He would sometimes sleep with his books, several outlining his body, others resting beneath his pillows. He loved holding them, tracing his fingers along their covers. And while this should have been enough to inspire him to learn to read, he was content to collect them for their beauty alone.
Ran Walker is the author of twenty-three books, including The Strange Museum: 50-Word Stories. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University.
Cold eyes roll. With a shrug, I am dismissed. I know not to risk a hug; too long since he acquiesced. Instead, reaching for a smile, I say, “Sick, bro!”
(Am I saying it right?)
Eyes narrow without leaving the screen. “Get lost, Dad.”
But he is smiling, a little.
Emma Robertson is an emerging fiction writer from London, UK who had her first three pieces published in late 2020 (Pure Slush and Eastern Iowa Review) and early 2021 (Free Flash Fiction). She teaches inclusive dance in adult education and community outreach, currently online, and has previously written articles for dance industry magazines. Follow Emma at @emmadancetrain
“I love estate sales,” my mom said.
“Me too. You find the coolest books. Like this one. It’s so old the pages are vellum!” I said, passing her the book.
“Isn’t vellum usually lamb skin?” she asked.
“Yes, why?”
“This page has a tattoo of a Navy anchor on it!”
David Faulkner is the puppet to two cats, owner of a dog, and possesses a twisted sense of humor.
My phone vibrates. I have drunk three bourbons, and the moon is small. I stumble through alleys, looking for child-sized shadows. Maybe she’s behind an inflatable Santa, spinning in the light.
I buried my child under a tree. Nobody looks for her. My heart pounds with desire; my criminal heart.
Becca Yenser is a recent graduate of the MFA creative writing program at Wichita State University. They like paying attention.
Lydia had run out of excuses to give to friends when she ran across his obituary.
She made wild plans: to date again, dance like Shakira, run at dusk, create a Facebook account to share adventures, sleep through the night after changing the locks one more time against his ghost.
Kay Rae Chomic is a novelist (A Tight Grip), and writer of flash. Kay lives in Seattle dodging raindrops, has a passion for ping pong, and is a Motown fan forever.
Dr. Biobaku clicked the speculum open, stifled a gasp, then said calmly, “This type of polyp is benign 99% of the time. We’ll remove it this morning and send it for testing.”
Readying her tools, she carefully looked away from the silently weeping eye at the end of the stalk.
Edith was born in Morocco, spent her childhood in Virginia, reached adulthood in Kentucky, and is middle aged in Indiana.
“This enchanted mirror shows your worst enemy’s secret identity,” said the sage.
The hero leaned closer.
“I’m my own worst enemy? That’s deep. Am I a split personality, or just way too self-critical—”
“…Wait.” The sage fumbled. “Wrong setting, sorry! My kids must’ve left it on ‘front camera’ again.”
C.M.F. Wright is an avid reader and sentence wrangler. Her short stories have appeared in Fifty Word Stories, Microfiction Monday, Syntax & Salt Magazine and the VSS365 Anthology. Follow her at @cmf_wright.
Your reflection in the window of the plane. Dark circles, doughy skin. Another city, another country, another woman. The loudspeaker gurgles. A sliver of hope rests just below your throat. Close your eyes and breathe. The landing gear grinds and for a moment you can believe you’ve finally come home.
Finnian Burnett is a professor, a writer, and a lifelong learner. Finn has several novels published under her former name, Beth Burnett. She also has works in various anthologies and journals including Sinister Wisdom, The Herstry Project, and the Resiliency Journal through the Calgary Arts Development. She can be found at finnburnett.com.
They say I need to follow her lead. The future is unknown.
Genes, luck, God, DNA all play a part. I will love and care for her the best I can.
If only I could jump ahead in time to know. Will she be ok? Will I?
But I cannot.
R. Bieltz loves to write but between working as a public health professional during a pandemic and being a mom to a very unique human doesn’t typically find the time.
I remember when masks felt like shackles, distance like prison. No one could tell me who to see.
Now alone, I stare at clouds outside my hospital window and dream of driving, walking, speaking. Tubes and machines keep my heart beating. The act of breathing never before seemed so free.
Josef Lemoine is a Filipino-American writer living in Southern California with his wife, son, and daughter. In a past life, his work could be found in Word Riot, RipRap, The Legendary, and Boston Literary Magazine. For the time being at least, his writing can still be found in Dogzplot, Bending Genres, and Medium. A poem of his will soon be published in **** Men Say to Me: A Poetry Anthology in Response to Toxic Masculinity from Moon Tide Press. Follow him at instagram.com/joseflemoine