Heidi Fedore

“Steeped in Sympathy” by Heidi Fedore

Submitted to Contest #287

She hurried into the mud room, shoved her feet into rubber boots that her grandparents call wellies, and clomped into the garden. Not even the hollyhocks, foxgloves, or peonies soothed her. Nor the buzzing bees, the lush grass, or the atypically sunny afternoon. She dropped to her knees and allowed a sob to erupt from her stomach to her chest, and finally her throat. She’d been in Banbury, England, at her grandparents’ house for two weeks. She could’ve called it a fortnight if she’d been in the mood to use a British term. The day after she a...

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“Kaleidoscope Tree” by Heidi Fedore

Submitted to Contest #281

As they sat on the carpet, their eyes mirrored the sparkling, blinking white lights. The ornaments reflected their images across the globular surfaces, making their faces seem bigger than they were. Fisheye round, like a fun-house mirror. “I wouldn’t do it if I were you,” he said, shaking his head and arching a judgmental eyebrow. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” she said. “Might I remind you of last year?” “You might not,” she said, tilting her head in opposition. He shifted, blocking her view of the tree, and glared into her eyes....

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“Word for Word” by Heidi Fedore

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons is purely coincidental.“Hello, Paul. Have a seat, please.”“Okay…”“I called you into my office because Mr. Engelman believes you cheated on your biology test.”“What? No.”“Mr. Engelman doesn’t accuse someone of cheating unless he has strong evidence.”“Well, I didn’t.”“It’s compelling. Did he discuss the evidence with you?”“Yeah but…”“What did he say?”“Not much. …That some of my answers were the same. You know–as another student. …Lots of students’ answers are the same.”“Sure. Correct ...

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“My Father; Then My Sister” by Heidi Fedore

Submitted to Contest #276

This memoir is about the Vietnam and Iraq wars.It was 1969, and I sang and twirled and imagined my dad sitting in the green, oversized wicker chair in my grandparents’ kitchen listening to a tape recording of Judy Collins. “My father always promised us that we would live in France.” The song, “My Father,” kept my dad, who was serving in Vietnam, nearby. “I’d sail my memories of home, like boats across the Seine.” I was in the second and third grades and couldn’t find Cu Chi, Vietnam, on a map and wasn’t aware that Dad was in danger. I was aw...

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“A Reckoning at Hills Peek” by Heidi Fedore

Submitted to Contest #273

It’s like someone flipped a light switch out here. Everything is black. The almost full moon must’ve crept behind a cloud or tree . . . or something.I stop. My eyes dart struggling to find a point of reference. I fumble my phone from my pocket, tap my screen to turn on my flashlight, and gulp in steady breaths again. Thank God I charged my phone earlier.Now there’s extra light behind me. My bestie, Celeste, must’ve turned on her flashlight as well. The path is visible once more with its roots and ruts. I’ve already stumbled twice trying to k...

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“You, But Not You” by Heidi Fedore

Submitted to Contest #268

I’m lying on my usual bench in front of Alimaster High School waiting for my boyfriend, Andrew, to pick me up. Late as usual. My foot jiggles off the end of the seat and my other leg is draped over the back of the bench. My mother would have a lot to say about my slouchy, improper position. At least, I’ll give her credit for keeping her peace about Andrew, who she says isn’t good enough for me. Like we all are given a value or something and should be with people who are on par with us. It’s hotter than usual for early June and I regret weari...

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“Cards by Proxy” by Heidi Fedore

Submitted to Contest #261

I can see Mom’s eyelids twitching, so she can hear me. She’s in my office, which serves as a guest room, lying on a hospital bed, bent at the knees and hips. I suspect she’s ignoring me for her reason du jour. I know she’s not dead. At least not yet. “Would you rather use the cards with flowers or the geometric shapes with Thank You imprinted on them?” I hold up each option as if she’s looking at them and say this as if she’s already agreed to write thank-you cards. With eyes still closed, she replies, “Neither.” “Okay, flowers it is since y...

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“Post Trauma, 2007: Love and War” by Heidi Fedore

Submitted to Contest #260

Candice blinked several times, trying to see the illuminated clock, which read 2:35 AM. A nightmare portraying her ex-boyfriend, Ken, plunging into the Puget Sound and feeling like she was plunging too had jolted her awake, gasping for air. She slid back under the covers and concentrated on square breathing, like a Navy Seal staying calm. Inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for four, hold for four. I’m okay. Ken is okay. I hope. She needed sleep; her alarm was due to chime at 5 AM and then she’d be on the road to Vancouver, Washington, tw...

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