was a fine child, she hid him for three months. But when she could hide him no longer, she got a papyrus basket for him and coated it with tar and pitch. Then she placed the child in it and put it among the reeds along the bank of the Nile…
Humans have been depicting animals through art for almost 50,000 years. Sapiens Magazine said that a recently discovered 45,000+ year cave painting on the Indonesian island of Sulawesi showed images of an indigenous “warty” pig.
It’s a safe bet that the wild boars were not anyone’s pets.
We don’t know when exactly people started keeping animals as companions, but according to an article in Smithsonian Magazine, dogs had the jump in the domestication arena. Sorry cats. Take comfort that the Egyptians liked you best.
Greger Larson, who leads the University of Oxford’s palaeogenomics and bio-archaeology research network, told the magazine…
Recently, my book club read and enjoyed, The Four Winds by Kristin Hannah. Because it is a historical novel set during the Great Depression, Hannah includes a lot of detail about the place and the time. One of these details involves a book that the repressed heroine Elsa reaches for, a book that is “one of her most treasured novels from her nightstand.”
Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure
While another more erudite member of my group went off on a tangent to delve deeper into The Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx — which is also mentioned in the book…
She sat in a chair by the bed in the little room until the light leaked from the floor and frogs sawed the still air. There were preparations to be made.
The body was no longer warm. Gravity had forced the blood along new paths, leaving the lips and fingers white, while the waxy face retained a purple tinge. Ellen did not think it folly that she could find the beauty in it. It was still the same face. The mirror image of her own, yet no longer a mirror, separated now by more than a pane of glass. But…
I wasn’t anywhere near New York. I didn’t know many people who lived in the city. I can count on one hand the number of times I visited there. But watching that second plane hit the World Trade Center and coming to understand what I was really seeing will be one of the seminal events of my life.
It was a picture perfect morning in Austin, TX on September 11th, 2001 as it was in New York and many other places in the country. I was getting ready for work and watching the Today Show when Matt Lauer noted that…