I cleaned out the kitchen junk drawer, and along with toothpicks, ballpoint pens, and dead batteries, I found three hours I’d lost in 2006. Should I mow the lawn, get extra sleep, fix my life?
Caught in traffic, I pulled them out. No good: they were deader than the batteries.
David Holloway lives and writes in Northern Virginia. He has had work published in Gargoyle, Kayak, and The Mad River Review.
The songs we sang in the evenings without electricity, seated at the doorstep, four of us and father: warm evenings with warm hearts.
The songs are old now.
I play my old songs on piano, singing them to my daughter with a new light, but I’m not sure she sees.
Noriko Jayasekera is a university lecturer.
The vagrant discovered the lake house at the end of a gravel road. A fridge inside a shed gifted him a single beer, and an untethered canoe took him into the lake, where he opened the beer and drank—living the life of another and waiting for something to end.
Travis D. Roberson grew up in Central Florida, where he spent most of his youth throwing rocks at snakes and reading comic books. He spent his late teens entrenched in Orlando’s local punk scene before leaving the sunshine state and bouncing around the world as a flight attendant at a major airline. Now settled in Queens, NY, he lives with his wife and his dog, who wakes him up far too early every morning. He spends most of his time yammering about the genius of Jim Jarmusch and The Clash to anyone that will pretend to listen. His work has appeared in a number of places, including Hypnos, The Arcanist, and Coffin Bell.
Anxiety forces another beam of steel through my belly,
apprehension caps my lungs,
and tangles them in wire.
Electricity jolts my chest
yanking a mechanical heart to life.
Oil slicks my throat
choking me into silence.
Perhaps terror stole my voicebox
and only the gears in my brain
Maria copes with stress by listening to Steam Powered Giraffe, and writing strange poetry.
The shuddering wind
plays strange music,
____carrying away the feather
________fallen off that seagull.
____following the currents
________like it drank too much wine.
A pale, gracile boy
picks up the feather
in its dance,
looks at it,
and puts it away in his box of treasures.
Anne Catherine Vassallo was born in Malta but lives in Tuscany, Italy. As a child she dearly wanted to paint but seeing that her efforts were all in vain, decided to “paint with words”. She teaches English in a private language school and writes with a group of poetry-writing friends, all expats.
Lady Huron was in a mood.
Waves roared ashore, obliterating most of the beach. Ancient trees washed up, now driftwood with the haunted look of past lives.
Sand blasted Jenny’s skin and stung her eyes. Still, she searched in the frothy debris for sea glass, finding beauty in the chaos.
Mary Haynes splits her time between a romantic old sailboat in tropical waters and a beach home on Lake Huron in Canada. A wanderer by fate, she embraces wherever she roams! Mary just published her first children’s book, “Who Ate My Peppers?”
Tangy salsa over fried eggs. Buttered toast, sliced in half and glazed with apricot jam. She hasn’t opened a menu in over ten years. Everybody at the corner diner on Hamilton Street knows to call her Suz, and never to ask why certain songs from the jukebox make her cry.
Lisa Marie Lopez has had stories recently published in Blink-Ink and The Ocotillo Review. She loves baseball, turtles, and writing in cozy little cafes. Visit her on Facebook at Author Lisa Marie Lopez.
Year: 1935. Two young brothers play games on the sunny, manicured expanse that runs along the edge of the bluff. Beyond, the sea sparkles. A soft summer breeze floats by, lifting their downy hair. Only this moment, this slice of time, separates them from the impending horror of Hitler’s world.
Le Anne uprooted from her native state of Texas to enjoy the cooler weather of the east coast where she enjoys book and writing groups.
Can boogeymen and fluffernutters, scraped knees and coloring books, times tables and video games, homework assignments and roller coasters, algebra problems and iPhones, fumbled kisses and glimmers of the man to be matter if they all lead to a momentary miscalculation of speed and distance on a bicycle at night?
Robert Markovich spent a lifetime in what is charitably referred to as service journalism, writing and editing stories about everything from cars to toilets, most recently at Consumer Reports. He is happily and gratefully retired.
I warn her not to over-water the plant in the window, but she insists that more water is needed to reach the roots. This is just like her: to do a little too much, to love a little too hard. Just like that plant, one day I, too, will drown.
Ran Walker is the author of 22 books, including the 50-word story collection THE STRANGE MUSEUM. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University in Virginia.