I see her those early mornings whenever I can’t get back to sleep. On blustery winter days she rushes past wearing heavy layers, propelled by dogs on leashes. Swift, still fit and on a mission.
When she turns the corner, I amble down the hall and turn up the heat.
Linda Jenkinson writes flash fiction, fast poetry, and 50-word stories, but is decidedly slowing down.
a fresh grave next to yours
preparation for a new sadness
dusting snow from your marker
placing a candy cane wreath,
once festive, looking forced now
a step back into the bitter cold
of December, not Christmas
another goodbye in your last year
still living the “since”
of this season
Majoki has been writing flash fiction for a few years and recently started posting his work on his website, faroutposts.com. He has also begun submitting some of his work and has had a few pieces published on 365 Tomorrows and Free Flash Fiction.
Me and the Fin, my five-dollar boat
row round the lake, just barely afloat.
My gear’s the best on the sporting goods shelf;
My worms so inviting, I could eat them myself.
I bait and I cast. I watch and I wait
but nary a fish volunteers for my plate.
Gene Newman is a retired old guy (90 yrs) and former New Jersey journalist and columnist. Read more at GeneNewmanImagineThat.com.
He killed the deer and gutted it. No part wasted: meat to nourish his body; fur and tanned hides to clothe him; sinew thread to bind it all together.
He’d come to the forest to confront his demons. Sometimes it’s better to become the demon.
He donned the skull mask.
Lauren Scharhag (she/her) is an associate editor for GLEAM: Journal of the Cadralor, and the author of thirteen books, including Our Miss Engel and The Order of the Four Sons series (with Coyote Kishpaugh). Her work has appeared in over 150 literary venues around the world. She is the recipient of multiple awards, including the Seamus Burns Creative Writing Prize and a fellowship from Rockhurst University for fiction. Her work has also been nominated for multiple Best of the Net and Pushcart Prizes. She lives in Kansas City, MO. See more at laurenscharhag.blogspot.com.
“Sorry I’m late hun. I had some errands to run after work”.
“You must be beat. Let me get you a drink.”
“I’m also a little spooked. I had this feeling I was being followed.”
“That was me following you on your way to your errands’ apartment. Like your drink?”
Doug Hawley wrote this story. See more at sites.google.com/site/aberrantword.
The story of the week for January 31 to February 4 is…
Not Yet by Rebecca Cuthbert
Standing tall in a sea of angry faces, refusing to be cowed, the woman maintains a dignity that reflects her heritage. She is a princess, but none around her can possibly understand. Some speak of equality, of being treated as if she was white, but she dreams of something more.
Ken Grant is a freelance writer living in Santa Ana, California. He has one published novel, So Great a Salvation. His stories have appeared in Left Hand Publishers, Jitter Press, and Alien Dimensions.
At the departure gate,
the boys hugged you goodbye,
their eyes dry,
the way innocence clings to possibility.
You told me you felt broken,
needed to find yourself,
stop confusing
white powder with devotion,
alcohol with wanting.
Seasons have passed,
fallen leaves,
then snow,
your words preserved in the soil.
Melissa Williams has a Master of Arts in Creative and Critical Writing from the University of Gloucestershire and recently completed a mentorship under author David Bergen at the Humber School for Writers. Her fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Voices, 42 Stories and Academy of Heart and Mind. Prior to becoming disabled, her second home was at Torstar’s community newspaper division where she led an advertising sales team and built life-long friendships. She lives near the beach, in Toronto, with her two sons and their Siamese cat.
Intimidated by computers and other mechanical devices powered by electricity, Barnaby decided to write his Great American Novel in longhand.
Unfortunately, before he wrote a single word, Barney discovered sharpening pencils was an excellent delaying tactic.
Now, knee-deep in sawdust, he has a new excuse for not writing: tennis elbow.
John H. Dromey has stories published hither and yon, as well as some places in between.
Each tiny little shard of glass glinted beautifully on her dark marble worktop as the evening sunlight faded. Her grandmother’s heirloom was truly destroyed. She looked at her paltry hands. The shaking was getting worse. Over the last few weeks remnants of little accidents around the house were building up.
Nisha Patel is a mum, accountant, and chocolate addict. She caught the writing bug over ten years ago while on maternity leave and now squeezes it in between parenting and accounting.