The year the woods became Lincoln Logs, Cal had his first son. The boy grew up unknowing the rustling ghosts of trees that haunt his father.
She’s praying. It looks like any other silence, but he knows. She’s doing dishes. God is in her eyes. She turns, smiling. He’s saved again.
Algebra: The cake is 8 layers high. The girl is 6 years old. The counter is 3 feet tall. In minutes, how long until the cake hits the floor?
Evie is a journalist. She takes license to ask and do and be things. In the cab of a 220-foot crane, she forgets the medical tests tomorrow.
A mature gingko grew golden outside her classroom. The crone told us its resurrection tale. Today a young gingko is greening, and I see her.
It was an ordinary dawn. Sunlight glancing off Tom’s butter knife flashed prisms on his toaster. He didn’t see until his son called it cool.
Each and every person on earth stopped talking for a day. God blew a gentle wind through their hearts, and the world was forever changed.
An old mop is standing on its head in Ed’s garden, its stick like driftwood, its strings bedded in moss. A bluebird perches on it. Ed grins.
Having never had a mirror, Annie had no image in her mind of her own face. She came to know herself only by reflections in her child’s eyes.
Vic wore black shoes. Kay wore white gloves. He was told to extend his hand. She was told to take it. That was 1964. They’re still waltzing.
Linda Rose became a rose. It happened in her sleep. She dreamed the scent of an American Beauty, but she woke to the tears of a Cherokee.
At seven, Anna planted sunflower seeds to see them grow madly tall. At seventy, she starts marigolds in a windowbox to see golden God again.
Edie’s bud vase is never empty. Ed sees to that. He gave it to her in 1952. On their 60th anniversary, she gives him 5 dozen Emperor tulips.
Em owns a vintage Mustang. She bought it in ’67. Em’s good at keeping things. Al isn’t. He left Em in ’82. He regrets it. He loved that car.
A quiver of green brightens the blue of wee Cleo’s eyes. She presses her nose against phantom glass. Today she will breach her fragile wall.
Her hair, red as Georgia clay, hung longer than her blue polka dot shorts. Ed stared and gave it thought, but damned if he didn’t turn away.
Janet Ference’s popular twitter tale collection is back. This edition features over 100 new stories, and as before, each is complete and unique within the length of a tweet. The book will be available in both paperback and ebook formats. Look for a post soon to let you know where it can be purchased.
In the meantime, please enjoy the return of daily twitter tale posts. Many will be reprised from Between Blinks. Some will be brand new. All will be chosen with care. Follow them on twitter, facebook, rss feed, or by email. Sign up today!