Mantra tries to juggle two problems at the same time. What she finds out is gut-wrenching, but she has an important job to do and can't afford to get emotionally involved with the local problems of an alternate world. Unfortunately, things have a way of going wrong for Mantra.

Speak Now
A Short Story from "Romance and Other Crimes Vol. 3"
By Maryanne Peters

It was hard not to like L’Roy with his easy strength, his ready grin and his smooth butternut complexion. L’Roy Shipney and I were on the same road gang in New Mexico, working out of the county jail with sixteen other inmates repairing a culvert that had been damaged in a flash flood when the whole business began.

A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 59 Chineseium

“Well, Son, doubtless if you looked the words up in a fancy English ordbok it would tell you that they are the same, but there’s a difference in the way Bearthwaite folk use the words these days. Yance ower they were the same here too, but now a visitor is someone we welcome, even if they’ve never been here before, decent folk are visitors. Tourists are folk we don’t really like, folk we don’t approve of, but as long as they don’t get too far out of line we’ll happily tek their money off ’em. Okay, Son?”

“Yeah. I get that. Visitors good, tourists bad. Simple enough, Granddad. I’ll explain to my brothers. Thanks.”

As Ethan left Alan couldn’t help but smile at the Orwellian simplicity of life as seen by a child. Visitors good, tourists bad. ‘What,’ he wondered, ‘would I give to be eight again?’

Knight Group Banquet:
Susan and Sasha pull up in one of Sasha’s old-style Corvettes and turn it over to the valet. Sasha gets out of the car and hands the key to the valet.

“Please be careful with it.” Sasha didn’t want anything to happen to her old Corvette.

“Yes ma’am.” The young valet accepts the keys from Sasha.

“You know, we could have arrived in the BMW, instead.” As Susan and Sasha walk up the steps together.

“I know, but I wanted to drive my Corvette.” Sasha walks side by side with her wife.

Forgive Me
From an AI image by Priscillamcminnar on Deviant Art
By Maryanne Peters

Trans-demic
Chinese Flu
Sam Wong read the email from Josh Epstein, the partner in charge of the fiendishly complicated real
estate deal that had consumed the last three months of their lives.
“You’re going to have to close this deal without me. I’m sick as a dog, and my wife just called an
ambulance to take me to Bellevue. I just hope it’s not that fucking Chinese Flu. Do whatever it takes to
get this done.”
Sam flinched at the slur but was used to minority bashing that goes on behind closed doors of politically

After the divorce, Mark felt like his life had crumbled. Losing his wife, home, and half of his savings in the settlement left him bitter and broken. So when a glossy, golden envelope arrived in the mail, offering a free month-long cruise aboard the USS New Beginnings, he hesitated. It seemed almost too good to be true. But with nothing to lose, Mark accepted.

The next morning, I arrived at the Royal Oak just before 09:00. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Casey was waiting for me. She looked much better than she had when I dropped her off, the previous lunchtime.

“Good morning, Casey.”

[authors note]
If you love formulaic and, in my opinion, cringeworthy ‘Christmas Movies’ or similar ‘Made for TV Romances’ that use an ensemble cast of ‘almost perfect specimens of humanity’ then stop reading now.

Tradeswoman
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

I was a tradesman when I was a man. I was a roofing contractor. I knew that when I became a woman I would have to give up that job. That is not because women can’t be tradespeople - and we all know that transwomen can do anything women can – it was because I wanted to do something feminine. I thought that it was important to me to leave that rugged part of my life behind me.

Girls’ Vacation
By Maryanne Peters

I just thought that pushing him all the way would finally put an end to this whole crossdressing thing. I had tolerated his crossdressing for our entire marriage but with the kids having left the family home it was as if he had a license to wear women’s underwear constantly, and to act like a woman in the kitchen. It seemed that he had only been constrained by the thought of our children learning of his perversion. My opinion did not matter.

"Wait, wait!" I said. "Go back a second!
You said 'The Iodine Story'. What is that?"

"You don't know?" Hugh looked surprised.
"The Iodine Story," he repeated, as if saying it again somehow clarified it.

Mom's rationalization didn't sit well with me.
I didn't relish the idea of being the lesser of two evils.
The lesser evil is still evil.

Epilog

The man was rather ironically young, actually much younger than I was expecting. We met at the small building I'd had constructed where the old and blocky office had stood. He seemed to take personal offense at the fact that I'd had the new, very small structure put up with my own money on my own property. Of course, like many archeologists, he seemed to take any deliberate change to the landscape as a personal offense.

Masks XXVIII: Old School

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Nine

Michelle walked past the bathroom, stopped, reversed and looked in through the open door. She saw her wife staring into the mirror over the sink.

"I didn't think you were the narcissistic type."

"My dad likes to joke that noses run in our family," said Vic, sadly. "Mine did look a lot like his, before; it's smaller, now, and a different shape."

"I think you have a cute nose," said Michelle.

Vic just sighed.

* * *

Rose dozed off several times during the day. She managed to get what she had to do, done and called it an early day. Her assistant manager Francis could handle everything.

Just before she laid down, she checked the results from the test she performed earlier in the day. It confirmed what she thought the explosives were. Someone had used a custom binary explosive that when you sent an electrical charge through it, exploded. She knew of only three
companies that sold the chemicals required to make those explosives.

[The following Friday]
I had finished making all the parts for the device the previous evening. I caressed the smooth wood like you do a newborn baby. Like all my custom pieces I’d grown to love it despite its primary use. I went to bed satisfied that I had made a piece of furniture and one that I was proud to put my signature on.

Photo by Anna Shvets: https://www.pexels.com

Preface

Every so often I check the Retro Classics Page here at BC just to see if I missed a good story. Today there was an entry for Emma Ann Tate's Software Update. Since this story continues my own Reprogramming Your Life, I was interested in the comment.

Now, naturally I couldn't just read the one comment, so I read them all. One by Patricia Marie Allen that included the phrase that inspired and became the title of this piece. When someone asks me 'where do you get your ideas?' they don't know what a can of worms they might be opening. Thanks to all of you for the inspiration.

The Wandering Heart
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

The heart is a curious thing. I am not talking about the anatomical organ, but about the feelings that grow and subside, that sometimes burn like fire and sometimes just give us a warm glow, and sometimes go cold as ice.

But how can you fall in love with a man who has abused you? How can you fall in love with a man who has mutilated and maimed you? A man who took away your future as a man and castrated you, and modified you to be his sexual plaything – how can you love such a man?

Masks XXVIII: Old School

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Five

I’d just finished putting the last coat of varnish on my latest job when I saw the silhouette of someone standing in the doorway of my Workshop.

“I’ll be with you in a minute or so. I need to clean the brush before the varnish on it dries,” I called out to the person. The person didn’t answer so I took it as they didn’t object.