(dis)connected

Slawka G. Scarso

At first their voices are camouflaged by our voices. Muffed by our chatter; by our children saying Mum, look at me, look at me; by the splashes in the water, and the portable radios hidden from the sun. Then, like a ripple, we start to notice. We point our toes, step on plastic chairs, to get a better view. As the first threats echo on the beach, we drop our books, our crossword puzzles, our conversations, and pull our mobile phones out. Our cameras film the fight, the moment the knife comes out, and slips in. We hug our children, cover their eyes, our cameras always pointing at the scene.

As the ambulance silently pulls away, the officers ask us what we saw, and why we didn’t stop them.

‘We don’t know,’ we say. ‘It was all so sudden.’

Then we count the views rocketing on our mobile phones.


This story was Highly Commended in the Online Flash Fest Micro Competition.

About the author: Slawka G. Scarso has published several books on wine in Italy and works as a copywriter and translator. Her stories have appeared in Ellipsis Zine, Streetcake Magazine, Necessary Fiction and Spelk, among others. She lives between Rome and Geneva with her husband and her dog, Tessa. You can find her on Twitter @nanopausa and on her website www.nanopausa.com

Sept 21 Monthly Micro Shortlist

It’s that time again when we have 10 brilliant micros on our shortlist that need your vote. The Retreat West Reading team decide the winners of the cash prizes but it’s over to you to decide who gets the surprise People’s Prize!

Well done to everyone who was longlisted and congrats to the writers of the 10 stories below – no telling which is yours though and voting must remain anonymous!

Voting is open until Monday 27th September and we’ll announce the winners on Tuesday 28th. Good luck everyone!


Five Uses for Milk We Hadn’t Heard of Until Louise’s Wedding

Skin softener (two to three cups added to hot bath) –

Lengthy soaks to soften anxious bridal skin,

Silver polisher (tablespoon applied on rag) –

Ninety place settings in fairy-tale marquee, rubbed until they sparkled perfect,

Secret messages (brushed on paper, left to dry) –

Or sent by text, or whispered breathless into pillows – ‘Don’t marry her, I still love you’.

Stain remover (soaked into affected garment) –

Wedding morning, lipstick on collar, ‘Frivolous Fuchsia’, the bridesmaid’s shade,

Teeth preserver (submerge in small glass, dash to dentist) –

Engagement ring flashing, she slammed her fist into his jaw, sending incisors scattering through the bridal bouquet.


How To Grow and Care for Grapevines

The neighbours aren’t collecting their milk.

We’re hello-how-are-you neighbours. Nods and smiles neighbours. They sign for packages then leave them on the doorstep. I hold theirs for days until they ring the doorbell. They never step inside.

When their grapevine grew over the fence, I pruned it. Winter then summer. The fruit ripened well, cones of fleshy globes. On their side, it grew wild into the gutters. They cut it down. Without asking. The grapes shrivelled and fell.

Their house is silent. They might be in Greece. They might be dead. The milk goes rust-yellow and sour as unripe grapes.


Instinct

The milk bottle cracks hard against the grey, flagstone flooring. Opaque white liquid haemorrhages over the splintered glass. I reach down to clear the detritus; a shard splices my skin and crimson blood spools into the lukewarm fluid.

I snatch my hand and am drawn to the rivulets of red plasma coursing through the lactose delta. A memory is stirred: strawberry sundaes and gingham tablecloths.

Something now pops in the distance. Not champagne corks this time but airborne gunfire. More soldiers will arrive, but I will tend to their wounds and cream their bruises, comforting them like my own sons.


Milking It

She selects a glass jar from the cabinet, opens it with practised care. The liquid inside swirls like viscous fog. Slowly, slowly, she unwinds the largest snake— a yellow-eyed cobra, twisting from the nape of her neck— and eases it over her shoulder. It hisses and wiggles, flashing needle-sharp fangs as she hooks it to the lid. Venom dribbles down the insides of the glass, milk-white, and Medusa breathes a sigh of relief.

It’s not the snakes that worry her; it’s their bite. Each belligerent little pinprick.

Curses, she thinks, bring a whole new meaning to the term Hair Care.


Mixing Milk Thistle Tea

Peat-smoke drifts from the fire, as she crushes tiny milk thistle seeds with a pestle.

He groans in the bunk; a sheet bunched by his pale feet. His complexion that of cream gone sour. No longer fit to roar that the neighbours call her a witch.

She adds boiled water and sets the cup to his lips.

‘For your liver,’ she says.

He gulps. A dribble trickles across his cheek. She wipes his greying stubble with a cloth.

‘Tastes foul,’ he manages, before slumping against the mattress.

Elderberries gleam, like beads of black jet scattered across the table.

She waits.


Notes Left for My Sleeping Husband in the Final Six Months

To Squidgy,

Last night was fun. I’ve missed our adventures!

Didn’t want to wake you.

I’ll be late from work tonight.

Love, C x

To J,

The milk is off. I’ll get more on my way home.

C x

Couldn’t find the back door key to put out the bins. Can you sort? Ta.

Milk was off again. You can sort. Buy one pint not two.

I’m stopping at Janice’s tonight. Don’t call. I won’t answer.

C

Dear J, Thanks for sorting the boxes for me. I’ll post my key through the letter box. My solicitor has your email.

X


Pina Colada

Pineapples and coconuts are pretty ornaments, but her blown-glass avocado-half gives guidance. Her husband yells, “Hey! How about some…” something she can’t hear.

“Bike ride?”

Her pit throbs, so she goes. Rides hard across the mangrove bridge, halts below the mansion, panting. Her gaze rises to the rainbow-painted balcony. Spindle colors come in waves.

Arms akimbo, naked yoga man takes in the breeze. She watches his vinyasa. Cobra. Tree. She ponders an exchange then settles on her banana seat and pedals home.

Her avocado whispers welcome. Pewter, silver, Bristol blue. A million milky moons pull at her like a tide.


Residue

I bathe in creamy liquid scented with rose and jasmine. I rub a dripping sea sponge about my body contours and wash myself free from the linger of you. Submerged in virgin white I rinse you clean away. And when I step from the tub opaque rivulets trickle down my limbs leaving tiny pearl droplets clinging to my skin. I pat them dry with soft Egyptian cotton.

Cleansed from the ache of you I slide between cool silken sheets and drift from consciousness. But inevitably you enter my dreams and once again the persistent residue of you curdles upon me.


Till Death Do Us Part

They had been dead for days.

As you and I began our married life together, their bodies had lain rotting on the other side of the wall.

Untouched milk bottles on the doorstep alerted us. Rancid yellow liquid spilling out of pecked silver foil tops.

An ebony bloom of bluebottles buzzed out when the police knocked the door down.

I can hear those insects now, persistent, tinnitus trapped inside my skull.

My palm against the wall vibrates as the couple’s suffering leaches through.

I pour tea, hold the milk jug towards you.

You flinch from the pervasive scent of decay.


The Winter of Relationship

A harsh white blanket spread across the sky and every grassy blade.

Penny’s fingers numbed sticking posters to lampposts.

Missing Cat. Freddy.

Later, her husband, Rob, said, ‘I never wanted that cat,’ and dumped Freddy’s dish in the bin. Penny fished it out.

A dead rat was on the doormat in the morning. Penny whispered, ‘Freddy?’ and hid a saucer of milk behind her bike. Rob turned the engine of his car, drove off in a snowstorm. Penny buckled in the silence. No goodbye, kiss or smile.

Three days later, Rob still wasn’t home. Penny didn’t put up any posters.


Vote for your favourite using the form below. If you have any problems using the form, you can also vote on this link: https://form.responster.com/hdvFIY

Sept 21 Micro Longlist

Many thanks to all who sent a story for this month’s MILK themed comp. We received 87 entries so the cash prize for first place is £130 and for second place £87. People’s Prize is of course a surprise!

Well done to the writers of the stories below. No telling which is yours though!

We’ll have the shortlist on Monday after the Online Flash Fest where you can come ask the Retreat West Reading Team all about how and why stories go through to the long and shortlists and the winner’s spots.

Longlist

  1. Carton
  2. Even The Milk Doesn’t Know
  3. Five Uses for Milk We Hadn’t Heard of Until Louise’s Wedding
  4. Grace
  5. Having Shed My Stripey Larval Pyjamas
  6. How to Grow and Care for Grapevines
  7. Instinct
  8. Milking It
  9. Missing
  10. Mixing Milk Thistle Tea
  11. My Southern Boyfriend’s Cure for Insomnia
  12. No Use Crying Over Spilled Milkshake
  13. Notes Left for My Sleeping Husband in the Final Six Months
  14. Pina Colada
  15. Residue
  16. Rosie-Nell
  17. The Winter of Relationship
  18. The Woman Consumed
  19. Till Death Do Us Part
  20. Too Late
  21. Traces of You
  22. You Can Tell a Lot About a Person’s Character From How They Take Their Tea

Good luck for the next round everyone! Our shortlist will be online for the public vote on Monday 20th Sept.

In the meantime, get writing to the ECHO theme for the quarterly themed flash that closes on 26th Sept! Win cash and online publication.

And polish up your micros, flashes and short stories for the 2021 RW Prize, which closes in October! Win cash and anthology publication.

Write, write, write!

Winners: Micro Mentoring Comp

Many thanks to all the writers who sent in their tiny stories to win one of our new one-off mentoring packages. The theme was partnerships and we enjoyed reading all the takes on this, of which there were many!

We’ve got a bit behind with things as summer holidays and lots of courses starting and getting everything ready for the Online Flash Fest, so we’re publishing our shortlist here as well as our winners!

Many congrats to all!

Shortlist

  • Joint and Several by Nancy Ludmerer
  • Perfect Harmony by Alex Ruby
  • Our First Touch by Sharon Boyle
  • Our Turn by Tracey Stewart
  • The Gift by Julia Abelsohn
  • The Natural Order of Things by Meg Anderson
  • The Sudden Emergence of a Rainbow by Laura Dobson
  • Things I May Or May Not Tell My Granddaughter When Leaving Her My Final Instructions by Philippa Bowe
  • Until Death Does Us Part by Jeff Taylor

Winners

Well done to our winners!

Our First Touch by Sharon Boyle

Sharon wins the Story & Structure Surgery with C.M. Taylor.

Why we chose it: Loved the narrative voice, the humour, the surreal turn this story took and how deftly what could have been quite a grim tale was handled!


The Gift by Julia Abelsohn

Julia wins the Character Clinic with Amanda Saint

Why we chose it: Such an epic feel to this tiny tale that covers a big span of these characters lives. Poignant and touching without being sentimental – great stuff!


The Sudden Emergence of a Rainbow by Laura Dobson

Laura wins the Flash Fiction Fix with Amanda Saint

Why we chose it: Fantastic details and layering of meaning in this story and the narrator’s shock, loss and grief are so wonderfully portrayed in so few words.


Until Death Do Us Part by Jeff Taylor

Jeff wins the Short Story Surgery with Peter Jordan

Why we chose it: Heartbreaking and hopeful at the same time and the final line packs a real punch. Loved the names and way the reality of the story came clear slowly.

Our First Touch

Sharon Boyle

My arm is down the toilet’s U-bend, not acting very U-like. I could do with another elbow hinge to stretch in further. My wedding ring is here. I dropped it and flushed, then flushed again.

But gold should never be treated like shit and that’s why I’m kneeling and fishing about in my classiest, sassiest dress with the puffed sleeves (one rolled up). The celebratory meal is off after an argument burst open with my arsey ring-mate. I couldn’t stop nipping and snipping, and he couldn’t explain why he treats me like…yeh, that.

I flex in an inch. The bottom of the bowl is smooth, the water cool – I don’t dwell on its cleanliness.

My eyes pop wide.

A hand has slipped around mine. Strange fingers squeeze a firm handshake. I do the polite thing and squeeze back, glad I’m dressed for the occasion.


This story was a winner in the Micro Mentoring Comp.

About the author: Sharon has been published online and in magazines/anthologies including Reflex Fiction, Retreat West, Ellipsis Zine and Writers’ Forum. As well as shorties and flash she writes YA novels. She hums while she writes, driving everyone insane. She tweets as @SharonBoyle50

The Gift

Julia Abelsohn

Two peas in a pod; they fit together like the single egg from whence they came. They were one unit, bonded for life. They laughed one laugh, they grew their hair long and golden, and their eyes were as blue as a Caribbean Ocean. And then the change began, slowly at first with the one feeling a little squarer than the other. And then the other’s roundness was like a broken mirror that she couldn’t look into anymore. She began to pull away and to look at other mirrors. She felt her body hardening, her edges forming into new shapes, new molecules brewing beneath her skin. She decided then to make the change complete – surgery and hormones would replace breasts and monthlies – and then she would give herself the final gift. Her rough hands became his hands, and he would stand alone in the world.


This story was a winner in the Micro Mentoring Comp.

About the author: Julia Abelsohn has spent over 25 years as a journalist, editor and corporate writer and is now enjoying creative writing pursuits. She has been published in The Raven’s Perch, The Mindful Word, The Globe and Mail, Flash Fiction Magazine and Pigeon Review.