I’m not nostalgic, but I miss that teenage feeling of unbridled freedom of summer in the country. Picking up a fallen apple, inhaling its wild lusciousness. The old farmhouse filled with young voices, the floorboards creaking under wet barefoot. And the young apple tree, planted last year, taking root beautifully.
Leonie Gregory lives in Australia; she likes taking photos of nature and writing stories about what she knows or wants to know better.
Ticket in. Fryer down. Order up. Behind you. On your left. Serve the food, clean the mess, run the card. Smiles and thank-yous. Watch them leave—lousy tip. Bus the table. Side work: roll the silver, marry ketchups, stock coolers. Quitting time. Beers at the bar. Home. Bed. Wake. Repeat.
Megan Deiger writes fiction, wrangles her seven-year-old, and makes music with her husband in Chicago, IL. She spent many summers as a server slinging wings and beer. It was fun. And awful. Follow her on Twitter at @birchparkps.
The May heatwave sizzles.
In childhood, summer felt endless. Time no longer feels so kind in this so-called golden age.
Wise, dignified? Not me.
I find shade by a tree and remember: life is still what I make it.
And life is good, as the light dances between the leaves.
Brian Maycock was sixty in March. He’s enjoying writing more than ever.
Most mornings, you’ll find them at the larger tables huddled over coffees. Their caps will read Semper Fi or USS Somebody DDG-xxx. They do this often, know how to rib each other just shy of nasty, wonder where Joe is when he doesn’t show. There will be an empty chair.
Dr. Thomas Reed Willemain is a former academic, software entrepreneur, and intelligence officer. His flash fiction has twice been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and has appeared in Granfalloon, Hobart, Burningword Literary Journal, The Medley, and elsewhere. He holds degrees from Princeton University and Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
After the funeral, as I’m tidying your shed, I find a wooden box tucked away on a high shelf behind an entanglement of brooms, rakes and garden tools. Inside, you’ve nestled a glass jar of seeds in crumpled newspaper. What were you saving, Dad? Shall I plant them, and see?
Fiona H Evans eats alphabet soup and arranges words into stories. She lives on Noongar Boodja in Western Australia, in a cottage near a river where black swans swim.
Sunrise blinds your tired eyes, you do your nine-to-five, but home time feels different. You overcomplicate your thoughts, hobbies don’t bring joy anymore; you drink until you think you’ll drown, to beat the thief of sleep. There’s no more home to go to when you know there’s no one there.
Billie-Leigh Burns is a writer from Liverpool. Her work has been featured by 50 Word Stories, 101 Words, Funny Pearls and The Mersey Review. She is also a bookkeeper, making her the only writer she knows who owns an ‘I Heart Spreadsheets’ mug.
Found Mr Daffodil in the bed after his shower, all fresh-skinned and dewy. Hard to ignore. But he doesn’t fool me. I know he won’t hang around— he’ll be gone before summer. So, I’m keeping my eye out for Mr Zinnia. Sturdy. Reliable. He’ll keep his colour well into fall.
Louella Lester is a writer/photographer in Winnipeg, Canada, author of Glass Bricks, contributing editor at NFFR, and is included in Best Microfiction 2024. See more at louellalesterblog.wordpress.com.
You have been told since you were children that these waters carry riches. For your people, these riches are fish. You’re fishermen.
Suddenly, you’re not. You’re retired without your consent. The riches are no longer in fishes, but in oil.
The land is yours, but now, the money is not.
Adebisi Amori is a creative writer from Ibadan, Nigeria. Read more of her works at https://medium.com/@adebisiamori
His unruly mop of dark sunshine rests gently against my shoulder. My hand trembles a little in his soft squeeze. The fearful words crowd my tongue. He doesn’t know yet. He still doesn’t know. The words push for release. Please. Just one more moment. If only love could stop time.
Charly Chow (she/her) is a London-based poet and storyteller. Dyspraxia and ADHD are part of Charly’s neural make-up, but they don’t define her. Her work appears in Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Curio Cabinet Magazine and Duck Duck Mongoose Magazine among others. You can find her on Twitter at @whatcharlywrote.
Our handbaskets bump in the checkout line. We smile, shift arms right and left to protect our goods. In your nest: caramel puff corn, chocolate lava cakes, gallon of milk. In mine: a party barrel of German pretzels, key lime pie, and chardonnay. Plus and minus, we celebrate both signs.
Maureen Kingston’s poems and prose have appeared or are forthcoming in Blithe Spirit, Frogpond, Friday Flash Fiction, Gyroscope Review, MacQueen’s Quinterly, and Unbroken Journal.