I sat by the river contemplating life.
In that short span of time, the seasons begun to change, and I said goodbye to my childhood days.
They disappeared down the river as nature blew a gift into my palm.
I smiled, melancholy.
And the autumn leaves melted in my hand.
Kymberli Roberson lives in Illinois where she is currently hunting down the goblins of writer’s block.
The pilot gooses the throttles, slipping the airplane onto the catapult shuttle. Settling deeper into the seat, he salutes the catapult officer and grabs the canopy handle.
Now, wait for it…
Wham! Sphincters tighten.
Two seconds later, he’s airborne at 150 knots.
If this was Disneyland, it’s an “E” ride!
Jim Purdy is a retired engineering manager who lives in Oregon and spends his day with his faithful dog who never gives him disparagement. She wags her tail as he reads her whatever he has just written.
She posed for the camera, her smile just big enough to show the tips of her front teeth.
Tilting her head to the right, then left, she wondered which shot would make it to her profile page, how many likes it’d get, and when the world would finally notice her.
Debbi Antebi (@debbisland) lives in Istanbul, Turkey, and blogs at debbiantebi.wordpress.com.
There’s a buzzing in my mind,
like a swarm
from a ripped and tattered hive.
Looking in my direction,
can you see my soul
through your dark and stinging eyes?
What happened to the words
so softly spoken,
your gentle hand,
your warm embrace,
as we walked, talked, and smiled.
Patrick works with robots and computers, at times writing software, but he would rather write poems.
The decision for story of the week was literally too close to call. That’s why I’m setting a potentially dangerous precedent by selecting two stories as story of the week for September 8 to 12! Those stories are The Talking Fingers of My Great Greek Grandfather by Bob Thurber and Summer Learning, 1975 by Jennifer L. Freed.
Great work on both of these, Bob and Jennifer!
My new friend, at end
of summer camp,
told me she would miss me
oh so much
and could I please
come visit her, but not
if I was
her mother hated
I was ten. I held the knowledge
of such hatred
like a stone
beneath my tongue.
Jennifer L. Freed lives in Massachusetts, where she raises her children, writes poetry, tutors (writing and ESL), and likes to play with clay, which she disguises as ceramic sculpture. She has taught ESL in China, the Czech Republic, and the U.S. She has recently published a chapbook, These Hands Still Holding (Finishing Line Press, 2014). You can read more of her poems at her website, jfreed.weebly.com.
Albert’s wife of 47 years was a concert pianist who loved her 1929 Grotrian Steinweg grand.
After she died, Albert moved it to the beach and placed her body on the strings. Floating away on the tide, the gasoline-soaked Steinweg burned quickly, and 260 strings exploded in a funereal fanfare.
Michael Coolen is a pianist, composer, actor, performance artist, and writer who lives in Corvallis, Oregon.
He still feels her warmth, the radiance of her smile on their first date, 6,622 days ago.
Compulsively, he relives the emptiness when the subway slowly pulled him away from her for the last time, 44 days later.
Would their romance have unfolded differently if they’d known he had Asperger’s?
Andrew D. Hwang is the author of his own fate.
Her son took her to see the scorched husk of their old farmhouse one last time. He stood behind her as the salt smell of earthworms soothed her wrinkled skin.
In her eyes, a mud-splattered boy ran through the yard and into the house. “Take off your shoes,” she said.
Tracy Gold is a Fiction MFA candidate at the University of Baltimore. She also works as a marketer, writer, and editor for technology companies. Find her at tracycgold.com.
An antibiotic left Mama almost deaf at 92.
Long distance I call about my son’s report card.
“He’s playing the recorder? Wonderful!”
More misinterpretations follow.
Frustrated, I yell, “I love you!”
She answers, “I love you, too.”
We have that: three words rattling at the bottom of the pill bottle.
Beth Tillman has learned not to rely on the word count tool in her document production software to give her fifty. Some things can’t be delegated.