After that we wanted to build a home together.
We pulled chattering bones from our packs and buried them deep under the foundations.
We carved initials into rafters and clapped sawdust from our hands.
Now we hunker down, listen to the coyote howls and wait for ghosts to move in.
Polly is a Content Strategist living in London with her partner and baby.
The white rabbit pursued the girl in the blue pinafore across the giant chessboard, whiffled through the tulgey wood, battered down the back-talking doorknob, clambered up the tunnel of backward-tocking clocks, and stumbled into a wonderland of health-conscious caterpillars, frowning cats, and lucid hatters—where everything ran orderly and on time.
Tim Boiteau writes in Michigan. He is an Editor at Every Day Fiction and a Writer of the Future winner. His third novel, The Nilwere, is forthcoming from Grendel Press. See more at timboiteau.wordpress.com/
With a flash, the lights go out. You wipe shampoo from your eyes and curse under your breath.
You turn off the water. The drain groans, then—silence. Your hands reach for your phone, but it’s hopeless; try as you might, you cannot see in the dark.
But I can.
Nico Calvanico is a native New Yorker and a student at The New School. After studying performing arts for his entire life, he has decided to pursue something far more lucrative: creative writing.
Adam used a garden shovel to dig the hole. Between the sunflowers, Uncle Freddy insisted Lola be shaded from the sun. They wrapped the cat in a towel, and while he may have been playing gravedigger to get a leg up in his uncle’s will, Adam still shed a tear.
Stephanie Peterson is a college student from Northwest Indiana. Majoring in Political Science and minoring in Creative Writing and Environmental Science, Stephanie enjoys writing to the music of the seventies and the snoring of her German Shepherd.
The story of the week for January 29 to February 2 is…
Time is No Thief by Chelsea Utecht
For several minutes after the accident, I lay dripping in blood. Is my wife still alive? I try to lift myself up. My body is numb. I hear the car door creak. Help is here. A hand finds its way into my pocket, pulls out my wallet, and runs off.
Chidi Young writes from Jos Plateau, State, Nigeria. He loves to read and write short stories.
I finally embrace my rough edges. After all, we’re all broken.
The challenge lies in interactions—use care, grace. Some broken pieces are sharp. Their cuts can run deep…Still, we need each other.
Only when broken pieces work together in unity does the mosaic present itself in perfect, beautiful glory.
Christa Planko, MA, is a professional writer with a passion for creative expression. She has had her poetry and short stories featured in several publications, including River Poets Journal, Tanka and Haiku Journal, Poetry Quarterly, and Every Day Fiction. Her story, “The Olde-Tyme Village,” won the 2021 WordCrafter Short Fiction Contest. Christa resides in South Jersey with her feline muses.
Despite the bruises, she insisted that my father was a good man.
After drinking one evening, his car hit a tree. The surgeon said he may not survive.
With tears streaming down her face, we both prayed.
Just before midnight, he passed.
My prayers, not my mother’s, had been answered.
Bud is a disabled veteran who writes short stories and flash fiction.
I grew up with a monster under my bed. I call him Patches, for his mottled skin. He’s friendly, murderous glint in his eyes notwithstanding. Pretty shy. And fiercely protective.
Now another beast took up residence in my daughter’s closet. Patches and I both know what that means: feeding time.
Sascha Reinhard has a love for the written word in a rather literal sense given his study of palaeography. Ancient tomes, scraps of parchment, a faded letter from the time of the Avignon Papacy. These are far more exciting to him than the stereotypical German pastimes of beer and football.
On the solstice, if the moon is new,
one may whisper a secret into the midnight air,
thus to part the Veil.
Years I waited for the cycles to align.
Before her grave, I asked for answers.
My heart thundered. One beat, two beats, three.
All I heard was wind.
Casey Laine comes from a long line of talkative women. She has worked as Fantasy Editor at Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores, and published two anthologies of fiction and poetry for her writing group, Writers Assembled. In her spare time, she chases butterflies with her camera. Find her on Facebook, Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores, and Amazon.