Miriam Anderson

“The Rate of a Rumour” by Miriam Anderson

It started with a bat.And two women who couldn't keep their mouths shut.It was a rumour that began its circulation with Dorothy Myers telling Agatha Simpson that her daughter Judith had killed her husband's pet bat named Emily.Agatha, who was nearly deaf, didn't quite hear: "A rat? Did you say your daughter killed a rat named Beverly?"Dorothy nodded, apparently without hearing how Agatha had misheard her story. Her eyes were wide with excitement, a hunger for the pleasure of the thing enlarging her pupils and making her round face appear eve...

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“The Nag” by Miriam Anderson

Submitted to Contest #197

I called him The Nag, because he was always there, in the darkest corners of my mind, ticking like a clock, watching, laughing, whispering in my ears.He first entered my life when I was five. It was the day I told my first lie. An innocent fib, I thought. I little deceit to cover up the real story behind the lost cookies. And then I heard it. A voice, small, quiet, but firm. Demanding. "Don't say anything. Keep the truth locked up. Keep quiet." That wasn't my last lie; it was the birth of years of deceit.When I was seven, I learned what the ...

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“One Step Forward, Two Steps Back” by Miriam Anderson

Submitted to Contest #194

Month 3He was close. So close to moving by himself. But then he fell again, ripping open old lacerations and adding new damage to the nerves, and I watch as my months of care and hardwork disappear with the re-stitching of the wounds and the doctors telling me that there is nothing else to be done. Both legs are now useless. A wheelchair is the only way he will ever move.I sit down heavily in the hospital chair, the sterile, empty walls staring back at me as tears creep down my cheeks. Cheeks that are now wrinkled and lined with stress and b...

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“A Dialogue With The Devil” by Miriam Anderson

"Isn't it nice? Swapping tales this way? Spilling our hearts under such... comfortable circumstances?""You're a frickin' liar.""Am I? I've promised your release, and I'll make good on that promise. All you have to do is tell me your story?""Look, you dope, I've got a baby. I've got a husband who will be getting home from work anytime now and when he walks into our house, and finds our kid alone, our three month old kid, he's gonna wonder where I am, and then, when he can't find me, he's gonna call the cops, who are gonna save me and kill you...

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“Translation, please.” by Miriam Anderson

I didn't enjoy lying, but my situation was desperate: I was a twenty-something psychology major, fresh out of college, and wracking my brain on how to find a job. I had my hopes set high from the minute I was handed my diploma, only to have them come crashing down when I realized that I couldn't just snap my fingers and be behind the desk at a therapy center. I needed an actual, paying job. Soon. I had college debts and rent on my apartments to pay for. So, that was how I ended up in the office of the CEO of some bank, the name of which I do...

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“Over thinker” by Miriam Anderson

She’s nervous.But they always are when they come to me, and after twenty years, the fidgeting fingers, darting eyes, and sharp intakes of breath no longer faze me.I smile. I use the one I’ve perfected after hundreds of uses. A bit of pity, a hint of hope, and a dash of understanding.“Hi, Mikayla,” I say. “My name is Helen.” I use the tone that is most welcoming, the kind that invites the patient to open up.Mikayla grunts and does not answer.Typical.I try another conversation-generating tactic. “I love that band.” I point to the faded Guns N’...

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“Lost Love and Red Roses” by Miriam Anderson

"I quit! I'm done. We're through. It's over!"Carmen knew that no one, except perhaps for the fat orange tomcat that seemed to live in the flower box below her window, heard her angry words. But she didn't care.She plundged her newly manicured hands into the dirty dishwater and continued her vigerous scrubbing of pots and pans.She scraped the loose remains of crusty ravioli off of a crystal plate and moved on to the silverware. She let out a long sigh. Then a groan.After a failed attempt at trying to unwedge get a bit of pasta from between th...

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“Grandpa Was Our Glue” by Miriam Anderson

Submitted to Contest #164

"Where I come from..."That's how Grandpa always started his stories. When we heard those words, we would come running, abandoning whatever it was that we were doing just to hear him tell us about his childhood. We would gather in a circle at his feet and gaze up into his kind, smiling face. Or, if we were lucky, he would allow one or two of us to climb up into his great big lap and nestle in the crook of his arm, where we would lean against his chest and listen to the steady beat of his heart.Grandpa was a great bear of a man, even as he gre...

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“A Letter of Possibility” by Miriam Anderson

I slide my eyes across the guy's profile. Tall. Handsome.He describes himself as a cross between Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt.A little full of himself, I think, glancing at his picture. He looks nothing like either of the two celebrities. Whatever previous girlfriend had made that comparison must have been crazy.I exit out of Bill Hipp's profile and look up from my phone. The dry autumn breeze blows fallen leaves across the sidewalk. Brooding grey clouds carpet the sky, reminding me of how gloomy I feel.In all of my ten years of dating experienc...

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