FARRIZ MASHUDI: When I Grow Up It Won’t Be Like This

Submissions, Touching, , , ,

Blue jeans, orange T, a sweater knitted in diamonds, and oh for earrings, not gold hoops, but pretty silver studs like Elsa’s, or crystal, like Lynn’s; and a mood ring. That would be her look today.

Lisa cast her eyes over the garments spread out on the bed. Nothing matched.

Farriz Mashudi is a former lawyer, journalist, and blogger, turned writer of fiction and CNF. Born in Malaysia, she’s lived all over the place and currently resides in the Middle East.

JA ALLISON: Cosmetics

Submissions, , , ,

Running my fingers through her auburn locks, I whisper tender words into the stillness. Ever since an accident months ago, she has been immobile and trapped in silence.

I help with her makeup, applying warm colors to restore her former vitality. However, nothing I find will work with her decomposition.

J.A. Allison is a writer and music producer living on the fringe of American society.

JENNIFER RITCH: Grow

Artistic, Poetry, Submissions, , ,

A thing so small we measure you in grams, half grams, quarter grams. Sealed in your childish greenhouse, blind and deaf. As tubes snake in and out of places they don’t belong. Keeping track of the rise and fall of the ocean you contain. Turn every hour. Stay warm. Breathe.

Jennifer Ritch writes brief things and is a sort of retired nurse. Her work has been published in The Beat: The Literary Journal of the UCLA School of Medicine. She likes dogs and candy.

JOHANNAH LIPSCHER SIMON: Duet

Artistic, Submissions, , , ,

No-fault. Uncontested. Surprisingly simple: 24 years of unity unwound in 24 hours with a single courthouse visit. A quarter of a century erased in a flurry of signatures and notarized stamps.

The official papers felt brittle in her hands. For him, a new beginning. For her, the end of everything.

Johannah is a corporate warrior by day and multi-genre writer by night.

RON SCULLY: The Monument

Artistic, Submissions, Top Stories, , , ,

The Memorial Day Parade passes, brass blaring, drums pounding, ending at the town cenotaph with a flyover finale, in missing man formation. Among the names engraved in polished granite is my wife’s first love, downed in Vietnam.

She thinks of him, takes hold of my arm;
doesn’t know I know.

Ron Scully wrote this story.

STEPHEN TILDEN: Sisyphusian Cycle

Artistic, Submissions, , ,

While young, all we have is untested energy and an urge to push this big rock up the hill. When the curve begins to flatten, it rolls in unexpected ways. As the curve continues its decline, we look over our shoulder and suddenly that rock is chasing us from behind.

Stephen Tilden is retired in Brooklyn and keeping one step ahead.

WILLIAM CASS: Like Gramps

Submissions, Touching, , ,

I took a detour after work. The push mower stood in the front lawn where we’d left it earlier after my EMT partner and I treated an old man in distress and transported him to the ER.

I finished mowing his precise rows, then stored it away in his garage.

William Cass has had over 325 short stories appear in literary magazines and anthologies. A nominee for Best Small Fictions and Best of the Net, he’s also had six Pushcart nominations. His first short story collection was published by Wising Up Press in 2020, and a second collection has recently been released by the same press.

AXEL BÄCKE: Death’s Embrace

Adventure, Submissions, , ,

One shot. The stag stumbled. Two shots. It fell. I had pictured this feeling ever since I had heard of this thing called death, but no way could I picture this. At that moment the white flame of death burned in my soul. It burned cold, but ever so comforting.

Axel is an architecture student with a dream of becoming a published author. He thanks you for taking the time to read his story and hopes that you might find some inspiration for your own.

JOSHUA MICHAEL STEWART: Uncle Jake’s Little Black Book

Submissions, Touching, , ,

I found it in a moldy box cleaning out Grandfather’s basement. Uncle J. was all chest hair and tiger-tooth medallion back in ’78, but like his Firebird, only faded Polaroids remain.

The leather-bound pages are blank, except for his own smudged name and a partial phone number encircled by hearts.

Joshua Michael Stewart is the author of three poetry collections. His work has appeared in the Massachusetts Review, Salamander, and elsewhere.