Your voice, a jovial reverberation on stone.
Your scream, a rest from breathing.
Your laughter, echoing silence.
The sound of you dripping away into otherness.
Your face grins back from the dark.
Somber eyes gaze elsewhere.
You’re the reason you’re here.
You were worth it all.
And now you’re mine.
Dan writes 50-word stories for the love of the game. He hopes you enjoy them.
She stares, bewildered by wailing toddlers. Perhaps the concept of shedding earthly ties—of having no family in heaven—was too abstract a Sunday-School lesson. Shhh, children. In the afterlife, we’ll dwell in holiness. Isn’t that enough? Agree! But their voices quiver, and she can’t unhear herself in each one.
Janessa Mulepati is a writer whose creations often include elements of fantasy and horror. You can find her work in Pif Magazine, Ghost Parachute, Luna Station Quarterly, and elsewhere. See more at https://substack.com/@jlmulepati.
I stay inside and watch you leave, soaking up the rain. Soon, you will return to your own home, to your window where red begonias are hanging from terracotta pots.
My window remains bare. All the flowers are inside my lungs, sprouting from stalks that I simply can’t contain anymore.
Imaan is a writer and poet with an insatiable love for books, art, and nature. Born in Karachi, Pakistan, she has studied architecture but now dabbles in microfiction.
The story of the week for August 17 to 21 is…
Inheritance by Atif Nawaz
After my mother died, everyone speaking her name gained one gram. Doctors blamed faulty scales. Physicists questioned calibration. I whispered her name every morning until climbing stairs became impossible. Grief, I realized, wasn’t carried inside hearts. It settled quietly into bones, waiting for someone willing enough to bear it.
Atif Nawaz is a Pakistani writer whose fiction has appeared in literary magazines and journals. He writes short fiction exploring memory, identity, and the human condition. He is currently working on new flash fiction and short stories.
I knew a beautiful woman like her deserved more. That’s why my sleeves were always rolled up. She never complained, but I saw it in her eyes, the way she looked into the stores whenever we drove past.
Now she’s with her boss, a richer man.
Never felt so relieved.
Chidi Young writes from Jos, Plateau State, Nigeria. He’s a writer, photographer, graphic designer, and a content creator.
The astronaut finally reached Earth after eighty years, clutching a letter from his daughter. She had written, “Come home soon, Dad.” Time had betrayed them. Kneeling before her gravestone, he whispered, “I hurried.” The stars applauded his journey; only Earth understood that the greatest distance was never space—it was time.
Divya Kaushik is a hardworking and determined student with a deep appreciation for creativity and self-expression. An avid canvas painter and aspiring writer, she enjoys exploring emotions, ideas, and perspectives through both art and words. She believes every story has the power to inspire, connect, and spark imagination. Guided by curiosity and perseverance, Divya continuously seeks opportunities to learn, create, and grow while leaving a meaningful impression through her work.
She insisted they both sign tonight.
“I’ll deliver them tomorrow,” she said, producing a pen. “They’ll be filed with the court by end of day.”
He remembered the pen. A Christmas gift. Not cheap. Years old.
He strained to remember the inscription.
She snapped her fingers. “Hey. Where’d you go?”
Bob Thurber is the author of six books. Regarded as a master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in Esquire and other magazines, been anthologized 60 times, received a long list of awards, and been utilized in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
Amy added her middle name to the post and refreshed the page.
Maybe this time would be different; maybe the right one would text.
She closed her laptop, picked up her phone, and started scrolling. The sounds of the crowded coffee shop fell away.
It was almost like being alone.
Jeffrey Reeves is a former communications director living in Tennessee. He loves books, dogs, and coffee.
They call him Smith now. Oddly fitting. He can’t move or speak, but propped up, he can spot the pond. The lotuses tight like eye-balls torn out of their sockets. The aspen trees white as bones dissolving in lye. From his care home bed, a slow drip of happy memories.
Hege A. Jakobsen Lepri is a Norwegian-Canadian translator and writer (and obsessive haikuist), currently living in Norway. Recent work is featured in St. Katherine Review, Neither Fish nor Foul, The Disappointed Housewife, Fictive Dream, Best Small Fictions, Atticus Review, The New Quarterly, Room Magazine and others. You find her at www.hegeajlepri.ca