Hello, all my brother and sister bloggers, poets, readers and writers from all over the world! It’s the Old Soldier here with another edition of your favorite flash fiction magazine. Before we get to our feature presentation, the Old Soldier wants to ramble a little bit.
I seem to be suffering from writer’s block. If you follow this blog, you know that I think writer’s block is a good thing. It means that my next good writing idea is just around the corner; but until that happens, I’m stuck publishing a post like this one. Even the story “Crock Pot Cooking” is a story that I came across this morning in one of my old notebooks.
If my pension check from Giant Eagle arrives today by snail mail, I’ll walk to Little Italy and have a few beers at Armand’s. That might help to cure my writer’s block even on an overcast autumn day like today. At least it’s around 70 degrees outside.
The New Pittsburgh Flash Fiction Gazette is a magazine of writing, culture and sex. It is also a paying market. If you want to submit a story or some poetry, please read and follow the submissions guidelines. Now before we do get to our feature presentation, the Old Soldier felt a need to write a little haiku.
The overcast sky
The red, brown and yellow leaves
My mind is empty
Crock Pot Cooking
A hard rain fell on Pittsburgh that night. A middle-age bachelor left a neighborhood bar with a six-pack of beer and he walked the two blocks to his apartment building. The smell of lamb, carrots and potatoes slow-cooking in his crock pot filled the second floor of the apartment building.
Once in his apartment, he took off his rain coat, dried his hair and stood in the dark at a window as he drank a can of beer and watched the rain while he listened to his voice mail. He had gone to three job interviews the past two weeks. One voice message was the job he wanted.
He finished his beer and sat on the sofa in the dark and punched in a number on the lighted receiver of his phone.
“Hello, Richard,” a cultured female voice said.
“I got the position.”
“Decent pay. Benefits. Security. The works. Sharon, we can have a life together. We can get married.”
“It is wonderful.” She was a hostess at an upscale club, restaurant; widowed, both her teenagers away at college.
“Can you spend the night?” he asked.
“Have you had dinner?”
“I have dinner ready. Lamb.”
“I’ll bring a good wine.”
“Bring the black nightie.”
“I’ll pack an overnight.”
After the phone call Richard stood at the window and drank another can of beer as he watched the rain. Then he took a shower.