The summer I first traveled to America, my father wore a red shirt so I could spot him in the crowds. Let’s just say that system doesn’t work if other people are wearing red shirts and you’re a five-year-old who can’t see above anyone’s butt.
As soon as we joined the mob in front of JFK to catch a cab, I got separated from Dad.
On the evening of June 20, the president sat alone in the Oval Office, reviewing intelligence reports. The peace talks in Paris were going well—at least enough to silence the protesters at home. His reelection committee had hit a minor snag, but they were managing it. As long as he could distract the public…
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When I spotted Sarah Becker enjoying a meal at Luigi’s outdoor café, I ignored my better judgement and approached her. When she saw me coming, she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Detective Jordan. If you remember, my charges over the Gode Tech heist were dismissed.”
I set down a yellowed photograph featuring a man wearing a suit…
I settle my giant form deep in the white sand, smirking with satisfaction as the mermaids’ shouts of rage continue to ring out across the water. Perhaps they are right to be a little vexed; I did, after all, startle them from their play in the lagoon, chasing them about and snapping my
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6th June, 1944
Twelve miles from shore, we climb into the landing craft.
“Remember,” the coxswain warns, looking at each of us as we set out. “Save no one. We need manpower on the beach.”
No one responds. What could we say? None of us wanted to face the possibility of leaving our friends behind.
“This is not what a raspberry donut should look like.” Maroon batter oozes all over my flour-dusted fingers and plops onto the kitchen floor. I grimace. “At least, not Grandma’s. Hers are perfection.”
Mossy’s tiny dragon wings shudder as he scratches at the deep pink goo clinging to his snout. He yelps and steps
Andy slumped in his chair. He rubbed tired eyes and focused on the calendar hanging beside his desk. A bright red circle highlighted June 15, his looming deadline. Nine days left to either finish his thirty-page thesis or flunk the post-graduate program. No paper, no grade. No grade, no graduation. No graduation, no degree.
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For a children’s librarian, the deadliest weapon is the paper cutter. With one wrong slice, important papers such as reading forms can be destroyed. I know, because it happened to me last summer. One June morning, I found everything for the Summer Reading kick-off—from bookmarks to tracking charts—on my desk, cut apart
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Announcing the winners of the “Remember May” flash fiction contest!
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