The rugged stone face sneers overhead, eyes fixed on a distant point, perhaps a different time. Covered in cracks, its chipped body dwarfs me and in a sense, it is mighty, but no mightier than I. My flesh is living, breathing, uncracked. Able to turn and go, I do.
Karlie Taylor is a recent graduate of the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign. She holds a bachelor’s in English and currently works as a substitute teacher.
She dozes at her desk as they hustle about, with handfuls of calculations and headfuls of complications, in the secrecy of the after-hours.
Today is a big day for them. She, their first subject, smiles back, waving, as if it were the first time she is stepping into a time machine.
Chelsea Allen often finds herself wandering in the fields of writing and pâtisserie.
Whispering is the wind in the treetops, the murmuring of discarded clothes in the attic, the sharing of sisterly secrets late at night. Worship and whirl sound like whisper. And wasted and whimsical, worthy and wizard. She imagines all the Ws dancing and twirling, loving each other like long-lost relatives.
Linda Briskin is a writer and fine art photographer. she is drawn to writing about whimsy, fleeting moments, and the small secrets of interior lives. Her writing has appeared in numerous literary journals. As a photographer, she is intrigued by the permeability between the remembered and the imagined, and the ambiguities in what we choose to see. See more at lindabriskinphotography.com
She followed the blue-marked trail into the woods. Soon nature engulfed her. The deeper she got, the more distant her world.
Emails snagged on thorny brush. Ringtones faded into birdsong. Deadlines were trodden into the dirt.
She emerged, laptop still in the car, unplugged, yet her batteries were fully recharged.
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.
The story of the week for May 22 to 26 is…
Wisdom by Carol Reeves
Chartreuse sky, intermittent lightning, air like the rock over Jesus’ tomb. I sit, hurricane in hand, sunglasses on, inhaler nearby, feet in plastic kiddie pool. Radio’s found the only frequency, R.E.M. fuzzy, the sole survivor. Man, this is living. The end of the world as we know it.
Kevin A. Risner is the author of Do Us a Favor (Variant Literature, 2021) and You Thought This Was Just Gonna Be About Cleveland, Didn’t You (Ghost City Press, 2022).
When I was young, I thought all birds sang, all plants bloomed, and all hearts loved.
Then I learned some birds are happy to quack, and ferns and mosses don’t bloom.
But even in the sunset of my days, I know a heart without love is no heart at all.
A prolific writer, Carol Reeves is loving the freedom and challenges of 50 word stories. Her memoir, “All the Little Miracles,” was published last year.
The wind caused the leaves to whisper. Whispers about times past when the trees could live without the threat of death by loggers. Times when the water course provided crystal clear drinking water for their roots. Times when copious salmon offered their spent bodies as nutrients. How times have changed.
Chris Lihou lives in Qualicum Beach, British Columbia. He is retired and having fun writing, including pieces of 50 word fiction.
She woke up coughing. Her shaking hands pushed against a slippery surface in the dark. It readily gave way, followed by a soft clinking noise as the shards hit the floor. Silver dust glittered in the pale light as it slowly settled. Around her lay the other broken cryo tanks.
Simon Kaeppeli is a scientist and writer. He currently lives on the East Coast with his two senior cats.
Moira glances at the clock—it’s 11:59.
“Let’s meet at noon,” the letter said. Eighteen years she waited for that invitation.
She scans every face, searching for traces of her own.
Her legs begin to ache, her back stiffens.
Until she moves, there’s still time for her daughter to arrive.
Laura Besley is the author of (Un)Natural Elements, 100neHundred, and The Almost Mothers. She is also an editor for Flash Fiction Magazine. Having lived in the Netherlands, Germany and Hong Kong, she now lives in land-locked central England and misses the sea. She tweets at @laurabesley.