All posts in Writing

October 19, 2023

“Baby Rando,” A Short Story by Robert Pope

Walt could not be more pleased with their baby boy, now they’d had him home a couple of weeks. With his fuzz of orange hair and sparkling green eyes, the child glowed. Rando laughed almost as soon as he came from the hospital. Ginger’s Dad called when he got back from The Islands. He could hardly believe it. He had given up hope of his only child making him a grandparent. Rando came three weeks early, fully formed, Walt informed Ginger’s Dad. Would you believe it? A father at forty-two, after a double bypass hit him wham, sucker punch to the solar plexus. Ten days later he had this fine scar down his naked chest. They took the few chest hairs he had before surgery. Never grew back. He missed them. He had given each…

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October 13, 2023

“The Secret Society” by Rachel Gonzalez

Posted by Ruby Fink in Audio Arts, Writing

“The Secret Society of the Women’s Bathroom” ~ An Audio Arts Short Story One of the most innovative and interesting positions we’ve developed here at The Fictional Café is the Writer in Residence. We choose a poet and a fiction-writer every two years from among our contributors, creative people in whom we see great merit and potential. We hope our two Writers in Residence, who are chosen in alternating years, will help FC grow in new creative directions, and we’ve not been disappointed. Be sure to click over to the Residency link to learn more about our Residency Program, past and present.Since assuming her new position in January, Rachel Gonzalez most assuredly has met and exceeded our criteria. One of the most innovative and distinctive ideas she came up with was to chronicle her hike up and down…

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October 11, 2023

“Taking Daddy’s Photograph,” Poetry by Gopi Kottoor

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Taking Daddy’s Photograph Daddy’, I said, ‘Stand by those shoe flowers, there are so many of them blooming this morning’. Daddy took a step back. There is a strange beauty, in the hibiscus sheen, when, from the fresh green the hundred shoe flowers mount red. Daddy now looked like he was some God coming to me in a dream of sacrifice. He puffed hard at his cigarette, its red butt putting all the hibiscuses to shame. Looking on into the camera eye, Daddy said, ‘Be careful, son, The sun is still in front of you. Don’t let in too much light’. I remember, I knelt down, so the lens could take the shade, holding him right. Dad smiled, as though in the camera eye Lay his only woman. And in that stained Hibiscus silence, Time…

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October 5, 2023

“Out of the Far North” – A New Novel of International Intrigue

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Book Reviews, Writing

The Third Nir Tavor – Nicole le Roux Mossad Thriller, Just Published With over 100,000 copies of Operation Joktan and By Way of Deception in print, authors Amir Tsarfati and Steve Yohn deliver again with another pulse-pounding novel of international intrigue. Enriched by its being based on true events – as well as Tsarfati’s having been a major in the Israeli Defense Forces – your editors at The Fictional Café loved Out of the Far North and think you will, too. When the story begins we find Israeli Mossad secret agent Nir Tavor outside Damascus, Syria, bribing a road guard with a carton of Alhamraa cigarettes, and we’re off and running. The very contemporary backstory concerns Russia and Putin, who is furious and plotting revenge on Western energy markets. Europe, once reliant on Russian gas, have…

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September 29, 2023

“In the Days of the Revolution,” by David Michael Litwack

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Tehran, February, 1979 “So you’re a bachelor,” I ventured. “Why do you say that, agha?” “You wear the brown of a bachelor.” “That is a custom for the maghrebi—the westerners. The Berbers. For me it is a good color to disguise the filth I encounter here. For example, that dog.” “Nice taqiyah!” I was complimenting his white cap. White linen doubled over with a kind of gold filigree. “It is an araqchin, agha.” “Why are you sitting here?” I asked. I had had enough of the xenophobic vocabulary lesson. He’s irritated me so I decided to be irritable in return. “I am making illustrations of the bustle and tragedy of these people. These Emricani and the Irani. Maybe some are from Afghanistan as well. They are always in the wrong place. Always the wrong time, those…

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August 22, 2023

“The Jam,” A Short Story by Joshua Britton

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

A black Nissan hatchback with its lights off rolls down the street. Troy is at the wheel, and he and Brandon listen through the open windows for community unrest. But it’s dark and quiet. The lights go off at 11:00, inside and out, whether you’re ready or not. Utopic villages like this one have sprouted up all over the country, segregation as a result of a rigorous application process. Troy had tried to be admitted just hard enough to know it was futile. These communities were designed to keep out gimps like Troy and minorities like Brandon. If discovered, how they’d snuck in would cause a panic among the residents. Aided by light from the moon without the hindrance of light pollution, Troy slowly navigates the hatchback toward the main gate through the flat neighborhood…

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August 15, 2023

“Featherweight,” A Short Story by Avi Setiawan

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

On a warm day in May, when only a few clouds tripped across the sky like lambs, Gertrude Stocking began to float away. It was a clear day, with a sky so blue that it made Gertrude Stocking want to cry. She didn’t cry, though; she felt as if she was stewing in a huge pot of soup. It was that kind of day. Gertrude Stocking didn’t notice that she was floating at first, thinking that she was particularly light on her feet on this particular May day. But as she traveled up the street, Gertrude Stocking realized that her feet were no longer touching the ground. She stopped and looked down at her brown patent leather shoes. There was a good half-inch between her soles and the pavement. “Well,” said Gertrude Stocking. “Perhaps if…

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August 9, 2023

“Coddled by Mountains,” Poetry by PS Conway

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

coddled by mountains watercolor skyline we have forgotten the artist but recall the art on a wall, set apart while all the while Cézanne lies face down in a field surrounded, coddled by mountains carefully crafted by the same god he helped re-create ** seaside ministrations bundled warm and dry midst the juniper subtle scents of pine and lavender blend to blunt the violence of raging surf and the winds that lament with banshee song first days of February, tides carry reminders of winter’s devastations flotsam mottles waves snowflakes cascade white blur the aplomb of the horizon line springtide seems so far away, here amongst the rocks and sand, no driftwood dry enough to light a fire no reeds to weave a holy rood nor to silence the dogged banshee keen the poet has denied…

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August 3, 2023

“Dare To Question: Carrie Chapman Catt’s Voice for the Vote”

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Book Reviews, Interviews, Writing

A New Book by Jasmine A. Stirling Jasmine returns to grace these e-pages with her story of the woman who led the struggle to give American women the right to vote in the early 20th century. Yes, the twentieth century, just a hundred years ago. Yet to this day, the same kinds of issues continue to plague this so-called enlgihtened country. But who was Carrie Chapman Catt, and what exactly happened 103 years ago this month? Jasmine writes: “As a child, Carrie Chapman Catt asked a lot of questions: How many stars are in the sky? Do germs have personalities? And why can’t Mama vote? Catt’s curiosity led her to college, on to a career in journalism, and finally to becoming the president of The National American Woman Suffrage Association. Catt knew the movement needed a change,…

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July 24, 2023

“Vector Control,” A Short Story by Micah Thorp

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Laughter and revelry permeated the ceremony.  At least until the explosion. Red balloons, firecrackers, a brass band and the entirety of the Mayoral staff were in attendance as the coffin was marched from the back of a flatbed truck into the midst of Portland’s South Waterfront Square. The coffin was an ostentatious thing, painted in red and gold, with the lid cracked open just enough to expose large Papier-Mache ears and giant snout, complete with whiskers and buck teeth.  The laughter was misplaced, though the participants at the City’s mock funeral celebrating the beginning of “Vector Control Week” could not have foreseen the devastation about to befall the event.  After all, when is frivolity at a mock funeral interrupted by domestic terrorism? Particularly unaware were two young men who would eventually “claim” responsibility for the explosion.  Not…

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