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.
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.
The story of the week for October 30 to November 3 is…
Grandma Was A Child From the Black Forests of Germany by Bob Thurber
I woke up that morning into a world of glass. Ice covered the trees, deciduous and conifer; it covered everything I could see through the thin, now glaze-encased window. Before the sun could throw shards of itself onto this new world, I hesitated, afraid my breath would break it all.
Rina Palumbo is working on a novel and two nonfiction long-form writing projects alongside short fiction, creative nonfiction, and prose poetry. Her work appears in The Hopkins Review, Ghost Parachute, Milk Candy, Bending Genres, Anti-Heroin Chic, Identity Theory, Stonecoast Review, et al.
The trousers lay steam-press flat on the tarmac, one leg hemmed above the knee. Folk skirted around them, curiosity creating sporadic queues. Conversations sparked, through wound-down windows, in roadside groups. Picnics appeared. A marquee.
After wind sky-danced the pants heavenward, people fell silent.
The void pulsated, like a phantom limb.
See more of Linda’s work at lindagriersonirish.wixsite.com/artandfiction/fiction.
Trip through shifting rubble, kicking up dust; smothering coughs.
Hungry pack of trackers, beady-eyed snipers, stalking our prey.
Angry grenades flush it out. Telescopic sights place just enough distance between us.
Aim carefully. Don’t think.
It’s only another dumb creature.
Fire phaser.
I hear the last man on Earth scream.
Steven Holding lives in the United Kingdom. His sound installation SEVEN STORIES debuts at Northampton Royal and Derngate theatre this November. You can follow his work at www.stevenholding.co.uk.
Goosebumps flock my forearms as I sign my own death certificate.
Beads of sweat race, cool down my back; it feels good.
All I’m taking with me is my love of singing the gospel.
Never again will he own me.
One last call:
“Hey, Nungen, it’s me, Aaron.”
“I’m ok.”
Verity’s first love is writing and she has been honing her craft for many years. Well travelled, she once took a cruiser out to Alcatraz where she was locked in solitary confinement for an hour. “That hour felt like days,” she recalls with a sense of accomplishment. It’s experiences like this one that fuel her imagination. Published numerous times on spillwords.com, her portfolio of writing extends from the fantastic to the personal. Verity’s passion is to play with words, enticing and tickling you into her stories.
“I’m so sad,” little Billy cried. “Mommy said I could eat only one candy bar each day.”
“Oh, that’s a shame, Billy,” his pal (and future defense attorney) Clarence replied. “But think back, Billy. Did she happen to mention anything about how many bars you’re allowed to eat each night?”
Gene Newman was a USAF cryptologist during the Korean War and is a retired engineer and journalist, including stringing for the N.Y. Times and being a crossword puzzle creator for the New York Times and USA Today.
The girl knew she had gotten older when her imaginary friends stopped aging. She wondered if that was the same as dying. She sat in her playhouse, alone with the very real thought that the place was haunted. After all, who else but her friends would open up without knocking?
Anythony Ceschini has been writing most of his life. He tries not to take himself as seriously as the Craft. So far, so good?
She had no book of spells, no dusty scrolls with ancient formulas. Her incantations were spontaneous. She performed her rituals spur-of-the-moment, custom-made to the individual, whispered like a prayer, unleashing forces faster than light. When shadows become phantoms, the gentlest curse can nudge, redirect a person toward consequence, coincidence, enchantment.
Bob Thurber is the author of six books. Regarded as a master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in Esquire and other magazines, been anthologized 60 times, received a long list of awards, and been utilized in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.