For some, it’s a glistening gray hair mistook for lint. For others, wrinkles that once appeared only when laughing now remain. For me, it’s my body lagging weeks behind my mind.
Grandma said I too would age, and should sip it like a chilled glass of her freshly squeezed lemonade.
Vernae is new to the world of publishing, but is enjoying every moment of it. She began submitting her work for publication in 2018 and has been published several times. Her unpublished Children’s Book “Teddy Wet My Bed” was selected as one of five Finalists by Eyelands 2019 Book Awards in the Unpublished Books Category. Vernae is praying for overall health and wellbeing for our country and the world during this health crisis.
Her first tattoos were memorials. Then an image, then a symbol of sobriety. Each enriches her story. She embellishes her canvas with great care; her children are amused but shrug.
She is making a burning bowl of her skin.
One day everything she is will rise into the morning sky.
Melody Leming-Wilson teaches poetry in Portland, Oregon. She is about ready for a new tattoo.
In a hole in the ground,
there lives a child.
immune to the cold.
When spring rains down,
instead of drowning,
of her outgrown coat,
fingers up and up,
toes down, down–
and raises her green head
to smile at the sun.
Casey Laine comes from a long line of talkative women. She works as Fantasy Editor at Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores, and publishes an annual anthology of fiction and poetry for her writing group, Writers Assembled. In her spare time, she chases butterflies with her camera. Find her on Facebook, Amazon, and Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores.
The story of the week for March 2 to 6 is…
Holes by Alison Carroll
At first I was numb.
I began to notice them two weeks later:
The hole across the morning breakfast table;
The hole in the recliner facing the television;
The hole on the left side of our bed at night.
I wanted to fall in.
Years later, they sometimes still appear.
Alison hates holes.
I was making notes when the doom opened. A strangler entered.
“Have a seaweed,” the leader said. “We’re all frenzied here.”
After listing to us, the strangler spoke. “Er…”
“I wanted Fantasy Language Class. I’m Dave, by the way.”
“Hello Dave,” the Auto Correct Fan Club chorused in unicorn.
Bec Lewis lives in Kent, England, and likes short stories, micro-fiction, and chocolate. See more at beclewisfiction.com.
The fish were late this year. Stanley sat with the collected fishermen and ate the egg sandwich he’d made at home.
Home was dusty. It was never dusty before Evelyn’s death. So he came to the river and waited.
The other men drifted away. “It’s over,” they said.
Over a lifetime, Ursula Hoult has done many things – a little bit of a lot of things, to put it another way. As you read, you may wonder “did she make that bit up”? And the answer is quite likely: “Yes, because it suited the story.” She is currently focused on flashfiction writing. See more at ursulahoult.com.
You liked that shelf too. The one at the back by the window that looked onto Olan Mills, Family Photographer. Graphic Fiction. The place where our ten-year-old selves swapped plastic-sheathed tales of Gaul and boy detectives between each other. If only we’d met. Maybe we’d have realised we weren’t alone.
Amanda Quinn lives in the northeast of England where she works as a freelance writer and tutor. Her writing has been published by Shooter Literary Magazine, Open Pen, Ellipsis Zine, Butcher’s Dog, and Spelk Fiction among others. She can be found online at amandaquinn.co.uk and on Twitter at @amandaqwriter.
End the pain and heartache. Bring others pleasure. Give people some happiness. Unrealistic chasing of desires create hate and rejection. Unbearable living makes love impossible.
Impossible love makes living unbearable. Rejection and hate create desires of chasing unrealistic happiness. Some people give pleasure, others bring heartache and pain. The end.
Pontius Paiva is a kook of an elihphile who can’t do a single pullup. His stories fly under the radar at pontiuspaiva.com.
Editor: Read Pontius’s previous palindrome story here.
You say they’re a beautiful sky blue—
that may slow your tumors.
You take the sky
into your body
with your morning tea.
I imagine you
in today’s snow, making angels
as we did when small—
____ice-crusted fringe of tree-tops,
____glint of winter sun, the dazzling
Jennifer L. Freed mostly writes poems, which have appeared in various journals and anthologies. The above was originally published in The Worcester Review (at 57 words), but someone inspired her to see if she could trim it and send it here. The above-mentioned pills worked for about ten months. See more at jfreed.weebly.com.