I scream but nobody hears me.
I bleed and nobody cleans it.
I cry but there is no tissue in sight.
So I leave.
I leave the place where there is no help.
Don’t miss me now when you think of this;
Help me yesterday.
Tomorrow is too late.
Denise Banks is currently in the grade 12 year of high school.
Very sad news. The beloved president of our debating club has passed away.
The funeral is tomorrow and I’m quite upset about the arrangements.
As is only proper, our club’s vice president will be giving the eulogy.
But, against my protestations, I was chosen by lot to give the rebuttal.
Gene Newman wrote this story.
Rudi closed her locker, yawned and turned. Feet. She looked up. Everyone was staring. She hadn’t been trying this time. But here she was: three inches tall. If she hurried to the cafeteria, she would have time to treat herself to a giant piece of cake before she grew again.
Angeline Schellenberg authored the Manitoba Book Award-winning Tell Them It Was Mozart (Brick, 2016) and Fields of Light and Stone (UAP, 2020), shortlisted for the KOBZAR Book Award. Her micro-fiction appeared recently in Fewer Than 500, Café Lit, and The Drabble. She hosts Speaking Crow, the longest-running poetry open-mic in Winnipeg, Canada.
I write me down—me in a perfume, a take-my-card—paraphrases and filters, puzzled pieces petrified on Twitter bios and resumes, an endless search for your cup of tea without knowing if you even like tea. Me tomorrow, me today, me recycled and gargled and compressed. Speed dating. Skin shedding. Trial. Error.
Adamson Wood is…
Maddie snoring on couch
Me scribbling at desk
Wind outdoors pummeling
Japanese maple to jive to the beat
No snowflake flying, moans maple
No Mr. Wyeth to wash
wintry white o’er brindled rags
No Gustav K to splotch
springtime scarlet o’er crimson reds
Wind roaring
Eh, Mamuszka! Cha-cha cha!
Amen
Sandi Dollinger is a teacher/artist living in downtown Albany, NY. She is a writer of fiction and plays. In January her play “Encore, Encore, Missus Gefilte Fish! will be read as a staged reading in Colonie, NY.
“Your contract is up,” the demon declares. “Eternal damnation awaits!”
The witch doesn’t move. “About that,” she says. “I… may have signed the contract using someone else’s blood.”
“Whose blood?”
Her eyes, alight with mischief, dart toward his bandaged foot. The demon suddenly has a very bad feeling about this.
C.M.F. Wright (@cmf_wright) is an avid reader and sentence wrangler. Her short stories have appeared in Daily Science Fiction, Fifty Word Stories, Microfiction Monday, and Syntax & Salt Magazine.
After draining and storing the nutrients from their leaves,
the trees pulled great gusts of wind through the forest,
combing the color from their branches,
each tree having been taught by its mother how to stiffen against fierce cold,
while twisted tentacles of delicate root fibers overlap,
reveling in gossip.
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.
The story of the week for December 13 to 17 is…
Fish Rain by Deborah Tapper
They say the boundary between the living and the dead is fluid. No wonder I can feel them at times.
I hear their sobs, laughter,
see the shadows that creep at night.
At times I can almost touch them… People of the living world!
Maybe they can feel me, too.
Swetha B Ram lives in Kerala, India. A doctor by profession and writer by passion, she has published her poems in various online portals and magazines. Her first anthology in print, “The Harvest Moon,” is about to be published this month.
Rose wanted to be adored, so she left the soil to become a wedding decoration.
The guests admired her red petals and sweet scent.
“They love me!” she said.
But then the guests went home. Without admiration, she began to wilt.
Rose was discarded and replaced with another hopeful flower.
Bianca Sanchez works in publishing. This is her first 50-word story.