Dear, sorry to have missed you today.
Saddened so to have missed seeing you today.
Sorry, my dear, I yearned for our being together today.
Today I missed you being here. Why weren’t you?
Dear? Are you even sorry you missed our day?
Missed today! Sorry to have you dear.
Lynn Kozlowski’s writing has appeared in such places as 50-Word Stories, The Quarterly, The Malahat Review, Poetry Breakfast, and failbetter.com. He has a volume of short pieces, Historical Markers.
My neighbour is living in his treehouse. He’s happy, looks great, has lost tons of weight what with hauling up jugs of water and food. He’s made birdhouses galore so there’s a cacophony of bird chirp. He and Alice wave at each other. Utter bliss… until he finishes his wings.
Cari Main is retired and a big fan of flash fiction.
Melissa tugged on her brand-new velveteen shirt. Another date! She’d get asked about her week; how things had gone since last seeing him. When Robert touched her between the shoulder blades, Melissa hoped this soft shirt might entice her physical therapist to rest his palm there just—a little longer.
Shoshauna Shy likes finding stories all over the place.
After hours of speeding through nothingness, color seared my eyes: exotic fruits, plastic-and-concrete flora glowing vibrant, beckoning to me—McDonald’s, Burger King, BP, Shell—strange poisonous pylons.
Tempted by the siren song, my steed groaned with thirst, but I kicked it on.
The bright lights vanished.
Back to nowhere, the eternal road.
Tim Boiteau writes in Michigan. He is an Editor at Every Day Fiction, a Writer of the Future winner, and the author of two novels, with a third forthcoming. See more at timboiteau.wordpress.com.
The first time I saw her,
I stopped breathing,
The world stopped turning.
And I haven’t stopped thinking about her,
The way her dark amber hair flows with ease,
like flames of a fire.
The way her green eyes pull me beneath the surface,
like getting lost in the woods.
Mia Pfitzer wrote this story.
The story of the week for February 26 to March 1 is…
The Keen Gardener by Deborah Tapper
Yesterday, we buried another cat, pure and innocent, eight more lives ahead of him. Someone forgot to shut the front door, despite Papa’s constant warnings.
Sometimes, He’s a prophet. Other times, a military man.
“Your grief is an artwork,” He’d say.
Every day he paints his trauma on a canvas.
Viabel Oluwatosin, from the shores of Lagos, is an enthusiastic short story writer and a poet. Formerly known as Oluwatosin Okupa, her creative works have appeared in Five Minutes Lit and several other literary journals. With a creative focus centered on restoring hope and sanity through the enriching power of words, she breathes fearlessly on oluwatosinokupa.medium.com and tweets at @ladyviabel.
Wake someone from a deep, drug-induced sleep and they get pissed. Especially when there isn’t a tangible reason for the waking.
Except for the knife.
That was tangible. An 18-inch blade. From the kitchen.
It clattered to the ground when he woke, as if dropped from midair.
Laura Shell quit her day job in August of 2023 to become a full-time writer. She has been published in numerous literary publications. In February, her first anthology of paranormal stories will be in print. When she isn’t writing and reading short fiction, she watches horror movies with her dog, Groot, and jabs snarky remarks at her husband of 35 years.
My friendship with Stan lasted thirty years. He ended it recently at a diner on Eighth Avenue, telling me that he thought I stole something of his a decade ago. I didn’t, but I wonder if my heart might hurt less some day if I convince myself that I did.
Jeff Gardner has been a theatrical and fine arts professional for his entire life.
Marriage fails. Diamond falls out. Stone resembles tinsel crushed after another drunken Christmas. Not so fast, mother says. Diamond is not metaphor. Pair it with a nice gold chain. Same gem, different context. Pendant arrives; oh my chained neck. Locked in mother’s jewelry box ever after, it sparkles at nothing.
Cheryl Snell’s books include poetry and fiction.