Teenagers demand I tick faster; adults beg for me to tock slower.
Being a clock is a thankless job. I work all day, every day and I never sweat.
I quit. Without me, they’ll miss tests and meetings, burn their food.
They’ll learn to appreciate the time I give them.
Bianca is a writer living in San Diego. She has a BA in English from San Diego State University and currently works in publishing. Her work has appeared in 50-Word Stories, Every Day Fiction, and Mesa Visions Literary Journal.
You gaze over the canyon, shimmering in vermilion and emerald under a sea-blue sky. More magnificent than you ever imagined.
Turning, arm raised, you seek the tilt for a perfect image. You step back.
Rescued from the rocks below, screen shattered in starburst, your phone froze your smile for eternity.
Elizabeth Bird is a retired Anthropology Professor, whose essays appear in Under the Sun (Readers’ Choice Award 2022), Tangled Locks, Biostories, Streetlight, Ariel’s Dream, Dorothy Parker’s Ashes, The Guardian, and elsewhere. She placed third in the 2022 International Human Rights Art Festival’s Creators of Justice Literary Awards.
The story of the week for May 15 to 19 is…
Woman-ness by Kelli Short Borges
The food is running low.
Well, for everyone except those things on the street.
With each desperate attempt, those creatures have something more to eat.
I’m in a state of living death, hiding in this building.
If I can escape, I live.
If I fail, I feed the living death.
Jim Lee Sr. has been writing for himself for decades. But he has decided to try to write for others now. He lives alone under the often overcast, drizzling sky of Western Washington State. A dreary, cold, and desolate existence… But he likes it.
I am spending time with myself, loathing the thing, with August slicking my back. I have given myself entirely to the ground, grass imprinting my flesh. The blades hold me as I form shapes in the clouds—even the dark ones. A Mourning Dove cries for me and I sing.
BJ Louis’ poetry has appeared in numerous Red Penguin Anthologies, and his short fiction has been published in Bloom Literary Magazine. His works focus on themes of queerness and coming of age. He earned his MFA in Creative Writing from Hofstra University, where he currently teaches. He is from Long Island, New York.
I knew the flowered china well. Every chip. Every crack. She accepted $25, pretended not to know me. Shuttling boxes to my car, I debated asking for forgiveness. For scramming and dumping responsibilities on her. I watched awhile as my sister haggled over our deceased parents’ chattel, then drove away.
Liz is inspired by the tiny fiction of other writers. Find her at LizMayers.com.
The snow-white blossoming apple tree lured her out. Behind her squeaked the kitchen door. Too late now. Her hands began to tremble. She didn’t turn, she kept her eyes fixed on the blossom. To be a small bird in spring, she thought, darting around, singing, no worries. Too late now.
KHOP Möricke is just living along in the Netherlands. In 2012, KHOP published a book titled 50 easy pieces.
Mum made the cake, and Claire prepped the living room for sleeping bags. They’d all been so busy lately, but she knew Monica would love the snacks, Liz the horror movie. Hopefully, Kim would zip their bags together like last year.
Claire waited with perfumed wrists.
The doorbell didn’t ring.
Em Arata-Berkel enjoys creative writing, picking their own fruit, and hosting tabletop roleplaying games.
I went to see my brother. It had been a while. There was a lot of, “Yeah, for sure,” and nodding heads. Then silence. He put on the Lakers.
We were latchkey kids, together alone for years.
Now it’s, “We should hang out.”
“Yeah, for sure.”
Looking around, nodding heads.
Christian Gurrola is a writer.
Her husband calls her moody, calls her hysterical, calls her off-the-rails. Tells her to calm down—blames it on her woman-ness. So she breaks herself into pieces, tucks each piece inside a pillbox, compartments labeled: Sadness. Fear. Disappointment. Fury. Each day she sets a timer, remembers to swallow them down.
Kelli Short Borges is a writer of essays, short stories and flash fiction. A former reading specialist in the Arizona public school system, Kelli is a life-long reading enthusiast. Her work has been published at The Tahoma Literary Review, The Citron Review, MoonPark Review, The Dribble Drabble Review, and Ghost Parachute, among other publications. Kelli is a 2022 Best of the Net and 2023 Best Microfictions nominee. She is currently working on her first novel.