Ruth Zschoche

“The Accident” by Ruth Zschoche

Submitted to Contest #227

When I step from my house, over the threshold that holds the fairy-tale magic to contain the spirit within, I take with me a lack of skin.I lie open and vulnerable to every presence that comes up against me, or passes me on the street.Today is a propitious day. Today I have to get something from a shop myself, in person. I have to walk on my own to that shop, over stones and gravel and dirt and concrete, and pick it up with my own hands.It has been three months and three days, or 95 days to be precise, since I last left my hibernation.On the...

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““Hi, I’m Austin. Can I help?”” by Ruth Zschoche

Submitted to Contest #146

TW: sexual references, death, language, misogynistic commentsThe wall was blank red stone. There was dirt in the cracks, and small pieces of ivy crept up it. But in all major respects it was blank.The light shifted over the space, and Austin was reminded of rays from heaven as portrayed in old Renaissance paintings. Was this what the masters had seen? Had they felt it?The cat came from the garden, moving lazily toward Austin's sunny spot. There were two ants alone on a mission, skirting around the patch of light, and moving with purpose back...

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“The sheep's clothing has wrinkles” by Ruth Zschoche

Submitted to Contest #128

“Tea?”The speaker was a petite, compact woman. Her smile was red and wet. Her teeth white and small. The wrinkles on her face reminded Tin of a crumpled paper bag. The old woman held the pot over the teacup. The pot shook ever so slightly.Tin grimaced and rubbed her left arm.“You should really put that down,” said Tin. “You’re gonna drop it.”The woman slowly lowered the pot to the table. It was small and crimson. It glimmered in the low glow of the kitchen stove light. The bulb over the table was dim as well, and flickering slowly. The flash...

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“Smile like you mean it” by Ruth Zschoche

Submitted to Contest #124

TW: domestic violence (physical and emotional)“Ready or not, here I come!”It was hot and sticky in the chest. It smelled of tar and old lady perfume. Jules shrank herself down into the lace. The tacky feel of the polyester rubbed her ear. Grandma's wedding dress wasn't keen on being used as a cushion.“I'm gonna find you!”Breath was not under her control. It was needed most inconveniently. It went out impatiently. But holding her breath was worse.A rattle and a tearing sound above her. Like splinters of wood digging into each other as th...

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“Paper and Blood” by Ruth Zschoche

Submitted to Contest #123

Her favorite kind were paper. The kind that wrapped around the ears.In Asian countries, mask wearing had been normalized years ago. Swine flu, or one of these other variants, had prompted widespread usage.Masking weaved its way into the culture. Invaded fashion and legislation. It was an unambiguous way to show solidarity. “I’m sick, but I’m watching out for YOU.” Altruism and popular acceptance in one product.In addition, the mask had inadvertently become a boon for the introverted. The isolationist. The private.The relationship between cri...

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“Go back to sleep” by Ruth Zschoche

Submitted to Contest #120

The van wasn’t white. It had been white, but not anymore. An inch of dust matted it like a wet cat let out to play. No windows were free of the grime. There was no seeing in or out save through a center patch on the windshield.This wasn't a commercial vehicle. It had been a van to drive to soccer practices and little league. Camping trips and the beach.But not anymore.It swerved first left, then right, then managed the middle of the lane. Always just inside the lines, until this once. Over the outside line. Back down the middle. Left, a long...

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“Call on Monday” by Ruth Zschoche

TW: suicidal/violent ideation, illness“We just shifted all the appointments over to the other doctor. All patients kept the same appointment day and time. You missed yours on…” Silence and clicking. “Wednesday.”“No. You called me and said you were rescheduling me with Gary on Friday, today. You told me not to come in on Wednesday. I only called because I never got a confirmation text.”“That isn’t what it says here. There must have been a miscommunication.”“A miscommunication? YOU told me on the phone on Monday not to come in and YOU reschedu...

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“The leaf and the prayer” by Ruth Zschoche

Submitted to Contest #118

The lawn was a deep green with the sun creating dark shadows where the trees went over the grass. It was a small patch bordered by the tall row of maples on one side and the house and garden on the other. Further down at the bottom of the lawn was another garden with bushes to hide it. There was a small man-made stream and berries that might be poisonous. A Mother Mary hung for prayers at the center of space in the garden, hidden from view. Benches surrounded this altar. The large eucalyptus tree in a bottom corner waved like a tired lover b...

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“Killing Time” by Ruth Zschoche

Submitted to Contest #117

TW: mentions of child and elder abuse, violence, minor sexual contentIt is low hanging fruit to talk about the dead. Look at where I work, girl. The dead are my friends. Temporary friends. Sudden Friends. Passing friends. These folks aren’t just clients to me. I care about them - like family. And in a way they are. My real brothers and sisters are always busy. No time for lowly little me, doomed to be the ultimate intermediary. The dead are never too busy.It’s a good thing that I find humor in their stories. I get little enough entertainment...

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“Don't go looking” by Ruth Zschoche

Submitted to Contest #116

TW: mention of suicide, violenceDon’t go looking. Don’t go looking. Don’t go looking.There were leaves on the ground that year in piles and drifts. They were brown and golden, red and amber, purple and still green. Why did the green leaves fall? It was not their time. Maybe they fell because they had to. They couldn’t be left all alone. The only leaves on a bare tree. Someone has to go before their time, I thought. We all must, perhaps.***Don’t go looking. There was my grandfather, rough and grizzled. The aches and pains had drawn the lines ...

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“Under the sea” by Ruth Zschoche

Submitted to Contest #115

Under the sea. Under the sea. Life is better down where it’s wetter, take it from me.The doll sang in a high weedy tone. Thinner and less body than a real voice. The voice sounded like it was under water, which seemed appropriate, given the doll.She was a foot and a half tall, long red hair in two braids, each about six inches long. She had a purple top and a bright green mermaid tail that helped her stand upright. She had bulbous green eyes that sparkled. As she sang, the tail went translucent and flashed and strobed in time with the tune.I...

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“Something is going on” by Ruth Zschoche

Submitted to Contest #114

CW: sexually suggestive language, mild domestic violenceThe baby was making noises off and on. Marie heard it dimly, half awake. She moved to sit up and then fell back with a thump. Cassy was talking, babbling softly. Not crying. She would go back to sleep.A black wave hit Marie’s face and crested over her brow, pulling her back into sleep.***She heard a cry in the distance as she sat at the table. Yellow and hard plastic. School tables outside in the quad for lunch. Cement floor. Gray trays with plates and cardboard milk. It was pizza day. ...

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“The other side” by Ruth Zschoche

Submitted to Contest #113

The other side of the wall was there in his dream. The hallway went on, ducking down, then stopping to reveal another door. Through the door the cobwebs cleared. A little room sat there. A bed. A table, a chair, a red braided rug. A toy dog, plush and white.Sunlight playing through the window as the breeze lifted the sheer white and blue curtains and fluttered them. He turned back and saw the wall behind him. And the door. The door back to his room.He felt the control slipping just a little, found himself back in the tunnel between rooms. He...

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“Back up the pipes” by Ruth Zschoche

Submitted to Contest #113

TW: suicidal ideation“Everything is a dream because everything is already past. We are forever catching up with the past that we have yet to remember."I wrote in my journal that day, when I made my discovery. I read it now and hear the rambling angst and narcissism of the poet waiting for his brilliance to be discovered. Had I meant for someone to read this entry? My showmanship suggests a yes, but now that there is no one to read it I am glad for a bit of showmanship. It keeps staleness at bay.*Jan 1stThe now. The now. The now. The now come...

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“To the ground whence all things came ” by Ruth Zschoche

Submitted to Contest #112

TW: sexual situations, violence, gender dynamicsIf all went well, she would find a Mate tonight. There were only a few hills between her current position and the Mating Valley. If she made it there by the time the third sun set, she would be able to find a nice low, sheltered position. Once the Deluge started, the lower positions were always the most favorable. She would be ready.---The Deluge always came shortly after the last rays hit on the same day each year. Always the same, her mother told her, forever the same.This was the mantra that...

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