Death came to call, and I quivered on the threshold, until I realized he wasn’t menacing me, just lost and asking for directions, his hood askew, with Mrs. Death sitting in their van, tapping the wheel.
Relieved, I sent them away down an unpopulated road and eventually out of town.
Robbie Gamble identifies primarily as a poet. When not obsessing about image and line breaks, he works as a nurse practitioner caring for homeless people in Boston, Massachusetts.
been going on and on about itself.
Ahab wants out.
Cracking the door,
he is blasted. Crouching,
ears flattened, he retreats.
Sitting Buddha-like now, licking his wounded pride,
he pauses to bring his puffy tail about, and lay it by his side.
Like a monk adjusting his robe.
Matthew lives in Maine.
As the sun sets, a teenage boy gathers coal from the side of a railway track. He’d climbed onto one of the trucks of a slow-moving freight train and opened its side door, spilling its precious payload.
He might get caught, but he doesn’t care; he will be warm tonight.
Coal theft is not uncommon among the poor areas of Poland’s Upper Silesia region, where Daniel teaches English as a foreign language.
A beautiful flower, blooming for a season; radiant colour, my soul lifted. All things are fleeting, the fragile more so. Your short season over, you left us, transformed back into the loam, nourishing the earth as your love once nurtured me. Goodbye my daughter. Your time short; your existence profound.
Bill lives in Aberdeen Scotland. He tried to be good once. It didn’t take.
Davie survived the Middle East conflicts, where he witnessed the atrocities he thought he had handled.
Returning home, full in body but mentally adrift, he found an unscalable wall around all he had loved. He drifted, with doorways becoming his refuge. He froze to death last winter.
Lest we forget.
is a fledgling writer.
The girl wiped her face with the red jacket she was wearing. He’d kicked her out and didn’t let her explain why. Through the cab window, she lipped the word please to him.
He sighed and opened the door.
Finally, he’ll listen.
He stuck his hand out. “My jacket please.”
Marc D. Avecilla stares in front of a T.V screen as the rows of coffee cups next to him grow. He’s focusing on trying to beat the famous video game Dark Souls. He’s placed honorable mention for a reflection contest and has been published at Eskimo Pie
I searched for you among the tumbled, crumbled tombstones in the cemetery.
I sat quietly in the vaulted cathedral watching candles flicker in the gloom.
You did not appear. No apparition. No sound of your voice.
The air turned icy and I pulled my sweater tighter as I walked away.
Candace Kubinec wrote this story.
Jai had decided to be completely honest with his wife. He shared his past with an understanding Nisha. When Vandana came wanting her letters back, he unhesitatingly returned these, while Nisha dreamingly looked on.
That night, Nisha snuggled up to Jai and whispered, “I also want to tell you something.”
Vijai Pant is a language teacher in a school in India. He is also a freelance writer.
I fell in love rapidly,
with a strong, sweet, chivalrous man.
You adored me then…
before the breakdown.
It took you away. I understand.
I’m not the same so you’re not the same man.
I patiently await your return.
I’ll never give up.
Please! We can fall in love again.
April is a hopeless romantic, even in hard times. Life equals love.
“With one formula, we’ve reached singularity. Those black skies will be mapped; endless mysteries will become facts.”
That was the pitch, anyway. Now, standing on this… living satellite, I shiver despite the heat.
Overcome by hostile hosts, it dawns. Now that we live faster than light,
so too we die.
James P. Spitznogle is an aspiring writer from the star-scraping hills of West Virginia.