The story of the week for March 4 to 8 is…
Widowhood @ 72 by Shoshauna Shy
and
We Have Always Played With the Faceless Doll by Joel O’Flaherty
All posts by Tim
JOEL O’FLAHERTY: We Have Always Played with the Faceless Doll
Since childhood, I’ve hidden the faceless doll for you to find.
Years passed and the hiding places grew ever more elaborate, but you never gave up.
Yesterday, I hid it in the flowers beneath your headstone.
But in the morning, there it was again: laid on the pillow beside me.
Joel O’Flaherty is a young writer from Surrey, U.K. His fiction has been featured in Flash Fiction Magazine, Globe Soup and Fusilli Writing, among others. He spends as much of his life as is financially responsible travelling the globe, which he writes about on his site, the Gossamer Traveller.
JANELLE SEABOCK: Magic Boxes
The dog’s nose tingles with the scent of magic. The fae folk are near, and their tricks are many. Secrets are packed in boxes, as trustworthy as the spider to the fly. He barks, he bays, he howls his warning song. Unfortunately, the human only replies, “That’s just the mailman.”
Janelle Seabock is a writer with a love for horror, fantasy, and animals of all kinds. She currently resides in Florida.
NELLY SHULMAN: The Sand Song
Hissing surf touched his feet and he shuddered, startled by the icy breath of the sea, where the sun descended to the darkening abyss of water. The song of sands was the clearest at twilight and he came here to write it on the driftwood, whitened with salt and wind.
Nelly Shulman divides her time between Jerusalem and Berlin. See more at nellyshuman.blog.
RAN WALKER: Jaco
He plays the song on his bass, almost like a mistake, as if he is finding his way into the notes’ beauty, his calloused fingers sliding over a fretless neck, all of this completely intentional, four strings plucked into total syncopation with his heartbeat.
He is attempting to play love.
Ran Walker is a microfictionist and author of over 30 books. The creator of the 100 x 100 micro novel, he teaches creative writing at Hampton University and lives in Virginia with his wife and daughter.
CATHERINE MACKIE: Puppetry of Change
Beats flow. Lights strobe. She waves me onto the parquet floor. Not having danced since junior high. Wearing a whisky sour shine I am again a marionette with knotted strings. The music thumping in my ears and heart misinterpreted by my limbs. So this is what middle age divorce is.
Catherine Mackie is an emerging writer based in Alberta who lets her thoughts dance free with the prairie winds.
LYNN KOZLOWSKI: Wording the Note
Dear, sorry to have missed you today.
Saddened so to have missed seeing you today.
Sorry, my dear, I yearned for our being together today.
Today I missed you being here. Why weren’t you?
Dear? Are you even sorry you missed our day?
Missed today! Sorry to have you dear.
Lynn Kozlowski’s writing has appeared in such places as 50-Word Stories, The Quarterly, The Malahat Review, Poetry Breakfast, and failbetter.com. He has a volume of short pieces, Historical Markers.
CARI MAIN: Not The Doghouse
My neighbour is living in his treehouse. He’s happy, looks great, has lost tons of weight what with hauling up jugs of water and food. He’s made birdhouses galore so there’s a cacophony of bird chirp. He and Alice wave at each other. Utter bliss… until he finishes his wings.
Cari Main is retired and a big fan of flash fiction.
SHOSHAUNA SHY: Widowhood @ 72
Melissa tugged on her brand-new velveteen shirt. Another date! She’d get asked about her week; how things had gone since last seeing him. When Robert touched her between the shoulder blades, Melissa hoped this soft shirt might entice her physical therapist to rest his palm there just—a little longer.
Shoshauna Shy likes finding stories all over the place.
TIM BOITEAU: Neon Oasis
After hours of speeding through nothingness, color seared my eyes: exotic fruits, plastic-and-concrete flora glowing vibrant, beckoning to me—McDonald’s, Burger King, BP, Shell—strange poisonous pylons.
Tempted by the siren song, my steed groaned with thirst, but I kicked it on.
The bright lights vanished.
Back to nowhere, the eternal road.
Tim Boiteau writes in Michigan. He is an Editor at Every Day Fiction, a Writer of the Future winner, and the author of two novels, with a third forthcoming. See more at timboiteau.wordpress.com.