He says, tell me what you see.
What should I say? A handsome pig? A rabbit?
I see a mix of Miro and Dali, but I can’t say that. If he thinks I’m showing off, that defeats the object, because I came here to understand my fear of being judged.
Henry Bladon is a writer of short fiction and poetry based in Somerset in the UK. His work can be seen in Fewer than 500, Pure Slush, Truth Serum Press, and Flash Frontier, among other places.
Her heavy legs had stood and waited. Her aching arms had pushed through the crowds.
A salty tear rolled down onto her tattered jacket as she watched the doors of salvation thud closed. The city was full.
Now she had nothing left to do but head back into the sand.
After graduating university with a degree in Drama and Theater Arts, Jennifer Kennett somehow began writing speculative fiction. She has had work published in Mad Scientist Journal (fall 2016), Longshot Island (Spring 2017), The Weird Reader (Winter 2017) and Astounding Outpost (Winter 2017). Follow her on Twitter at @Jen_Kennett.
sits on a park bench.
Pigeons know her.
They cluster… fight… peck.
The children recognize her too:
the one who feeds the pigeons.
Lily giggles, opens her purse,
sets it on the ground.
“She’s crazy,” the children taunt.
Pigeons though, coo, bob…
fly into her purse
filled with sky.
Judy DeCroce is a poet / flash fiction writer and animal lover. She has been published in Pilcrow & Dagger, Amethyst Review, The Sunlight Press, Cherry House Press- Dreamscape:An Anthology, and many others. Judy is a professional storyteller and teacher and lives and works in upstate New York with her husband, writer/artist Antoni Ooto.
It protects me while I sleep.
From the eight-legged reptile under my bed.
From the violent poltergeist in my kitchen.
From the woman in white with midnight hair down to her feet, who waits among the banana trees in my garden.
It protects me, the strange being in my wardrobe.
AJ Joseph occasionally writes at Words from Sonobe.
I wake up to greet my old friend, Anxiety.
How will I battle his belittlement and negativity today?
“Distressing but not dangerous,” I tell myself, “strive to be average.
Do the things you fear to do and wear the mask of security.
Endorse for every effort, then keep moving forward.”
Margie Nairn wrote this story based on the tools taught by Recovery International.
Sugar is the enemy. Fat is poison. Mantras like these run on a loop inside my foggy mind.
Staring down the overflowing plate, my heart thunders against my ribcage at the thought of eating blacklisted snacks.
Grimacing, I take a bite of the Hershey bar. Recovery is a slow process.
Lauren is an undergraduate student studying Creative Writing at Emerson College.
He had experienced moments of pure joy mixed with frustration, and he’d sung all the songs of satisfaction. He had discovered that discipline was love in its purest form. He had witnessed breathtaking sunsets and star-filled heavens on a clear night. But he would never learn to whistle a Symphony.
Jim Freeze is seventy-three years old, retired, and widowed. He was happily married for fifty-four years and has two grown sons. He began writing in early 2012 to have something to do. His short stories have been featured in many publications including Brilliant Flash Fiction, Calliope Magazine, The Original Writer, and Literally Stories.
Those who could run, ran.
Those who could hide, hid.
The rest of us hunkered down to fight, fists squeezing chair legs, staplers, keyboards, wastebaskets, anything we could find.
As the loud popping sound drew closer, we exhaled slowly and did our best to prepare for what was to come.
Ran Walker is the award-winning author of seventeen books. He teaches creative writing in Virginia.
They were waiting here for the train
Not a word had been spoken
And yet they knew there was significance to their waiting.
Circumstances had placed them here as much as led them on.
This was their future, their hopes, their dreams, their everything.
The train would take them home.
Bruce Levine, a native Manhattanite, has spent his life as a writer of fiction and poetry and as a music and theatre professional and is published on and in numerous internet and print journals. His work is dedicated to the loving memory of his late wife, Lydia Franklin.
She won’t stop haunting me.
I can see her wavy hair. I can hear her sweet voice. I can smell her soap and fragrance. I can taste her red lips. I can still sense her as I walk over the ground where I buried her.
She won’t stop haunting me.
Chad Bunch writes speculative fiction from the suburbs of Saint Louis. He is currently trying to publish the first of many novels.