The story of the week for November 6 to 10 is…
Medicinal by Meg Pokrass
MEG POKRASS: Medicinal
His kisses were phony but I ate them. They tasted like lemon curd. Light yellow and British, dainty, not mass-produced.
Good stuff, I said to myself. Like some rare, misunderstood wine or small batch absinthe. What Alice sipped in order to grow small. Sipping rabbit shadows all the way down.
Meg Pokrass is the Series Co-Editor of Best Microfiction. Her new collection, The First Law of Holes: New and Selected will be published by Dzanc Books.
CATE COVERT: Remembering Quinn, who now resides in Heaven, on his birthday
You caught your first salmon in the Nome River. You were so proud. I glimpsed the man you were becoming when you spoiled your perfect fish to save my favorite lure.
We never dreamed it would be your last time… playing on a dredge, swimming in icy water, playing guitar.
Cate Covert hails from sunny Idaho, U.S.A. She has been telling stories since she could talk. She is a gardener and amateur herbalist, plays guitar and piano, and loves baking bread and making beaded jewelry. Most of all, Cate Covert loves to engage her reading and listening audiences. You can read her frequent inspirational writings, poetry, flash fiction, and humorous stories at Cate Covert on Chadashah.org or her Inspirational essays and bible studies at Pastora Cate’s Corner on Substack.
STEPHEN TILDEN: Never Too Far
Each day’s first word, mumbled from habit, meant far more than its sleep-addled reply. Hearing each other’s voice was a welcome-back from our overnight travels, though our bodies had remained just inches apart.
She’s gone now, for eternity, but while making my side of the bed I still ask, “Howdjasleep?”
Stephen Tilden is retired and living in Brooklyn.
ALASTAIR MILLAR: The Boyfriend’s Tale
It hurt when she was taken from us so suddenly; after an unexpected diagnosis, immediate hospitalisation, and just a couple of weeks of furtive visits, she was gone. While her husband and children grieved, I couldn’t even attend the funeral, still the invisible and unknown member of her family.
Alastair Millar is an archaeologist by training and translator by trade, living in the Czech Republic. His flash fiction (and social media handles) can be found through linktr.ee/alastairmillar.
MARI PHILLIPS: Another Performance
Angus took a deep breath and closed his eyes, fingertips steepled. “I can do this!” A sotto voce mantra. Gowned, gloved, and masked: a green god preparing for another performance. The inner voice whispered, “Careful… watch what you’re doing!” Ever since the day his hand slipped.
He will stop soon.
Mari lives in the UK. She writes flash fiction and the occasional poem. Other pieces have been published in Cafe Lit, Paragraph Planet and 101 Words.
JOHN H. DROMEY: Topspin
“What’s wrong with Monica?”
“To prevent blustery fall breezes from blowing her hair in every imaginable direction she plastered her tresses with super-sticky gels. Her hair could not be tousled. As a result, when a strong wind moved her hair en masse, her head turned at the same time. Whiplash.”
John H. Dromey has a short story in Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine #32.
JOANNE BOWERS: Private
I know it’s strange, but he keeps a diary and in the five years we’ve lived together it’s intrigued me but I’ve never been tempted to pry.
Until today, and today’s page began: “Jo will read this, know not to answer the door and be safe.”
Then the knock came.
Joanne Bowers lives in England and likes reading and writing microfiction.
KARLIE TAYLOR: Disaffiliation
Blood from the cross is dripping into the sky and the air smells of wild onions. It is Sunday and inside the church house they’re discussing taking the “united” out of our Methodist name. The stained-glass windows are nearly shattering and the God of sunsets watches from the back row.
Karlie Taylor is a writer and a high school English teacher. Her work is published on various online platforms.
TIM BOITEAU: Calamity
After my son steps onto the school bus, I nod and salute the driver. New guy with a gap-toothed smile.
Walking back to the house, the biting wind scatters a pack of yellow leaves.
Sip coffee at home, scrolling through the news.
War. Earthquake. Escaped Convict.
Calamities with gap-toothed smiles.
Tim Boiteau is a Writers of the Future winner currently based in Michigan. Find more at timboiteau.wordpress.com.