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sebnemsanders

Monthly Archives: September 2018

Amber Street is at The Rye Whiskey Review

27 Thursday Sep 2018

Posted by SebnemSanders in Flash Fiction, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

abstaining, abuse, alcohol, alcohol abuse, Amber Street, clairvoyant, Fantasy, Flash Fiction, intoxication, magic, publications, quitting, seer, The Rye Whiskey Review, writing

 

The Drinking Duck

 

 

I’m back at the The Rye Whiskey Review with Amber Street from Ripples on the Pond. Thanks for having me onboard John Patrick Robbins. Nice to be among such good company. Cheers.

By the way, this is my 22nd published story on various online magazines and in anthologies in the US, UK, Canada, and Turkey. I just updated the list here: Publications

 

Amber Street

 

The last customer leaving the bar, Harry staggered into the cold night air and made feeble attempts to walk in a straight line. The icy wind signalling the approach of harsher weather, chilled him to the bone. Despite the protective shield of his padded coat and the woollen hat pulled over his ears, he felt naked. The combination of intoxication and freezing temperatures blurred his sight. All he could see ahead were dark buildings on either side of the road and a few flickering streetlights. He followed the pavement, counting his steps on his long walk home down Amber Street.

Harry kept counting to keep his mind active, but the road seemed to continue forever. 2500 steps later, he still had not arrived at the turn to the street where his flat was located. He halted and glanced back, then looked ahead again. There were no side roads, but one long avenue where all buildings looked the same. “I’m lost,” he muttered.

continued here:

https://ryethewhiskeyreview.blogspot.com/2018/09/amber-street-by-sebnem-e-sanders.html

Old Witch
Photo from Google
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The Red Room

24 Monday Sep 2018

Posted by SebnemSanders in Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

sebnemsanders

efef9ea4da938a79ac174c243e6a80fa

In my self-imposed solitary confinement at the castle,

I roam the many halls and corridors

and stop by the Red Room

Do I dare enter her chambers for the first time

ever since she left?

Autumn has arrived though it doesn’t feel so,

the night is tender and tempting.

I unlock the door,

throw open the windows

and light the tapers on the candelabra

scattered around her boudoir.

Crimson velvet drapes sway in the fresh breeze,

the floral fragrance of her perfume still lingers in the air,

the candles flicker and cast their light

upon the guild-framed paintings on the red walls.

Portraits come to life,

their gazes follow me,

the lips curl into a smile, or a sneer,

they talk without speaking,

an organ plays in the background,

I pause by her picture, allured by her beauty,

She walks out of the frame and takes my hand,

Into the eternal…

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The Key to Happiness

14 Friday Sep 2018

Posted by SebnemSanders in Flash Fiction, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Books, bookstore, carpe diem, coping, doubt, Flash Fiction, happiness, hope, key to happiness, lessons, living, opposites, positivity, scepticism, the moment

 

Conversation in a book store

Photo from Google

 

 

Thomas hates the aisle of self-help books he has to pass through to get to the serious non-fiction section. “Rubbish,” he mutters, noting the titles. How to Deal with Loss, The Answer is in the Stars, Quantum Way of Thought, My Mother and Me, How I Fought Obesity, My Anorexic Journey. These books sell millions because people seek magical formulas to deal with their problems. All this sharing, support groups, as though they have no brains in their heads.

A towering stand for a best-seller dominates the middle of the aisle: The Key to Happiness. ‘The winner of the rotten tomatoes top prize for the worst title,’ he thinks. He picks a copy from the stand and flips through the pages. While perusing the blurb, he hears a female voice behind him.

“I lost my keys,” she says.

He turns and faces a petite woman. “Here?” he asks.

“Here, there and everywhere,” she replies. “Happiness is hard to find.”

“You’re pulling my leg.“ He chuckles.

“I’m serious,“ she says, blinking. “Shall we look for it together?”

He pauses for a moment, then decides to play along. Who could ignore those dark, mysterious eyes?

He follows her out of the store, into street. Bustling lunchtime crowds scurry along the pavement in both directions.

“This way,” she says, pointing west.

Thomas joins the flow, walking next to her.

“First we must define it,“ she says.

“What?”

“Happiness. What is happiness?”

“A much over-rated notion, which doesn’t exist.” He smirks.

“Is that so? See the blind man crossing the street, using his cane. Happiness is being independent.”

“Unhappiness is being disabled.”

“You mustn’t do that. Laws of attraction will hear you and bring you the opposite of happiness.” She points to a sparrow, searching for food by a garbage bin. A morsel of bread discovered on the pavement, the bird takes off to a safe location to enjoy it. “Happiness is being able to escape,” she says.

Leading him to an empty table at a street café, she drops her handbag on a chair and grabs her wallet. “Sit here and I’ll be back.”

She returns with two mugs of coffee and a generous portion of dark chocolate cake.

“Happiness is a cup of coffee and piece of cake?”

“You’re learning,” she nods.

The serotonin from the chocolate washed down with coffee takes Thomas to a moment of bliss. “Happiness is sitting next to an attractive woman and sharing a forbidden delicacy.”

Holding his arm, she takes him to the park across the street, and settles on a bench “Happiness is finding a vacant bench on a sunny day.”

Thomas watches the children racing their miniature sailboats on the pond and remembers his childhood. “Happiness is having friends.”

“You’re getting there.” She pats his hand.

His gaze falls on the woods, bordering the park, on the other side of the pond. “Happiness is being an evergreen, dressed for all occasions.”

“Perfect!”

Thomas looks into her eyes, speckled with gold beams from the sun. “Are you the author of the book?”

“No, I’m Samantha, just a reader. I read on your face you were in need of a burst of cheerfulness. The key lies inside you, not in a book. It’s up to you to unlock the door or to keep it shut.”

“I’m Thomas. Samantha is a lovely name. Mine’s plain, yours is melodious. All this positivity could be addictive. It’s like taking drugs.”

“It’s better than scepticism. There are so many things we can’t control. Every single day bad things happen in the world. If we don’t look for happiness in little things, we won’t be able to cope with the serious problems.”

“What now? “ he asks.

“It’s up to you.” She flutters her eyelids.

“Can I invite to dinner tonight?”

“I’d like that.”

They part at the park entrance. His gait livelier than ever, Thomas heads towards his office block. He’s looking forward to seeing, discovering more about the beguiling Sa-man-tha tonight. “Carpe diem,” he mutters. ‘Less history, more lightness, living -being.’

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A Kind of Loving

07 Friday Sep 2018

Posted by SebnemSanders in Uncategorized

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Here’s something “Noir” for the weekend. This story was first published in my anthology, Ripples on the Pond.

sebnemsanders

Jack Vetriano A Kind of Loving large

Jack Vetriano, A kind of Loving

Photo prompt: Jack Vetriano paintings

Bernard visited the flea market every Sunday and looked for objects to add to his collections, or something interesting to start a new one. Seeing a display of old-fashioned mannequins at one of his favourite stalls, he stopped and studied them, imagining what he could do with them. He negotiated the price for four, and carried them to his station-wagon, one by one, taking great care. They were a treasure, rare samples from the 50’s, made of wood.

Bernard installed the mannequins in the basement of his house, which he’d turned into a nostalgic bar, after his mother died. Not that he was a drinker, but he liked the idea of people socializing under the influence, telling each other their secrets, or meeting someone new. This was something he envied, yet his shyness prevented him from making friends. As…

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