People rudely ask, “How old are you?” and then look shocked when I answer, “Ninety.”
“Well, God bless you,” they say.
Ninety isn’t that old. Millions of turtles are older than me.
My grandson yearns to be older, so he’s “six and a half.”
Therefore, I’m now 60 and a half.
Gene Newman wrote this story. See more at GeneNewmanImagineThat.com.
Chipped and yellowed from years of wear, I would often see her finger them, lovingly, her eyes glazed and distant. They just appeared one day, around her neck.
She didn’t say; I didn’t ask. Papa never noticed them.
She’s gone now, buried in her favorite blue dress—and faded pearls.
R.S. Raniere has taught English and American Literature at the high school/college levels for fifteen years and is now retired. She writes short stories and poetry and has recently completed her first novel. She is a member of the Atlanta Writers Club and has been published in an anthology of poems and short stories by The Heritage Writers Group, as well as in Atlanta Review. She received her Master’s degree in English from Rutgers University. See more at Roseanns-Ramblings.com.
The jazz trio played louder to cover the screams of the people in the streets. The doors were locked and chained. They’d be safe inside for a while. And rather than fear the inevitable, they chose to continue playing the best set of their lives, making the screams their melody.
Ran Walker is the author of 23 books, including the upcoming book Keep It 100: 100-Word Stories. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University in Virginia.
It was a constellation before it was an illness, high in the night sky, star claws reaching to scuttle across the universe. It’s been there longer than any eyes have gazed outward to the glitter and grasped for meaning. Named it. Brought it home to crawl through your sister’s body.
Marilyn McFarlane is a travel writer and the author of Sacred Stories: Wisdom From World Religions. She writes poetry and fiction and occasionally pokes a finger into memoir. She lives in Oregon, where there is a lot of scope for the imagination.
The Mela is bustling. Stalls, bagpipers, merchandise. I hold your hand so my little girl isn’t lost. You frequently wriggle out of my clasp, skip and join the crowd to explore anew, return laughing. The more time you’re away, more I learn to let go. Like flowing water, like time.
Mandira Pattnaik’s work has appeared in over a hundred journals around the world. Follow her at MandiraPattnaik.
The night smells of dirt and scratches on my lungs.
In pin-pricked blackness I search the heavens.
Out of the northeast a meteor streaks;
tangential, it’s snapped up and devoured whole.
This August night,
seen by me and you,
no longer with child,
its insides desolate, yearning for a meteorite.
John Hansen received a BA in English from the University of Iowa and an MA in English Literature from Oklahoma State University. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Summerset Review, Verse-Virtual, Trouvaille Review, One Sentence Poems, Schuylkill Valley Journal, Eunoia Review, Amethyst Review, Sparks of Calliope, and elsewhere. He is English Faculty at Mohave Community College in Arizona. Read more at johnphansen.com.
The story of the week for April 12 to 16 is…
A man (not her husband) by N. West Moss
The non-stop drip drip drip from the faucet is my own private water torture. Each drop that falls into the pile of dirty dishes cluttering the sink pops, the way your kiss used to pop on my cheek every night in bed just before you would snap off the light.
Kip Knott’s debut full-length book of poetry, Tragedy, Ecstasy, Doom, and so on, is available from Kelsay Books. His second full-length book of poetry, Clean Coal Burn, is forthcoming later in 2021, also from Kelsay Books. More of his work may be accessed at kipknott.com.
I burn the bitter words to fine ash in the waste bin, add a swirl of water, and flush away the slurry. Alone in bed, I stare at the ceiling. It may be hours before I find sleep, or sleep finds me. We have a habit of missing one another.
Avery Mathers writes in the Scottish Highlands. His flash fiction and short stories have appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, Every Day Fiction, 101-Words, 50 Give or Take, Triclops, and others.
The carriage crept quietly along the cobblestones.
Its occupants, a handsome man and a beautiful young woman, barely spoke.
Harsh words had passed between them.
Silently, he wished he’d never found the glass slipper.
Secretly, she hoped he would turn into a pumpkin.
Oddly enough, they lived happily ever after.
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She still believes in happily ever afters.