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October 30, 2009 | Fall 3 Cheers Winners!
Toasted Cheese Literary Journal is pleased to announce the winners of
the Fall 2009 Three Cheers and a Tiger Writing Contest:
Gold: "Dante's Grid" by Liz Mierzejewski
Silver: "Tech Support" by Arielle Susu-Mago
Bronze: "Prisoner's Potion" by Dixie Sorensen
Our thanks to all who entered. You can read the winning stories in the
December issue of Toasted Cheese.
Toasted Cheese's next contest is Dead of Winter, which opens on Sunday, November 1.
Posted by The Editors at 04:44 PM in Literary Journal
October 29, 2009 | From TC 9:3 - "Boxes of Junk" by Alex Myers
When they turned off the interstate and were on the familiar suburban lanes that led to Dan's parents' house, he began the litany. "Don't let my mom bully you about the wedding," he said, his eyes locked on the road. "And don't agree to any of her ideas. And don't promise her anything because she never forgets."
Rachel nodded, though she wasn't sure Dan could see her. In truth, she liked to hear his frustration about his parents. It made her feel like a conspirator, like it was us against them, like Dan was hers.
"My dad wants to help with our move, even though I've told him a dozen times that we don't need help," he went on.
Posted by The Editors at 07:19 PM in Literary Journal
October 25, 2009 | From TC 9:3 - "Life's Routines" by Cheryl Lynn
When my father fell down the stairs, I decided not to help him. I was sitting in a recliner watching Jeopardy when he landed just a few feet away in a crumpled mass of arms and legs, skin and bones. He mouthed something, his eyes bulging with terror and I casually wondered, my pulse never breaking eighty, if he had broken his neck.
After taking in the sight before me and committing it to memory, I turned back to Jeopardy and tried to ignore the strange gurgling noises that came from his mouth. I realize that may seem a bit cold, but you have to understand the situation before you pass judgment on me.
Posted by The Editors at 03:06 PM in Literary Journal
October 21, 2009 | From TC 9:3 - "When the Trees were Bare" by Carol Lynn Grellas
I would have held a single leaf
between my own two fingers
outside her bedroom window
Posted by The Editors at 01:23 PM in Literary Journal
October 17, 2009 | From TC 9:3 - "Elephant Nannies" by Diana Dominguez
At the elephant orphanage in Kenya,
dozens of gentle men
mother the elephants
made motherless by poachers,
exploding the myth
that maternal instinct
belongs to women only.
Posted by The Editors at 03:36 PM in Literary Journal
October 13, 2009 | From TC 9:3 - "The Ceasefire Symphony" by Rebecca Stonehill
Some people call me a traitor; others regard me as a hero. Yet I am neither. I am simply a musician doing what I know and love best.
The first time I ever held a violin in my hands was when I was seven years old. We were visiting my grandfather in Janin. He had played folk violin all his life and when we went to his house a few times each year, we would listen to him play. On this particular occasion, all my family were napping in the afternoon heat, but I couldn't sleep. I tiptoed out of the bedroom and that's when I saw it: grandfather's violin lying in its half-closed case. Carefully, I lifted the instrument out and crept outside where I sat under the shade of a tree, staring at it. I wasn't sure what to do, but thought of my grandfather and the way he positioned it under his chin and brought his other hand round, placing the bow on the strings. I did the same, drawing the bow back and forth until I was able to produce a familiar sound.
I don't know how long my grandfather had been standing in the doorway, but when I stopped and turned, there he was, silently watching me.
For a while, he didn't say anything and I thought he was angry. But then he walked towards me, smiled and said 'So, you want to learn violin, Wasi?'
Posted by The Editors at 01:16 PM in Literary Journal
October 09, 2009 | From TC 9:3 - "We're Not Common" by Tara Kenway
Plunk.
Keeping her eyes fixed on me, my mother let the sugar drop into the cup. It sunk to the bottom with a small splash, a few bubbles gasping to the surface, and finally I understood.
That Sunday morning I had been cutting up soldiers for Violet, my daughter.
"One soldier, two soldiers, three soldiers," we counted, my daughter giggling. "Frrrreeeee soldiers," was accompanied by a little saliva shower for her piece of military bread.
The phone rang and I left Violet in her high chair to smear butter on her hand.
Posted by The Editors at 11:59 PM in Literary Journal
October 05, 2009 | From TC 9:3 - "The Painful Art of Wrestling" by Simon Barker
John sat in a pew in the Catholic church with his brother and sister and watched his mother get married for the second time. The service was conducted by Father Patrick who carried the stub of a hand-rolled cigarette wedged behind his ear. John's uncle, Sid, was giving away the bride. Sid was a detective sergeant and he was wearing one of the shiny suits he normally wore to work. Sheila, the bride, was dressed in white. Sid had insisted she wear white because her first wedding had been in the registry office and she'd worn a brown suit. Sid hadn't forgiven her. This time would be different. As the service progressed John noticed his mother inching further and further away from Roger, the man she was being married to. Roger was wearing his police uniform.
John sat very still. Next to him his little brother, Greggie, giggled and during one of the hymns undid the buttons of his fly. Normally John would have punched him. But before he had a chance the baby started screaming and his sister, Chrissie, had to push past him to carry it outside where its scream wouldn't compete with Father Patrick's emphysemic voice.
Posted by The Editors at 04:57 PM in Literary Journal
October 01, 2009 | From TC 9:3 - "Foolish Creatures" by Frank O'Connor
When the war was over and all the shelling stopped, Dan Barley set up a balloon animal zoo in a broken chemical factory. He displayed them on carefully labeled shelves: a fine translucent African elephant in blue, a red and green giraffe, infinite sausage dogs. He kept them tethered with string and fed them regular doses of helium from a baby bottle. Pins, knives and all other sharp objects were banned.
Posted by The Editors at 02:38 PM in Literary Journal