Every morning, on the 8:04, I look for her face. Sometimes I see individual stars, but never the entire constellation.
This is her train.
The train that took her face and scattered her stars into the darkness around it.
All I want is to see her face one more time.
Laura Besley writes short fiction in the precious moments that her children are asleep. Her fiction has appeared online, in print and in various anthologies. She tweets at @laurabesley.
My old dog knew how to forget unkind words and raised voices.
He always forgave being left behind, didn’t hold a grudge.
Instead he’d greet me with a wag and a silly dog smile.
After you left us behind, a tender look from his chocolate eyes helped me forget, too.
Candace Kubinec posts her stories at storydribbles.wordpress.com and her poetry at rhymeswithbug.com.
Turn on lo-fi music. Drive my car so I can nap. Wake me up anyways to kiss. Roll down the windows, wind tangling my hair. Take me later for a bike ride; take me anywhere. Let me pick scabs off my knees without judgement. Let me be a kid again.
Autumn Bolte is an undergraduate student at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign, pursuing a degree in Sociology with a minor in Creative Writing. She also interns with the Education Justice Project and works for the university’s Technology Services. In her free time, she enjoys writing short stories and flash fiction that attempt to examine the complexity of human nature. See more at autumnjbolte.weebly.com.
The first drops of rain were a relief; the dry earth lapped them up greedily. Eventually the ground’s thirst became satiated, and the puddles started to grow. When the road washed out we began gathering at the church, not just to pray, but because it was built on a hill.
Tyler lives in Denver, where he works as a bartender, writes, and plans his next adventure.
In the morning she takes fresh bearings,
assessing the terrain, gauging the distance.
Night rain has left a low-lying mist distorting the landscape.
Maybe there exists, just beyond the farthest hill,
something else, something more to view
than lowland haze hiding steep rocky hills.
The wind blows right through her.
For C., of course.
Bob Thurber is the author of “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel” and two collections of stories. A celebrated master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in 60 anthologies, received dozens of awards, and been used in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts where, though legally blind, he continues to write every day. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
She stirred creamer into her coffee; he drank his black.
Sigh.
“Aren’t you tired of the fighting?”
“Of course! But I thought we were worth it.”
He looked at her again. That old spark.
The waitress handed him the check.
“Ready, hon?”
“No,” he said. “We aren’t quite finished yet.”
Thomas reached across the gear shift, searching for his brother’s hand, as mangled shreds of guardrail accompanied their descent.
The five-second drop opened up into a lifetime of memory.
Campouts. Christmases. Dallas Cowboys games.
So what if Jimmy’d slept with his wife?
Thomas regretted his decision five seconds too late.
Dr. Adrian L. Cook is a humanities professor at Tarrant County College in Fort Worth, TX. He is also a semi-pro musician, specializing in the electric washboard. He lives with his wife — children’s book author Cristee Cook — their two kiddos, their pancake-colored dog, and lots and lots of books.
The other owners at the dog park eyed Stonewall curiously, attempting to make sense of the dog’s ticking movements. Ian welcomed the attention. Only another skilled horologist would understand the complex automatic movement, and only someone who’d buried one too many beloved dogs would understand his need to build one.
Ran Walker is an award-winning author of sixteen books. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University in Virginia.
“I’m pregnant,” she said.
Her expression showed doubt over his reaction, but also hope.
He smiled, pulled her close, three heartbeats sharing that intimate space.
He remembered his superior’s words: “These are dangerous radicals. Maintain your cover at all costs.”
He understood then that he would never know his child.
Bill lives in Aberdeen, Scotland. See more of his work at northeastnotesblog.wordpress.com
She rests a heavy rock on her stomach and sinks into the sand.
Through the shimmery layer between lake and sky, the blue expanse above looks beautiful enough to plant a seed of doubt.
Her lungs spark and burn.
She shoves the weight off, slowly floating up to the clouds.
Lauren is an aspiring author studying Creative Writing at Emerson College.