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Weekly Contest #363
AN ELEMENT RIDEByLes ClarkWhen it’s late October in New England, and a light but deceptive drizzle is falling, and you’ve been on this Earth long enough to know the meteorologists are in their glory predicting inclement weather, your umbrella and snow shovel better be rubbing shoulders by the front door.That was me, Mikey Trenton, with his hand out looking skyward at roiling grey clouds sending out their first drops. It was light enough for me without getting blinded but enough for my sweatshirt to get dotted. I looked at my bird feeder. Not...
Weekly Contest #345
SURPRISE!ByLes ClarkShe’s Mona. He’s Jeff. I moved in right after their first anniversary. I have a nice place. It’s cozy, warm and stocked with all the food I’ll ever need. For the time being, I’m a shut in. It was an accident, maybe even luck because I beat out so many others to get here. And this place was available. As they settled in, you should have heard all the discussions about furniture, TV and money. They did, however, work out a budget. He’s in law enforcement and she’s a graphic designer working from home. One day, they realize...
Weekly Contest #337
TIME IS A PRETZELByLes Clark “What?” “What what?” I returned her serve. This marital ping pong game has been going on for the many decades Myrna and I have been married. “Your lips were moving, Rick. I came down the stairs and you’re sitting there talking to your coffee.” She came over for her morning hug, a kiss on my forehead before shuffling off to find her wildflower coffee mug. “I’ve got your coffee here, hon. Sit and I’ll tell you what’s on my mind.” Myrna plopped onto her chair, pulling her bathrobe against the morning chill. “How man...
Weekly Contest #308
THE BARRIERByLes Clark If this were any other fairy tale, this might be its “once upon a time” introduction. In a towering castle, the king is resting a on polished walnut throne and dining at a banquet table of pearl-gray marble. Sparkling blown glass ornaments are dangling beneath a vibrant burgundy runner whose tassels of spun gold spiral to the floor. Atop silver chargers, mounds of steaming meat on crystal platters are awaiting knife and fork. A court jester is reluctantly making the first taste. Loyal servants are discretely...
Weekly Contest #280
SAY WHAT YOU MEAN, JOHN ALDEN ByLes Clark Sarah. Hi, it’s Lenny. I know that. I have Caller ID! Lenny, hello. How are you? Not bad. I’m lying. I need a shoulder, couch, and a confidante. I was wondering if you had a few minutes? Only a few, Len. I wish I didn’t I’m working on supper for Marvin and the girls, but I can talk and stir at the same time. Hint! Take the hint! Listen, you’re busy and I’m imposing. Oh, sure, I need help and she’s busy. Can I call you back? Lenny, that’s a better idea. Amazing you got a clue. How about calling back ...
Weekly Contest #271
WHAT DO I DO WITH THIS?byLes Clark“I’m going for a walk,” I announced on that fateful fall day when I hit a triple: the laundry had been washed and folded (I actually know how to do that), Spanky’s kitty litter had been changed (I hate doing that!) and my leaf blower made short work of the first of the red/green parachutists accumulating on the deck (I love doing that). I wiped my feet before coming back in the kitchen.  ...
Weekly Contest #239
IT’S RAINING WHAT? By LES CLARK “Hey kids, wanna see...real magic?” That effusive line blasted from speakers surrounding the auditorium filled with chubby prepubescent faces and happy parents. It was the reason dollars rained down on Ralph Demming, aka Funny Pants Pete. No matter where Nielson tested the ratings, Demming and his alter ego were in the hearts and minds (and wallets) of fifty million people up, down and over Earth’s latitudes and longitudes. &nb...
Weekly Contest #219
THE EYES HAVE IT By Les Clark Bentley, careful to place his sneakers where they wouldn’t crunch the crumbled brick and give away his position, peered around the edge of a ruined building just as a transparent drone, with its turreted cameras, whirred past. When it was out of sight, and he was sure the enemy hadn’t planted another sniffer or smeller trailing secretly behind, Bentley stood, his cracking knee joints protesting his efforts. He keyed his comm, shielding the click under the sweater he’d snagged from a Save-The-Planet bin. He th...
Weekly Contest #212
FRANKLIN & RUSTY The Pen Pals By Les Clark March 4, 1933 Dear Mister Prezdent I only have a pensil to rite you so if it smears, well, you can have someone help you read this. I know I need help reading my own riting. Haha!. I live in a small town in Ohio you probly never herd of. My pop gets the Sunday Columbus newspeppers. Over breakfast this morning, he was reading to us that you are the new president. My mom gave me the rite spelling but thinks you’ll be okay with the rest of my letter. I’m nine and in the fourth grade. I ai...
Weekly Contest #186
NEWS OF THE DAY By Les Clark “Walter! Answer the phone!” “What? Come downstairs. I can’t hear you.” “Don’t make me raise my voice. The phone upstairs doesn’t work. You were supposed to fix it.” “What? I still can’t hear you.” “I’m sorry. I’m vacuuming.” “Are you vacuuming?” “I’m coming downstairs. I’ll answer the phone in the kitchen.” “I was down the cellar. Good morning, my love. Want some breakfast?” “Not yet. Didn’t you hear the phone ringing. I’m going to see who called and I’ll call them back.” “I’ll look at the phone upstairs later. I...
Weekly Contest #178
Les Clark &nbs...
Weekly Contest #173
THE LINE By Les Clark Cashier Emeritus, Amanada Forrester (she of the Silver Service recipient at Barnaby, Smythe and Okstein) looked up briefly. She had been scanning an unending sea of bar-coded tags all twisted with themselves from a mountain of children’s clothing high enough to block her vision of the impatient toe-tapping line yet to cross her register’s path. They’ll never make it on that dancing show. ...
Weekly Contest #163
DORIS By Les Clark “Are you tired?” I’d asked Doris a few times during our back and forth. She paused, referring to her notes. “Of course not,” she responded in an unwavering voice she used long ago to corral six kids. “All they talk about here is pills and illness. I’m enjoying this. No, I’m fine.” Doris rested comfortably in a well-padded red brocade chair she’d had one of her kids bring from the home she shared with her husband before he passed years ago. Before her, on a TV tray table of indeterminate age, sat her latest large prin...
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