cold
like the inside of a minty mouth
flew up and down my shirt
passing briefly through cleavage
for the view
of a lifetime.

© editor | Flask and Pen Literary Magazine Permalink | Post tags:

I am the owl and I saw it all on that red and black night. The stars shattered the heavens with their brightness and cast an eerie light upon the scene below, like a stage light perhaps. They wanted to illuminate the drama taking place beneath them. If I remember correctly—and I do—it was quite a theatrical sight, what with the star beams and the melancholy man. The moon, if she could speak, would attest to that.

In the ghostly forest full of birch trees, I holed myself inside of a rickety snag to shield myself from the wind. It was a blistery summer evening and my feathers alone could not protect me from the mix of hot and cold. Too irritated to hunt, I decided to rest. I could afford to starve for one day if it meant feeling comfortable. The mice and voles, as I recall, were quite grateful.(...)
Read the rest of From the Snag (1,102 words)

© sysiphus | Flask and Pen Literary Magazine Permalink | Post tags: Christine Stoddard, Fiction, short story

It kills me.

What you have done.

Kills me.

You don’t know.

No idea.

That kills me even more.

How to forgive the unjustifiable?
The question goes unanswered.

I turn my cheek.

Look away.

Build fairytales, Hollywood endings, weaving truths and lies
Monstrous fatal gossamer web
Deceptive dreams bury stifled cries.

I fool myself and fool you too
You do the same for me
Until delusions blaze and burn
Annihilation screams.

Caught without your smoke and mirrors
Can’t confront the naked truth
Instead we both claim victimhood
Partners, thrashing, used, abused

Blow by blow, the body battered
Pounding down the soul
Until a tiny flicker turns
Embers, glowing coals.

Tattered, shredded, threaded, bedded
Serviced, done, now rest, what purpose
Timeless dramas told, retold

What could I say, I knew the script, I fit the mold.

Who taught the man to rape and hit and pin the woman down?
Who taught the woman hide within and take it lying down?
Who taught the man to lie and lie, to twist reality?
Who taught the woman to deny, to live half-dead amidst debris?

Who taught the man to fall asleep as woman cried and cried?
Her sobs becoming choking fits, her body bloodied dry.
Who taught her to defend her man while others screamed abuse?
Who taught him how to kill respect, to maim the woman who refused?
And then suggest she must comply, to practice with him day and night
Until he tore her past repair, her nightlife terror and despair.

In between he soothed with kisses, honeyed words, home-cooked dishes
She loved him more, starry-eyed, now daily willing to comply.
But to comply was agony
Because there was no way
To stop him when the pain intensified and water pooled her eyes.

Yet how could she refuse?

He loved her so, so much so much, like no one she had known.
Broken home, no place to turn, he took her in, made her his own.
Fed and sheltered by her man, no money left to spare
She gave herself to him.
Together they foreswore despair.

And clung to dreams of love.

Prostitution, some would say, sex for food and shelter.
How could you others said, he’s old enough to be your father.

But love there was and love there is, deep tenderness and care
In between those violent scenes was sweetness soothing bliss
Ecstatic highs, truths and lies
One yo-yo roller coaster ride.

Monster, saint, villain, hero, damsel in distress
Knight in shining armor, brutal rapist, exotic sex slave

Illusions and confusions.

© sysiphus | Flask and Pen Literary Magazine Permalink | Post tags:

bamboo delightful
sighing thicket damp and warm
morning coupling

© Moffatt | Flask and Pen Literary Magazine Permalink | Post tags:

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

© sysiphus | Flask and Pen Literary Magazine Permalink | Post tags: Benjamin Franklin, Quotes

Nowadays, with millions of Americans hoarding all their cash for trivial things like food and rent, it is essential to ferret out creative ways to keep up on personal grooming.

I don’t care how poor you are, nobody wants to see facial hair on women, ear hair that could be knit into sweaters for third world children, or violently menacing eyebrows that threaten a duel to the death with Martin Scorseses’ eyebrows.(...)
Read the rest of Free Depilatories! (231 words)

© editor | Flask and Pen Literary Magazine Permalink | Post tags: Fiction, Free Depilitories, Miss Binky, short stories

1985

It’s a beautiful California summer evening. A few miles east of Venice beach I drive slowly along a winding street patrolling the Mar Vista Gardens Housing Projects.

“Hey Sanchez, got any baseball cards?” Children plead loudly from across the street. I hand a couple to the little boys that run up to my window.

A chorus of “Thanks Sanchez” from the kids as they run back to their play area.

I like working this beat with its unique mix of people. Not too many other places in this area where I find Mexicans, Blacks and a few Whites hanging out together every day. Many have lived here a long time and have grown fairly close if for no other reason than being forced to live together in poverty. Yet, because of the gangs in the area, this living situation is precarious at best.

The projects consist of identical units painted with cheap governmental surplus pale green paint. Between each of the buildings are rusted poles for clotheslines, some without the wires to hang the clothes on. The area in front and along side the units consist more of dirt patches and litter than grass.

Mar Vista Gardens is always abuzz this time of day, this time of year. In front of the units kids are playing. Adults are sitting on worn out patio furniture and plastic buckets turned upside down, talking, drinking cool drinks and smoking cigarettes. Music is blaring from various units throughout. At the end of the block, a group of teenaged Latin boys have congregated.

They are gang members, Culver City Boyz; they spend most of their days here slinging rock cocaine. Each of them is wearing the gang uniform. Neatly pressed Dickies, sagging off of their waist, wife beater shirts and bandanas, pressed and folded, hanging from their pants pocket.

(...)
Read the rest of Rabbit (1,084 words)

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All six of us sat on a big couch. I was told which direction the cameras were. The reporter asked each of us a few questions, and then he came to me.

“So, Miss Reed, how does it feel to win a Grammy?”

“Pretty good, I have to tell you.” I traced the trophy with my fingers, reassuring myself it was real.

“I’ve heard of rags to riches, but I’ve never met someone who was actually homeless once. Did you really live on the street?”

“Yes. I slept under a bridge when it rained, curled around a trash can with a fire inside when it froze, and slept out on top of a high rise parking garage in the heat because it was breezier there.”

“This was before you lost your vision? You could see then?”

“No, it was after I went blind.”

“You were blind and homeless? How did you survive?”

“You have to have friends.”

*****
(...)
Read the rest of You Have to Have Friends (5,571 words)

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People moving in such a rush
Aisles of this store a blur
Rapidly grabbing from shelves
Employees restocking with passion
Perpetual motion

I too have morphed into this haze of activity
Grabbing, pushing, buying
Two bottles of wine
Headed towards checkout
Life at a dizzying pace
Quick impressions
Indistinguishable movements

Black dress, red shoes-high heeled beauty
She stills time
Her smile, gaze, essence
Flips her hair over her shoulder
Slow motion
A moment to cherish

Gone
Dude with a full cart trying to snake my place in line

© Parrothead | Flask and Pen Literary Magazine Permalink | Post tags:

She was beautiful, loving and created by the same Earth as Adam. Lilith was Adam’s first wife. When she wouldn’t accept subservience from Adam, she was banished by God from the Garden.

It wasn’t easy back then to be born as an adult with no experiences from childhood. God just plops you there – full grown and naked. Lilith was the rebel, so she got kicked out and got dubbed the “bringer of disease and death”.

“Well, Adam,” God said, “we can always create another woman for you. We just have to remove one of your ribs.”

“Will that hurt?” asked Adam. He kind of liked Lilith, but she didn’t obey God well enough.

“I’ll do it as painlessly as possible – but she will become your perfect mate as long as she obeys my rules.”

When Adam awoke, Eve was sitting at his side swabbing the wound on his rib cage. They were immediately in love. Lilith was watching this fiasco from over the hill and she laughed at Adam’s naivety.

She watched as Eve glared at the forbidden apple from the tree of knowledge. Lilith watched the serpent enticing Eve to take a bite. She watched when Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden. She laughed at their anguish (which she had already been through).

God thought ‘Damn bitches. You just can’t make them in your own image.’ He watched as the Garden of Eden was overcome by pollution and nuclear waste. Lilith just watched on and wondered if God had made a mis-judgement of the feminine species.

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