Laughing under the bright sun, my hands are appeased, my pen can’t write. But come night, black ink spills from my past, disfiguring page after page. My past claws itself out, hideous and raw, writing off who I used to be. Then day breaks and my head is calm again.
Gretchen Ivers is 16 year old who loves Jesus, laughter, and unicycling. She is currently teaching herself Braille.
The tiny hand was lost within its father’s. Each gripped tightly, softly to the other. Within that touch, free from language or misinterpretation, resided the very essence of love.
The small hand slowly went limp; the larger paused, then released. One now free; the other chained eternally to that moment.
Adam Mitchell is a teacher, mostly, and a learner always. Current published work can be accessed in his dreams.
It couldn’t be that hard.
Weeks of careful planning were in place.
She lacked one final step: action.
A glance at her watch told her she was out of time. It was now or never.
She put pen to paper, paused, digging deep, before finally succumbing to a consistent flow.
Hillary enjoys sending words to Tim’s house for consideration when her mind wanders away from the autobiographical words that most often claim all the blank pages at her house.
Always the same question: “Hey, are you okay?”
Always the same answer: “I’m fine.”
He wished someone would see past his fake smile.
She wished they’d stop asking and just hug her.
They weren’t fine. They hadn’t been for a long while.
But no one ever saw past their words.
Carmen Olowu is a 13 year old girl who aspires to be a writer. She is in the 10th grade in school.
She was living in darkness; he introduced her to sunshine. But in the light she could see the darker side he was trying to hide.
She didn’t know whether the future would be different or a replica of the past; she was trapped amidst the present, which was fading fast.
Preeti Singh is an Indian French Interpreter and Media Professional who is engaged in writing scripts. In her free time she loves to play sundry characters for television series.
Newsflash: the plane has crashed; no survivors.
Gradually it dawned on her. Twenty years of tension, arguments, entrapment: over.
If he was dead, she was free!
Tears of relief welled up. Sweet release.
The front door opened. “Thank God I missed that plane!” he said, brushing away her tears.
Joan is an educator in Australia.
By the canal, she watches the drake’s savage courtship of his chosen mate, beak gripping the struggling duck’s neck.
Incensed, the woman tries and fails to loosen the male’s stranglehold.
“Bully!” she says.
“You can’t change nature, darling. Coming?”
She feels his strong hand caress her nape, and pull gently.
Viv Burgess is a bit jaded post-Christmas. Too many mince pies and not enough writing.
While waiting for the morning train, Jakob took another look at her photo. The ad said she would make a good wife. She looked healthy. He liked that. He thought about all the chores waiting back at the farm.
Maybe, he thought, they could make it back by feeding time.
Originally from Tennessee, Gail L. Winfree is a writer and author currently living in Germany. He has written and published two novels and a book of poems and short stories.
So you see fireflies and I see fairies. You see the moon and I see a benevolent smile. But when daylight comes we both awaken to the same dingy ceiling where we fell onto the bed – you entranced by my enchanted whimsy and me, grateful to have taken you there.
Linda is a professional who has worked all over Canada, the US, and Australia; a former bookstore owner; and an adventure traveler. Linda is also an avid reader (with no genre loyalty whatsoever) and volunteers many hours supporting community theatre and festivals as well as freelance writing for local newspapers and small businesses. Through all of this, Linda has managed to remain faithful to her passion: creative writing for sheer pleasure.
Perdita ignores traffic on the steps of the National Gallery, lamenting a brain that’s for the birds. She marks time with labored creases, origami swelling at her feet.
Her memories grow thin, likes the spines of paper sparrows, but she will come here daily, until she forgets how to fold.
Susannah earned an MFA in Creative Nonfiction from Queens University of Charlotte. Her flash fiction and poetry have appeared in Apocrypha and Abstractions, The Story Shack, and Eskimo Pie. Her artwork and photography have appeared in Gravel, The Tishman Review, and Oxford Magazine.