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Red Butted Sheep
Long, long ago, before mankind, there were many peculiar creatures, such as flying giraffes, the fluffy octopus, tusked koala, sorsel, hawkacorn, pengwhale, lamster, and, of course, the headless chihuahua. There were many others, but it would take me forever to name them, so today we’re talking about none other than… the Red Butted Sheep.
Once upon a nondisturbed world, there was a flock of Red Butted Sheep dangling from branches, swinging high and low. At the time, all the sheep decided to leave the area and find better trees with more fruits and veggies. All but one; Shrimp. “Shrimp the Sheep”.
He was sound asleep in his hammock, filled with leftover food and crumbs. Dreaming about food, food, and more food. About an eternity later, he got up from his cozy cocoon and looked around for a bit, still having sleep in his eyes. After a couple of minutes of dead silence, he finally realized he was the only one there.
When he finished eating the remains of yesterday’s meal, he decided that he was hungry again. He swung around the area but found no food. He thought to himself, so that’s why the flock left. Without further ado, he raced down the tree, a bit hesitant about his decision. Just when he reached the ground, he knew there was no turning back.
Shrimp walked for days, mile after mile, knowing it would be time to eat soon or all you would see would be a corpse lying in the middle of the forest. A couple of minutes later, he stumbled upon a mysterious looking plant. It looked a lot like Lantana that the other sheep always spoke about. Each flower petal was like a beautiful blue, red and yellow diamond. Who could resist?
But, they say it’s poisonous. Shrimp knew that it was either he ate the Lantana, feeling full before he’d die, or just die with an empty stomach. This was the easiest question ever, like having to choose candy or broccoli. Candy, duh.
Soon after, Shrimp reached out, the smart part of his brain that rarely showed up, begged and pleaded with him to stop. He simply ignored this warning, and his little monkey fingers proceeded to reach out. He caught himself but his fingers kept moving forward like a magnet. He gobbled it up and licked the remains of it off the ground, then tasted the unpleasantly sour lemon flavor.
The next day, Shrimp felt ill. It was like one side of his body was coming out as it pushed his stomach. Every time his tum tum grumbled it was like the left belonged to one person, and the right was owned by another.
Months later, of full dreadful hunger, he saw little white balls of fluff in the distance. “It’s the herd!” He shouted with excitement! When he got there, he realized he was hallucinating, because it was only a cotton field. Now that’s what happens when you’re in an unknown place and no one is there with you.
He felt hopeless, his limping legs were trembling, his fur nappy and dry, the bottom of his hands weak and so. His eyelids heavy, his lips as dry as desert sand, and you could see his ribs. He was malnourished.
He woke up in the middle of the night, feeling even more ill than before. His fur started to rip, and his skin was tearing apart, each bone popping and his squishy marrow rotting as his blood vessels burst open, shooting out blood everywhere.
Even for him it was a gory sight. His flesh smelled of mold and the air was getting heavier and heavier, denser and denser, thicker and thicker, making it harder to breathe every second. There were puddles of blood and oceans of tears.
He started to see an eye, then another as a fluffy head started to form. It was a short-haired creature he had never seen before. It had huge fangs and bubbly gums and a heart-shaped pink nose with brown wide eyes. He realizes what that flower did to him, he was splitting apart.
He fell into darkness. It felt like forever. Then he saw a ray of light gleaming through his eyelids. He pried them open with the last bit of strength he had, but to his surprise, he was safe and sound in his hammock, just asleep. Everyone was there.
He even still had crumbs and leftovers in his hammock “Was this a dream?” he murmured. His ma trotted over and gave him a bowl of soup. “So it was a dream?” Shrimp whispered. Just when he thought it was over, he looked to his right and saw the same creature, but this time it was grinning.
His mom said “It’s not a dream,” then put a sack over his head and swung a bat at his face to knock him out.
To Be Continued…
Problems
With all these problems in the world,
we need someone to make a twirl.
With our ozone layer tearing it apart,
we need people that have a heart.
Our ocean is polluted, filled with trash,
we need to empty it by using our cash.
With these problems, our earth could burn,
so we need to stop and take a turn.
But there are other problems beside the weather,
our world in general is tearing apart like paper in a shredder.
People are killing, robbing, and have no hope,
but we need to come together like a knot on a rope.
We need to love, we don’t need to hate,
you don’t need to hate, but rather appreciate.
Our world is filled with war, hate, and sadness,
when it should be peaceful, lovely, and filled with happiness.
All we need to do is love together,
so we all can become brothers and sisters.
Chicken Ball
Do you want to hear about an end zone of a team? Once there was a football team named the Chickens. The team was made up of real chickens. They were animals but they were really good. They were really good! They beat the Jaguars, Cats, Bears and Squirrels (not surprisingly).
After a lot of hard work the team made it to the Super Chicken Ball. They decided to take the bus to this event. But, when they went on the bus, their toes were so sharp they broke the bus. So, they tried to fly but they couldn’t. Next, they tried to get a cab, “Bock, Bock,” but the people did not understand them. So, they didn’t get a cab.
They had one more idea! And that was to run on the highway. It worked!!
They almost missed the game but they made it in time! They were playing the FOXES. They made it to overtime. The Foxes made a punt. There was one minute left. The Chickens threw an 80-yard pass and it was complete and they were 10 yards away from the end zone. They had 5 seconds. They handed the ball to the running back. He made it 5 yards and almost got tackled but didn’t and made the TOUCHDOWN!!
Philadelphia Stories Online Master Classes
Philadelphia Stories is offering a new online master class series for Summer 2020. Each master class is led by a Philadelphia Stories editor, who will offer a deep dive into topics to help you grow as a creative writer. All proceeds will support Philadelphia Stories.
Below is the schedule for Summer 2020:
Class Title: Writing in Small Forms: Tiny Poems, Haiku, and more
Class Description: Tiny poems– an antidote for the mundane, the commercial, the disconnected. Join Debbie Fox for a course in a kind of poetry that can be written anywhere, anytime, by anyone. Short forms afford the beginner an easy entrance and the experienced poet a powerful tool for artistic expression. We will learn from haiku masters who lived centuries ago, and those writing today. Get tips on where to send your poetry for publication.
Dates: Tues., July 14, 7-9pm; Tues., July 21, 7-9pm; Tues., July 28, 7-9pm
About the Instructor: Debbie Fox
Debra Fox is an adoption attorney and founder of Story Tributes, an enterprise that preserves the stories of people’s lives. She is a reader for Philadelphia Stories, as well as the mother of two sons: one profoundly autistic and the other a journalist. In her spare time she loves to dance. She lives on the outskirts of Philadelphia with her family. Much of her published work can be found at www.debramfox.com.
Cost: $285 (maximum 8 students) – Register now.
Class Title: Magic Realism (multi-genre)
Class Description: Get to know the most exciting Latin American literary style: Magical Realism. With examples from Borges, Cortázar, García Márquez, Rulfo and Esquivel, write your own path to a mystical world.
Dates: Wed., July 15, 7-9pm; Wed., July 22, 7-9pm; Wed., July 29, 7-9pm
About the Instructor: Carlos Pérez Sámano
Carlos José Pérez Sámano was born in Mexico City in 1985. He has 4 published books in Mexico and he is published in anthologies in Spain, India and the U.S. including Who Will Speak for America? by Temple University Press. He writes both in English and Spanish. His work had been published in a variety of literary magazines worldwide. He is the Executive Director of the Mexican Global Network, Chapter Philadelphia, and works for the Penn Museum. He recently graduated from MFA in Creative Writing and MA in Publishing from Rosemont College.
Cost: $285 (maximum 8 students) – Register now.
Class Title: Getting the Ideas: Writing prompts, developing good writing habits, and more tips for getting started
Class Description: Students will explore methods of cultivating an idea (writing prompts, discussion, self-reflection, and brainstorming) which will be the spring board for a story. Students will also receive suggestions for implementing good habits, such as time management strategies to optimize writing time, to ensure success of writing goals.
Dates: Tues, Sept 15, 7-9pm; Tues, Sept 22, 7-9pm; Tues, Sept 29, 7-9pm
About the Instructor: Jackie Massaro
Jackie Massaro graduated Rowan University with a BA in Writing Arts. Her poems have appeared in Avant. Massaro’s work extends to theatre; she has years of stage managing experience, and in 2019, she adapted and directed her debut outreach performance, “Into the Garden: A Conversation About Life,” which toured the Greater Philadelphia Area. Massaro has had the pleasure of working with Philadelphia Stories Magazine for three years, first as an intern for the McGlinn Contest for Fiction. Massaro now serves on the nonfiction editorial board. Pre-COVID, Massaro worked at an elementary school. Currently, she is staffed on a comedy series.
Cost: $285 (maximum 8 students) – Register now.
Class Title: Writing for Resistance
Class Description: While exploring some of the ways African Americans have resisted oppression throughout history, learn how to document and write your experiences as we live through this moment of unprecedented civil unrest.
Dates: Wed., July 15, 7-9pm; Wed., July 22, 7-9pm; Wed., July 29, 7-9pm
About the Instructor: Susette Brooks
Susette Nicole Brooks is a writer and a descendant of Paterson, New Jersey’s literary history, which includes being home to the young Allen Ginsberg and the inspiration for the William Carlos Williams epic poem, Paterson. Susette enjoys managing multiple responsibilities. She recently earned an MFA in Nonfiction from Goucher College where she started a memoir in essays about the lenses through which she has understood black identity, sexual power, and traumatic loss. For the past 12 years, Susette has served and has held several roles in the New Jersey Army National Guard. In her current role, she leads a team of soldier-journalists who tell the Army story using multimedia narratives. Susette is the former nonfiction editor at Philadelphia Stories and currently serves on the magazine’s editorial board. She also works full time as a public relations coordinator at the New Jersey State Library. She splits her time between Paterson and Philadelphia.
Cost: $285 (maximum 8 students) – Register now.
Class Title: Generative Class for Fiction Writers
Class Description: Sometimes it’s difficult to focus deeply on our writing, especially when the world is full of tumult. This class is a generative class for fiction writers, and it’s intended to get the creative juices flowing. We will discuss elements of craft like character and plot, and create new work using prompts to guide and inspire us. This class is not a traditional workshop, but the instructor will provide written feedback on one newly-generated piece of writing. The goal is to leave the class with some momentum and a notebook full of new ideas and material.
Dates: Wed., Aug. 5, 7-9pm; Wed., Aug. 12, 7-9pm; Wed., Aug. 19, 7-9pm
About the Instructor: Kate Blakinger
Kate Blakinger’s short stories have appeared in the Gettysburg Review, Harpur Palate, Iowa Review, and New Stories from the Midwest. In 2016, she won the Marguerite McGlinn Prize for Fiction. She holds an MFA from the Helen Zell Writers’ Program at the University of Michigan, and has taught creative writing at the University of Michigan and Penn State Altoona.
Cost: $285 (maximum 8 students) – Register now.
Class Title: Developing Setting and Descriptions
Class Description: E. Annie Proulx sets stories in the plains of Wyoming. Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche locates some of her work in Nigerian gardens in summertime. Where and when you set your story–what time of year, what geographical location, what century—provides you with opportunities to develop your story with more resonance. We’ll do weekly short story reading and writing assignments and offer feedback to one another in a workshop environment.
Dates: Wed., Aug. 5, 7-9pm; Wed., Aug. 12, 7-9pm; Wed., Aug. 19, 7-9pm
About the Instructor: Aimee Labrie
Aimee LaBrie’s short story collection, Wonderful Girl, was chosen as the Katherine Anne Porter Prize in Fiction and published by the University of North Texas Press. Her short stories have been nominated for several Pushcart Prizes and her work has appeared in StoryQuarterly, Pleiades, Beloit Fiction Journal, Cleaver Magazine, Iron Horse Literary Review, The Minnesota Review, Permafrost, and other literary journals. In 2012, she won first place in Zoetrope’s All-Story Fiction contest. Aimee lives in Princeton, NJ and teaches creative writing for Writers House at Rutgers University, New Brunswick.
Cost: $285 (maximum 8 students) – Register now.
Class Title: Outer Limits: Experimenting with Form
Class Description: In this class we will explore the many different forms a story can take. We will read and write narratives composed of emails, tweets, footnotes, or recipes, to name a few, with the goal of challenging what we know about storytelling. Come prepared to invent.
Dates: Thurs., Aug. 6, 7-9pm; Thurs., Aug. 13, 7-9pm; Thurs., Aug. 20, 7-9pm
About the Instructor: Kathryn Ionata
Kathryn Ionata is the author of the chapbook Yield Signs Don’t Exist (PS Books, 2016). She is a two-time Pushcart Prize nominee whose work has appeared in The Toast, The Best of Philadelphia Stories, Sunlight Press, Ovunque Siamo: A Journal of Italian-American Writing, and elsewhere. Kathryn earned her MFA in Creative Writing Fiction at Temple University and has taught creative writing, literature, and composition at Temple and The College of New Jersey. She lives outside Philadelphia. Connect with her on Twitter @katieionata.
Cost: $285 (maximum 8 students) – Register now.
Class Title: Mastering the Art of the Sentence
Class Description: In this class we’ll practice sentence structure and revising sentences, talk about what DeLillo calls the swing of the sentence, and look at what makes good, bad, and great sentences, down to the last word and syllable.
Dates: Thurs., Aug. 6, 7-9pm; Thurs., Aug. 13, 7-9pm; Thurs., Aug. 20, 7-9pm
About the instructor: Nathan Alling Long
Nathan Alling Long’s work has won several international story competitions, appeared on NPR, and been published in over 100 publications, including Tin House, Glimmer Train, The Sun, Witness, and Best of Microfiction 2020. Nathan’s collection of fifty short fictions, The Origin of Doubt, was a 2019 Lambda Literary Award finalist. His second manuscript, Everything Merges with the Night, was a finalist for both the Hudson Book Manuscript Prize and the Iowa Fiction Award. Other awards include a Mellon Foundation Fellowship, a Truman Capote Literary Scholarship, three Pushcart nominations, and scholarships to Bread Loaf and Sewanee Writers Conferences. Nathan lives in Philadelphia and teaches at Stockton University.
Cost: $285 (maximum 8 students) – Register now.
Aleppo Runs the Hall
To view Aleppo Runs the Hall by Octavia McBride-Ahebee, click HERE.
Take This Transmission For Instance
by Rosa Sophia
I have no vehicle for this T18 four-speed transmission
Dana Model 300 transfer case.
This transmission
sat in my father’s shed after his four-wheeler crushed him
in the Pennsylvania woods, sat in the dark after a helicopter
carried my father off the mountain, waited in silence
as my father fell comatose, this transmission ignored
by my stepmother as she sold and gave away my father’s tools
couldn’t be bothered with when my family pulled the plug
couldn’t be reconciled the day I never flew to my father’s funeral.
It sat in this dark, dusty shed for eight years after my father’s death.
Now it doesn’t fit anywhere.
It couldn’t be lifted by my brother Mark in a rainstorm
in the mud two-handed, couldn’t be budged by thought,
ingenuity or reason, 240 pounds of cast iron needed a truck,
my cousin Barry behind the wheel with chains and a trailer.
Caked in grease it came to me with loosened bolts
dirt inside after my cousin inspected it closely, put it in neutral,
gave me advice I can’t remember on shifting gears, while together
we stabbed a perfect circle in my new car’s rear fender
with the spline of this transmission as it hung from a thick chain
like a locket, a reminder, a note as if to say, this doesn’t fit anywhere
before I drove it in the back of my new car 1200 miles
to Florida dragging gas mileage.
Now this dirty transmission hangs from a chain in my garage
where I twirl it after I dragged it from the trunk of my new car
crashed it into my knee and scraped my skin, slammed my wrist
the next day it’s swollen and gray, arm scraped, elbow bruised
dragged the hulking metal on the fender, added marks to my perfect circle
extra dings, a reminder, a note as if to say, take this transmission for instance
now it doesn’t fit anywhere.
Rosa Sophia grew up in Pa. and is working toward an MFA in Creative Writing at FIU in Miami. Her poem, “Take This Transmission for Instance,” won Runner-Up in the 2020 FIU Student Literary Awards. She holds a degree in Automotive Technology, and is also the managing editor of Mobile Electronics magazine.
Pentecostal
by Steve Burke
The middle-of-the-night ride through the fogged-in hills,
the way the road can’t help but follow.
Curves the truth headlights try to defy.
The way the filament of infection
is creeping up my daughter’s arm: the first illustration
in a monograph on spider toxins.
The way something seems to be speaking through you
even when you don’t want it to.
Steve Burke’s poems have been published in a number of journals & magazines; has had two chapbooks – After The Harvest & For Now – published by Moonstone Press. He worked for many years as an obstetric nurse; lives in the Mount Airy section of Philadelphia.
Espresso
by Steve Burke
“This world is the other world too.”
– Tomas Tranströmer
Sometimes the first sip is enough: shadow
ribboning into the depths, the casting
of a spindly Giacometti striding-figure.
Skeleton of music, of imagination, out
on a lawn I would keep trimmed religiously,
a caretaker sunburnt and weathered
in the name of Stillness – a stillness
that makes a case for inherent grace, that
reminds us how we move through this world,
a non-stop exchange of touch.
Alberto, you’ve confirmed what I’ve long suspected:
the soul resembles bone. Hard but darker,
coarsely-surfaced enough to skin knuckles.
But which, if the ground begins to shake,
can be gripped as if embracing another ‘you’ –
the one you’re glad to see, the one who
runs next to your speeding train, taps your window,
then gives a little wave before peeling off, laughing,
toward the other world.
Steve Burke’s poems have been published in a number of journals & magazines; has had two chapbooks – After The Harvest & For Now – published by Moonstone Press. He worked for many years as an obstetric nurse; lives in the Mount Airy section of Philadelphia.
Letting Go of God
by Claire Scott
My mother thinks she’s a saint.
Her website promises spiritual guidance,
thinner thighs and a cure for infected cuticles.
She calls herself Worship Warrior,
offering prayer groups in our shabby living room
filled with plastic Jesuses and plates of Ritz Crackers.
I sit on the floor, my mitt on my lap
with its soft smell of leather and I dream about
home runs while the women drone on about redemption
And sad-eyed Jesuses stare down
from their crosses. Hours of boring prayers instead
of stealing bases, hours of hymns instead of pitching no hitters.
My first tooth fell out when I was five, I tucked
it under my pillow and the next day found a dollar
that looked like the torn dollar my mother had yesterday.
Each Christmas we left cookies and milk
for Santa, waited for hooves on the roof, until
I realized all the tags were in my mother’s handwriting.
I hear my mother guarantee everyone a seat next to God.
Dots connect. My heart crumples once more.
I grab my glove and head to the park.
Claire Scott is an award winning poet who has received multiple Pushcart Prize nominations. Her work has been accepted by the Atlanta Review, Bellevue Literary Review, New Ohio Review, Enizagam and Healing Muse among others. Claire is the author of Waiting to be Called and Until I Couldn’t.