The honeymoon patch of sunlight grew darker, obscured by the thick tangle of unknowing surrounding us.
I looked up. She hummed silently. The song resonated in her eyes, as if seeing the work already done.
I followed her, also humming, and we worked together, feeling ourselves victors through the pain.
Every day Sasha tries to give his heart to his writing, and every day his cat, Sebald, snatches it up for himself. Find his words and cat pics on Instagram and Facebook at @sashaandsebald.
I think your atoms and my atoms were pressed close in that dense, hot ball at the beginning of the universe.
Then everything expanded, but not us.
Maybe that’s why you annoy me so much: because we’ve been stuck together for infinite eons, and I just really need some space.
Lex T. Lindsay is a queer writer living in Texas with her two cats and probably more spiders than she’d care to know about. Let the record show that she enjoys both Captain America and tacos a normal amount.
Blaine zoomed the digital scope on the target. The clarity was impressive. Better than the scopes he was used to. He could even make out the slight creases around the man’s eyes as he smiled at his young son.
“Take the shot,” said the commanding officer.
“Sorry, kid,” said Blaine.
Rich Rurshell is a short story writer from Suffolk, England. Rich writes Horror, Sci-Fi, and Fantasy, and his stories can be found in various short story anthologies and magazines. Most recently, his story “Subject: Galilee” was published in World War Four from Zombie Pirate Publishing, and “Life Choices” was published in Salty Tales from Stormy Island Publishing. When Rich is not writing stories, he likes to write and perform music. See more at facebook.com/richrurshellauthor.
A paw tapped Dan’s face, and he cracked open an eye. The clock said 4:30. He waved a hand the cat’s direction and grumbled incoherently.
The cat softly meowed.
Dan mumbled, “Go away,” and fell back asleep.
Sharp claws tapped Dan’s forehead. The clock said 5:45.
The cat said, “Now.”
Eddie D. Moore travels extensively for work, and he spends much of that time listening to audiobooks. The rest of the time is spent dreaming of stories to write, and he spends the weekends writing them. His stories have been published by Jouth Webzine, Kzine, Alien Dimensions, Theme of Absence, Devolution Z, and Fantasia Divinity Magazine. Find more on his blog.
Every Friday morning patrons packed Mrs. Cook’s study. She’d serve them sponge cake, but not without sharing the ingredients first: Sally’s rejection, Mary’s offer, George’s pauperism. Delicious, they’d quip, giggling wildly.
But this week, her patrons’ persnickety appetites grumbled as she baked something never served before: a dense humble pie.
Maja Scheler’s debut Flash Fiction, Exposed, received runner up in Women On Writing’s 2018 fall contest. When she is not working on a story, she can be found chasing after her three young boys in the beautiful outdoors of the Pacific Northwest.
“Am I a monster, Mum?”
“Of course not, Franklin. Don’t be silly. Now comb your fur and brush your fangs. Remember to keep sniffing to a minimum and always retract your claws before shaking hands. You don’t want to make a bad impression on your first day at Obedience School.”
John H. Dromey has noticed some fifty-word stories are short and sweet while some are not.
He was the only boy I ever loved.
We sat side-by-side on the beach, stealing kisses and pointing out funny-shaped clouds. His laugh was soft as sea foam, his hair as light as sand.
“Looking into your eyes is like searching for treasure,” he said.
Seems he never found it.
Guy found his treasure at the seaside. This is his twenty-third 50-word story.
The story of the week for May 6 to 10 is…
Fired by Anna Sanderson
I’ll walk with James to Central Park
in the middle of the night
and let him run off leash while
I climb every tree, even the red oaks
that stretch into the stars
until morning brings us to our senses,
squirrels emerge from their burrows
and all the stars disappear.
Stephanie Jones works as a features writer for DownBeat magazine and Hot House Jazz Guide. When time permits, she hosts a podcast called “After the Call.” Jones graduated from Wellesley College having studied with Frank Bidart and Alicia Erian, and earned her BFA in Jazz Performance from The City College of New York. See more at linkedin.com/in/meetmissjonesny.
Mrs. Woodham committed her Japanese garden to memory as the moving van swallowed the last of her furniture. The driver ambled over and hefted the five-gallon ceramic planter beside her walker.
“All set, Miss Margaret. The tree rides up front?”
She smiled at the gnarled cherry branches overhead and nodded.
Elizabeth Spencer Spragins is a poet, writer, and editor who taught in community colleges for more than a decade. Her tanka and bardic verse in the Celtic style have been published in Europe, Asia, and North America. Recent work has appeared in the Lyric, Blueline, Borrowed Solace, Ariel Chart, and Page & Spine. The Language of Bones, a collection of her bardic verse, is scheduled for publication by Kelsay Books in summer 2019.