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.
I wasn’t what you wanted or expected. I was always too loud, too dark, too sharp. Like your daughter, who ran off into the night. All you wanted was to keep her safe. Now you tell me stories, about a girl in a red coat who looked like a wolf.
Terri Mullholland (she/her) is a writer and researcher living in London, UK. Her flash fiction has appeared in various journals and anthologies, including Ellipsis Zine, Litro, Mercurious, and Toasted Cheese. Her pamphlet of hybrid pieces Weather / Patterns was published by intergraphia books in October 2022. When not writing she can be found curled up with one of her many foster cats and a good book. See more at terrimullholland.com.
Cats on the back deck voice hot contention, breaking in on my dreams. I yell for Quiet…
Considering their request, a thought weighs in even as I roll back over: Is God this callous?
Perhaps the Eternal wakes to my own howl, weighs the irritating thought, and rolls back over.
Michael Theroux writes from his cubby-hole home office in Northern California. Michael is presently shifting from decades of developing and publishing science-based socio-political works toward publication of poetry and fiction. Much more satisfying…
Her eyes downcast, fingers probing her phone for the latest news, texts, social.
She doesn’t hear me whisper, Put it away for sixteen years.
The child, already wiggling to escape his stroller, will soon be driving off to college, and that will be the most unanticipated announcement of her life.
Annette Gulati writes from Seattle, WA. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Five Minute Lit, Nunum, The Oregonian, Sasee, and elsewhere.
The story of the week for May 8 to 12 is…
Postpartum by Larissa Thomson
Claws out, they taunt from the kitchen-table office, growl on the nightstand, tower over the bed… tap-tap-tapping their way closer as I squirm beneath the covers, fighting panic.
Only in the triumphant light of day do they lose their fangs: the overdue spreadsheet, the pending invoice, an overflowing laundry hamper…
Michelle Wilson’s words have appeared in A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Rejection Letters, Potato Soup Journal’s Best of 2021 Anthology, Maudlin House, Litro Magazine, The Drabble, 50-Word Stories, Flash Fiction Magazine, and Mr. Beller’s Neighborhood, among others. Her story ‘Fish Brain’ was nominated for Best of the Net 2022. She lives with her partner in Miami Beach, Florida.
One day before she died, Anna watered peonies and sent a letter to her son. A rare bright November day, crimson leaves scattered on sidewalks. Anna shook her head at a scurrying squirrel. Because, she knew, there were some things—like your body failing—that you could not prepare for.
Erin Jamieson (she/her) holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Miami University. Her writing has been published in over eighty literary magazines, including a Pushcart Prize nomination. She is the author of a poetry collection (Clothesline, NiftyLit, Feb 2023). Her latest poetry chapbook, Fairytales, was published by Bottlecap Press. Follow her on Twitter at @erin_simmer.
Thunder rumbles. Lightning spikes. Cold rain pelts trampled grass, floods gutters, grounds kites, and confines boys, girls, and dogs to too-small houses where they press noses to windows and fog double-paned glass with playful hopes and pent-up energy. Eager bodies impatient for drier days fidget as numberless gray drops transform ditches to mirrors.
Jim Latham ditched Alaska’s oilfields in favor of central Mexico. He lives out of two zebra-print suitcases and divides his time between hiking, teaching English as a second language, and writing. He publishes flash every Wednesday on his Substack, Jim’s Shorts, and less frequently around the web.
He was motley when she found him, wing broken, heart held together with string. She placed him, her hands soft and kind, in a basket lined with old towels; she bought his trust with food and song.
Now he preens himself and chuckles, another pilfered banknote delivered to her dresser.
Peter lives in Brisbane, Australia. His first book was an exploration of hell in Western culture; naturally, his second book was a romantic thriller. Follow him at @petedunnwords.