The moon is a good friend
on these sleepless nights.
She tells me stories
and mocks the stars
__________(she knows what makes
__________me laugh).
She says that we are
from the same light,
that we exist together,
that all of light is a reflection,
and that we all reflect light.
Jack Galati is a writer living in Arizona. His fiction and poetry has appeared in a number of journals and magazines including Fauxmoir, Pinky Thinker Press, and Beaver Magazine.
Startled by a sudden movement, I looked over to see the cat peering at me through the patio door. It wasn’t his first visit.
Unlatching the door I took what was offered in my hands.
As he left, I retrieved the box, placing the gift gently inside with the others.
Ruth Mannino is trying her hand at a cryptic theme.
When the girl turned into the deserted alley, his sadistic heart thrummed with anticipation. She was beautiful and innocent. Perfect for the taking.
Or so he thought.
She leapt on him like a feral animal, all teeth and claws. Humans are always so clueless, she thought. Perfect for the taking.
G.R. LeBlanc is a Canadian haiku poet and fiction writer who has always been fascinated by the otherworldly and unexplained. Learn more about her at sleekbio.com/grleblanc.
“You’ve already told me that,” you say again.
I don’t remember telling you. It must be the chemo. Chemo brain. Or could you be mistaken? It must be me. I’ve never felt right since the surgery. Have I told you that? I don’t dare ask.
I will just stay silent.
Victoria Brun is a writer and project manager at a cancer research laboratory. When not bugging hardworking scientists about budget reports and service agreements, she is writing about people who do not exist. Her other short fiction includes pieces at Daily Science Fiction, The Lorelei Signal, and Uncharted Magazine.
An hour into our conversation, it became obvious that not climbing up the side of the hotel with Katie and her friends to watch the sunrise would be the biggest mistake of my life.
The next evening, Katie was there to meet me when I limped out of the hospital.
Aaron’s stories have appeared or are forthcoming in Fireside Fiction, Daily Science Fiction, sub-Q Magazine and many other excellent magazines and anthologies. Find him online at www.aaronemmel.com and on Twitter at @justicioaje.
You know this trick.
Within each box is another, somewhat smaller, but otherwise exact replica.
Your task is to go through the motions, revealing box after box.
It’s an impractical assignment, requiring a monotony that stings, draining your essence as you stack panoramas, building impressively tall structures with empty boxes.
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 February 21 to 25 is…
Quiet Time by Chris Millis
I had this shower curtain I loved. A map of the world. He hated it. I’d sit and stare at China, Indonesia, Australia. He said that was gross: a girl spending all that time on the toilet. He’s gone now, though. Him, the shower curtain, and my favorite shovel.
Chris Millis is a bestselling, prize-winning author, screenwriter, and visual artist. He adapted his first novel into the feature film “Small Apartments,” which stars Billy Crystal, Matt Lucas, Johnny Knoxville, Rebel Wilson, and many more, and premiered at the SXSW Film Festival. He is a founding member of the prestigious Stowe Story Labs and is a professor of writing and Chair of the Department of Writing at the Savannah College of Art and Design in Savannah, Georgia.
I know I am intentionally delaying the bedtime tonight. I want her close to me, her smell, the softness of her skin. The hug just calms me down, as simple as that. I look into her big brown eyes and draw my two-year-old even closer. “One more sniff,” I say.
Ellie Nik is a teacher/researcher who lives in Sydney, Australia. She writes as a way of self-discovery.
He’s waiting every winter, when the lake freezes. Handsome. Enigmatic. She’s shy, still uncertain. She edges closer. Nervous, feet slipping. Kneels down, her hands pressing over his. He smiles up, mouthing words: “free me,” maybe; or “join me”—she’s not sure which.
This year she’ll break the ice. Find out.
Deborah writes at an old desk surrounded by five hundred pet bugs.