Steven Keiths

I loved this story. Liked the poem also. Nicely done James. And the next peom you write, I hope I enjoy it as much as Cole. Sorry, Cole, couldn't help myself:)

Des, this was a beautiful piece. You said so much. An ode to beginnings.

Yeah, I found it disturbing. Perhaps, because I have been there, and you reminded me. You threw me there for a sec. The next to last sentence I thought, ah, goodie, this person is going to find happiness. Hugs.

Brings out book, writes ticket for too many words. Has author promise to write another story in lieu of paying fine for ticket. Word policeman is a pushover. It was a sweet story about friendship. I liked the ending, it was nice. Got so wrapped up in it I forgot to count the words. I'll try to do better next time!

Okay, so I couln't leave Tracy's remark regarding "ironic smile" alone. Blew It Again by: Steven Keiths ? September 2009 He stood and grabbed the handle to the rolling suitcase. He was the cutest freckled-face redhead I had ever seen. Sighing, a wave of sadness; a moment of regret; a feeling of misfortune for an opportunity lost, churned my stomach. For two hours we sat in the busy San Francisco air terminal, furtively stealing glances at one another. Just as he would start to look my way, I averted my eyes as if something had caught my attention. He did much the same. Bending, feigning to tie my shoelaces so that I could steal a longer look, I noticed the pretty girl sitting next to him grab his hand and squeeze it. She looked related, a younger sister perhaps?at least I hoped so. He would pat her hand, turn to her, and smile. Oh, what beautiful smile it was?dimples and pearly white teeth. Occasionally they chatted and giggled. She?d slap his shoulder. He?d look my way again. Watching as he strolled down the terminal concourse, I had wished I had been brave enough to go over and say ?hi?. Slumping into my seat, I realized it was too late, he was catching a flight to England; I was headed to Cancun. Just before they went around the corner, he turned, waved and smiled. The smile didn?t do much to relieve my sadness. It only fortified that I missed my chance. But, with an ironic smile I waved back. Hanging my head, rueful for the missed connection. I swore the next time someone caught my eye, no matter what, I was going to make myself at least say something. ?Dammit, dammit, dammit, you?re such a wuss.? ?Flight 723 for Cancun will?.,? The flight announcer stated, interrupting my self-abasing. ?Good, I caught you,? said a breathless voice. ?So, where do you live?? ?Huh?? I asked, as I looked up into the beautiful blue eyes of my heart?s desire. ?Where do you live?? he repeated. Sitting up and squaring my shoulders, ?Uh, Daly City.? ?Good,? he responded. He handed me a slip of paper. ?Had to see my sister to her gate.? Pointing toward the terminal pick up area, ?But gotta? run, my parents are waiting.? Still breathing heavily, he gently touched my shoulder, then he dashed out to a waiting car. As he opened the car door, he turned, waved and smiled; he placed his thumb and pinky finger to the side of his face. The ironic smile I had was replaced with a beaming one as I folded the slip of paper and put it into my shirt pocket. I nodded my head, yes.

I think it was a wonderfully told story and now that you explained 'ironic mouth', which was just a small thing, it still remains a great piece of flash ficiton. Now, if the absent raccoon hasn't pooped in my slippers, I'll slip them on and I'll find a comfortable chair and re-read it.

I was wondering there for a while if I accidently slipped from the Flash Fiction section into a 'would you believe' thread. I enjoyed the story Bruin, but do have a question. What is an 'ironic mouth'?

Great story Bruin. It pulled me in from the first sentence. Very skillfully written.

James, absolutely beautiful. I was truly moved, by its poignancy and simplicity.

Nicely done Des. Though I wasn't fooled for one second, actually it was more than that, uh up to almost the last line. Didn't know they called Scones and Devonshire tea. A very fun read. You're such a tease.

Assumptions: Tale of Maid Miriam by: Steven Keiths ? 10/2007 ?Hello, Mary Beth? This is Dr. Farris. Could you please have the coroner come to the Wheeler?s residence at 213 Oak Drive in Kennsington? Helen Wheeler has passed away. Oh, yes, sorry Mary Beth, the time was 2:13 p.m. The cause of death, I would diagnose as coronary thrombosis. Thank, you Mary Beth, I?ll wait here until Ed arrives.? ?????????????????[ + ]???????????????..... Helen Wheeler was a cruel and mean child. As an adult she added to this repertoire, bitter, boisterous and opinionated. In our small quiet tree shaded community, she earned the pseudonym Hell-en Wheels. Helen had a sister four years younger, Miriam. Miriam was the antithesis of the none too loved Helen. She was sweet, kind, gentle and very quiet. One month after Miriam?s birth, the Wheeler girls were left fatherless after a terrible traffic accident claimed their father?s life. Lucille Wheeler, widowed at the very young age of 22, had become sullen, morose, and totally withdrawn because of her husbands sudden demise. She suffered from a broken heart, broken dreams, and had resigned herself to a broken life. She became a mother in title only, providing the mere basics in the way of maternal attentions. Perhaps this is the reason Helen became so domineering. Someone needed to take charge. In addition, she, being the eldest, had had a few years to endear herself to her mother, where as Miriam arrived in a time of great sadness and turmoil. Miriam essentially was ignored. She had no recourse to the cruelty visited upon her by her older sister as her mother surrendered to her oldest daughter?s ranting and recalcitrant demands. Miriam was fed, clothed, and sheltered. Over the years, Miriam had become inured?capitulated?it was just her life. I grew up in this bucolic serene community with its narrow tree-lined streets. Went to the same small two-room schoolhouse and participated in most of the activities in which the two dissimilar girls did. The overbearing and outspoken Helen always claimed the center of attention while Miriam stayed in the shadows, coming forth only when Helen bade her. The bidding was usually for the meek Miriam to perform some task for her demanding and overbearing sister. Helen grew to be a striking young girl and later a handsome woman. Miriam was an adorable child and matured into a very beautiful demure young lady. Most of our former classmates were nonplussed when Helen caught the eye of a dashing young man, new to our environs. With his attentive attentions, Helen made a noticeable change to her attitude. Her change in demeanor was a welcomed one. She actually became somewhat pleasant. She swooned and gave in to the modest demands of her handsome beau, Clarence Singleton, and even treated poor Miriam somewhat humanely. The yearlong courtship of Clarence and Helen drew attention away from Miriam, and advantageously she managed to enroll at the community college in nearby Lynwood to obtain a nursing degree. The young Helen Wheeler however, could not maintain her attitude of sweetness despite the handsome Clarence and his fondness for her. She eventually returned to her true despicable self. Her suitor, upon experiencing Helen?s true nature, became disenchanted and severed their relationship. Their breakup did not fare well for Miriam. Helen became more vituperative, bitter and demanding toward her younger sibling. The ensuing years found both lonely?yet sharing the same household. I was hoping after their mother?s death that Miriam would break the hold Helen had on her. However, Miriam never found the courage to break away from her domineering older sister. Fortunately, after the breakup of Helen and Clarence she was able to finish out the second year of her schooling to get her registered nursing degree. Being quite skilled, she secured a position at Lynwood Community Hospital. I went away for the next eight years to study medicine and received my medical degree. On occasions such as holidays and semester breaks, I would return to visit. I had for many years been attracted an enamored to Miriam and we had become close friends. Or I should say as close as Helen would allow. Not only was she bitter at the loss of Clarence, she certainly wasn?t going to allow someone to come between her reliance on Miriam?s servitude. Nor would she allow Miriam to have what she couldn?t; some one caring and loving. So, even friendships were kept distanced. Any plans Miriam and I made to have dinner or just visit usually were dashed by Helen?s incessant demands. She always managed to become ?ill? which necessitated Miriam?s services. It appeared my desire for a relationship was hopeless. After my residency requirements were fulfilled, I returned to Kennsington, hung out my shingle and became the new and only doctor upon old Doc Richardson?s retirement. Unless a specialist was needed I attended to the majority of medical care for all but a very few in our small town. It was early in the afternoon, on a stormy September day, when I received the plaintive call from Miriam informing me she believed her now 55-year-old sister was having a heart attack. I rushed to their small neatly kept home to attend to Helen. As I was performing the preliminary vital sign tests, Helen?s heart stopped completely. I immediately administered directly to her heart a shot of epinephrine. Her heart gave out. It was too late. Helen was dead. I then called the county coroner, Dr. Ed Hemsley. Lynwood, the county seat, was some thirty miles away and it took Ed about an hour to navigate the winding narrow country roads through the storm?s deluge. According to the coroner?s findings a few days later, Helen?s death was a direct result of an overdose of epinephrine. As I was a GP not a cardiologist and up to that time had had a spotless record, and since any surviving relative filed no complaint, the medical review board censured me. They put me on one year of informal probation, for my unintentional yet fatal error. I was allowed to continue practicing my profession. However, I had to have another qualified physician monitor my practice for one year. I was greatly relieved. As I left the informal hearing, Miriam, who had been waiting for me, was also noticeably relieved, when she saw my smile. ?Miss Wheeler,? I asked, ?would you like to accompany me to dinner?? ?Are you asking me out on a date Dr. Farris?? She coquettishly replied. ?And more if you?ll have me Miriam,? I sincerely responded. ?Why Jane Farris, I didn?t think you?d ever ask.? Over the ensuing years together, we never discussed the findings of the medical board?s lenient reprimand. My feelings and smile of relief, that day, were because I did not need to confess to the medical board that I had asked Miriam Wheeler, RN to prepare the syringe of epinephrine that I injected into her sister Helen.

A wonderful piece Richard.

Very nice Trab. Wonderful message. I was reminded of something someone said to me once (in my salad days) when I wondered why some old coot was staring at me. Of course, I was quite full of myself. My friend turned to me and said, "Maybe he thinks your ugly."

If I say the same thing would I be violating the "I'll say no more" rule? I've sent my remarks to Cole in a PM so I'll only say, I'm looking forward to reading more.

Caleb Wilson has written many stories. You will find him at Nifty and also at Johnie's Stories. Only at Johnies he writes under the name Tristam De Jong. He is a very nice fellow and he and I have had an ongoing e-mail relationship for several years. He encouraged me to post my writings. IOMFATS just recently invited him to post there. Most of his stories are simple but sweet.

Wow! That was a beautiful rendering, Richard. As Tracy so aptly put it, great analogy and I too felt the despair. At least there was freedom for the character at the end.

Sad, so very, very sad.

Very poignant, Richard. You encapasulated so much in such a short space. Wonderful!

It truly is awful. I have just read that 85 have lost their lives due to these fires. I pray you remain save Graeme. My sympathies to those families and friends of the victims of the fire. Boiled down to its simplist explanation regarding the 'why' someone would do this: Power and for some, a sexual thrill. I relieved so far to learn those whom I know from Australia are safe.

Ah, to be 18. Actually, I was under 18 when I bought mine from the vending machines at gas stations. I always remembered to flush so as not to arouse suspicion. Nicely told Cole. Didn't have that experience with condoms, but my mother was always sending me to the store to pick up Kotex. After a while it didn't bother me, but in the beginning it was humiliating.

James, I'm sorry to hear about your friend Scotty, my condolences. As to your post of "Sheba," I as Cole, was waiting for more to be written. I really only had one comment that was in some way I thought ninny picky: Cats do a figure eight between your legs, more so than at your feet. See, I told you it was ninny picky. Please, do take care of yourself. Warm thoughts and warm regards.

Just reread the rules, it was to be between 150 and 200 words. Des, one the suggestions they gave was using song titles or movie titles. Another was making a list. Fascinating. Not something I'd do for real serious literature, but great exercises to keep the brain lubricated. Thanks all for your feedback.

Yes, Cole, I guess anyone could do it--especially with all the talent of those whom post here at AD. This was more or less a challenge to myself to see if I could. I wanted to see if I could with some cohesion/coherence pull it together to meet the criteria of a short story. It was presented as an exercise in a book. The first part of the exercise was creating a one hundred word sentence. The second was to write a complete short story in one sentence. If I recall there was a word limitation of 125 or so words. I do not know how many words this particular piece has. As I stated previously--I wanted it to be a story. I forgot to count the words. It was fun, with a tad of frustration to do. Thanks for all your comments. I like this forum. I've read some very nice things here.

One More Chance The radio blared some sappy country and western song as I sped down the two- laned road that snaked across the barren desert land, with the windows down, the hot air blasting in my face, my thoughts were of reaching Susie in time before she made the biggest mistake in her life by marrying that bozo, Jethro, who had amassed, maybe, two-months worth of work in his entire 34 years, an besides, I loved her and though I may have not treated her as good as I should have, I will change, I?ll get a job in Santa Fe and I?ll stay put as she has begged me to do and take care of her and not go gallivanting all over the place anymore as she really does mean the world to me, I have to convince her of that?click?I don?t want to hear this song, ?On the Road Again,? as that?s not how it?s going to be from now on.

I actually vocalize my 'little voices.' I get lots of strange stares, especially from the gentleman standing one urinal over. Oh, I guess it would be nice if I acknowledged Richard's FF piece, instead of shanghai-ing the yarn or thread, or whatever these little windows are called. Nice job Richard.