Tag Archives: Short Stories

Smorgasbord Short Stories – What’s in a Name! – Volume Two – Xenia | Smorgasbord – Variety is the spice of life

A post I had intended to reblog, before getting waylaid by having to republish my first novel, was Sally Cronin‘ short story, “Xenia.” Sally asked us to choose a story beginning with the letters Q V W X Y or Z to introduce her new collection, which would be published in her latest book, What’s in a Name Vol. II

What's in a Name Vol. II by Sally Cronin

Find all of Sally’s books HERE

I love Sally’s short stories; and as many of you know, she consistently supports authors and bloggers in several ways on her blog, Smorgasbord Invitation. If you’re not familiar with Sally, I think you’ll find her writing most compelling and hope you’ll visit and follow her blog.

Her short story “Xenia” touched me deeply, and I’m pleased to share it with you now.

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Your name is Xenia, after your Greek grandmother, whose wrinkled complexion smelt of roses and almond oil. I remember the hot summers of our visits as we played on the rocks beneath her stone house; working up an appetite for the platters of goat’s cheese, olives and warm bread. The loaves were taken straight from the wood stove; handled carefully with well worn hessian rags, and served up on the rough wooden table in her wild garden. I remember being fascinated by her hands as they sliced thick warm chunks with an ancient serrated bread knife. They were blackened from nearly 80 years in the sun, with dark-rimmed nails from digging into the soil for home grown vegetables.

She was still a beautiful woman, who loved to have her long black and grey hair gently brushed in the twilight; sipping delicately from her glass of rose pink wine. Happy sighs filled the scented air; encouraging continued effort. We dreaded her tears as we left to catch the ferry at the end of summer, with her whispered goodbyes and pleas for us to return again the next year, remaining in our minds for weeks afterwards.

But one summer only my father made the journey, to stay just a week to bury his beloved mother, with her silver backed hair brush and a small bottle of almond oil resting in her hands.

That was ten years ago and I have been saving up her name to give to you, my first child.

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Source: Smorgasbord Short Stories – What’s in a Name! – Volume Two – Xenia | Smorgasbord – Variety is the spice of life

 

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Again

A powerful story by Andrew Joyce depicting the carnage of war, and drawing similarities between what led to the Nazi takeover of Germany and what is occurring now in the United States. Who or what is the enemy? Could it be our own lack of insight? Could it be that we have placed fear at the helm of our consciousness? This is a story that will stay with you for months, if not years ~ if not the rest of your life… 

Andrew Joyce

I went off to war at the tender age of sixteen. My mother cried and begged me to stay, but my country needed me. I would not see my mother again for four very long years.

Due to my age, I was assigned to field headquarters as a dispatch courier for the first two years of the war. However, by the beginning of the third year, I had grown a foot taller and was shaving. And because men were dying at an alarming rate, I was sent into the trenches.

They say that war is hell. I say hell is peaceful compared to living in a muddy trench with bombs exploding around you at all hours of the day and night. Though there were periods of respite from the shelling. Those were the hours when the enemy had to let their big guns cool or else the heat of firing…

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Smorgasbord Short Stories – Flights of Fancy Anthology – Trust by Sally Cronin

A story of grief, trust, and solace, beautifully written by our supportive friend and blogger, Sally Cronin. Need I tell you, Sally, this is my favorite and most likely always will be? Unlike all the tears I’ve shed over the past four months, these were welcomed ♥♥♥

Smorgasbord - Variety is the spice of life

Here is another of the stories from my first story collection.. Flights of Fancy.. This time the story of a woman and a dog who come together on a harsh Welsh mountain.

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TRUST

The house was quiet. The men had left a few minutes ago and already she felt alone. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall intruded into the silence. Time was passing slowly and each minute felt like an hour.

Claire stared out of the kitchen window at the gathering gloom. It would soon be dark, and she would be unable to see the mountain rising above the house, harsh but fiercely beautiful. It was this mountain that had attracted them last spring, the lower slopes covered in lush grass dotted with the cotton wool white of the ewes and their lambs. The craggy rocks of the mountaintop jutted up into a cloudless, blue sky…

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