Six months ago, my husband went missing, never to return. That is, until a few days ago when he came home. Today, I can’t sleep, because I know the man sleeping next to me could not possibly be the husband I had buried in the backyard six months ago.
J A Allison lives on the outskirts of society where he finds inspiration deep in the Heart of Texas.
The man who runs my morning coffee cart drives past me while I am waiting to cross the street. He makes a fleeting joke out the window, mostly lost to the wind. But I laugh anyways, amazed and happy to be reminded that I exist in the eyes of others.
Star Fitzmaurice is a recent NYU graduate just trying to make the best out of her apartment’s square-footage. She writes, draws, knits, crochets, and does any creative activity you can think of. If she doesn’t yet, give it time.
I stood on the edge of the cliff with my arms wide open, my eyelids filtering the last glow of the dying sunset. His arms wrapped around my love handles, and his pointy beard rubbed against my cheeks. He whispered, “It’s too late.”
I woke up wearing a black dress.
Ruchi Acharya, hailing from the vibrant city of Mumbai, India, is a visionary in the literary world. As the founder and driving force behind Wingless Dreamer, a dynamic publishing company, she is dedicated to nurturing and promoting fresh, creative voices. With a deep passion for storytelling and a commitment to quality literature, Ruchi has established Wingless Dreamer as a haven for writers and readers alike. Her work continues to inspire and shape the literary landscape, one dream at a time.
The hospital vending machine drones an accompaniment to the febrile bouncing of my foot: rubber kissing laminate.
You could be anywhere by now.
When I tip my head back, I see stars: souls trading places, a life for a life. We should be out there, where the air tastes sweet.
A translator by trade, Lesley Warren lives for language. Born to Welsh and Filipino parents and now resident in Germany, her work encompasses themes of identity, displacement and “otherness”. Her poetry and prose have been published in a number of digital and print journals as well as appearing in a podcast.
The vet said to put Old Tom down. The man, not ready to let go, took him hunting one last time. They flushed a bird, and Tom’s final moment was filled with the scent of what he loved. Buried on a hillside, the man visits with tears and fond memories.
Sean Ewing is a follower of Jesus and a lover of dogs, cycling, and being outside.
She walks up to the counter barefoot and battered, refusing eye contact with the receptionist, sporting a fresh hairdo from slither salon, the serpent weave still feeling tight and itchy, spirit broken, baby bump forming around her neck, eyes secreting pebbles in place of tears.
Should’ve prayed to Aphrodite instead.
Arshi Mortuza is a 20-something Bangladeshi writer living in Toronto, Canada. Through her poetry and prose, Arshi likes to breathe life into frozen characters from fairytales and popular folklore. She is the author of the poetry collection, One Minute Past Midnight. She can be found on Instagram as @poetessarshi.
The story of the week for June 9 to 14 is…
Twenty-minute ticket to thirty years hence by Jez Poynter
Thanks to a severe attack of laryngitis, a woman loses her voice completely for two days.
To help her communicate, her husband devises an elaborate system of taps.
One tap means “Give me a kiss”, two taps meant “Yes,” seven taps means “No.”
Ninety-five taps means “Take out the garbage.”
Richard Kostelanetz wrote this story, which is from A MODERN DECAMERON, a book in progress.
I had a dream, which didn’t seem like a dream, more like a vague reminiscence. Beyond the shadows of my darkened room stood a man. I knew him. He had charmed me once, long ago. Now half awake with perishing memories I try to unravel the enigma of past happiness.
Susan Hoffman is retired from careers in sales, design, and art consultation. A creative person with a keen sense of beauty and harmony, she reads, writes, and occasionally, when the muse beckons, she paints. Among her favorite pastimes in no particular order are: reading, writing, gardening, sewing, and cooking. She lives in Toronto with her husband. They have a daughter who currently lives in San Francisco.
She used to dream, once. Peace, love and unity. Beds for the homeless, futures for the poor. A daughter’s cooling hand upon earth’s fevered brow.
Over time, she dreamed of a different green.
Now, microphones creep towards her like weeds. She feeds them fresh manure and shuts her eyes at night.
Patrick Eades is a writer from Sydney, Australia. When not pondering failed political aspirations, he writes humour and fiction on Medium.com and is working on his debut novel. You can find more of his work at patrickeades.net.