Cafe Aphra: An Online Community for Writers

Cherry laid out vegetables in order of cooking on the black marble surface. Golden summer garlic, pale sweet onions, leeks, carrots, green pea pods. Fragrance and freshness. It was a safe kind of chore—making soup. Two cloves of garlic on the old wooden chopping board. The wide body of their Japanese cooking knife, bought in Kyoto where they’d celebrated their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. She still had strength to crush garlic… He would be crushed. She’d kept their last summer together joyful, organising excursions to visit places they’d been happy before; walking once again their easier walks – all the cliché things their older friends had done. Why do people despise cliché, she wondered. It was a slow-growing cancer, inoperable. If she wished, her doctors would give her radio and chemo, but the statistics weren’t promising. She reassured them, feeling sorry for the young men who had to give her the news––once her husband’s students, then colleagues––ethically boun...

The rusted swing was a steady pendulum, counting the seconds away drip by drip. Billy continued to swing under skies blanketed in an iron hue, hiding the sun like a deep secret. Billy was a strange looking fellow. He was a tall and gaunt man, his spindly legs as susceptible to break as that of a delicate daddy long legs. The park was abandoned long ago. He found it sad to see his childhood memories torn asunder, to be hurt by the trauma of time. Time was the enemy. Things were different twenty years ago. Billy was an eight year old child residing in a peaceful home with his loving parents. The park was once vibrant; a modest amusement park of gleaming slides, silky fields, and clean benches. Children played in abundance, the sound of laughter echoing throughout the tight neighbourhood. Today the attractions were crumpled remnants of their past selves. Billy's parents had been carried across the proverbial barrier; his best friend moved on to a life of money and love among his new f...

Orion, born of Euryale and Poseidon, Could walk on waves to islands far But a single sting stole his breath.  Now his muscles are made of brightest star. Fair Merope still loves the man Who dared to attack Oenopion’s scion, Still loves Orion Even though now he does the heavens span.  If only Zeus had refused to lift The hunter to cerulean skies. If only he had refused the gift And Helios had not healed his eyes.  If only loyal Cedalion had not guided the beast To the oracle that bade him to uttermost east, He would not stand for all to see, Shining bright for eternity. by Sarah Mills