Every bake was for the likes, given photoshoots worthy of a Milan catwalk. Glistening crumbs and chocolate oozing. Filters glinting. Heart-eye emojis marveled at how #incredible they looked – she looked.
Every bake remained untasted. She never took any photos of the plump little sparrows who lingered on her garden fence.
Martha Lane wrote this story.
The story of the week for March 22 to 26 is…
How to Comfort a Mountain by Felicia Sanzari Chernesky
Release your mind,
Unhinge your heart,
Unburden your soul.
Be free.
Trust.
The world careens and spins,
Yet you remain
Sure footed and still.
A massive star blazes above,
Yet you are not burned,
Only kissed by its warmth.
So bask in it,
Drink it all in.
Every single moment.
Missy Lynne wrote this poem.
I breathe the scent of his favourite jumper; musky, masculine, missing. I feel safe, as though the good days never ended and my heart wasn’t shattered.
Wearing it means glorious pretence; an outward sign of grief which none will question.
It doesn’t say, “I was the one who killed him.”
Esther Byrne is a writer from Yorkshire, U.K. She writes flash fiction and stories, and is currently working on her first novel. You can see more of Esther’s writing at estherbyrne.com.
He said, “Don’t jump!”
She pulled him, too. Into life.
By her side, he trekked high mountains, hot air ballooned into clouds, rode horses, surfed dangerously large waves, and saw salmon-gold sunrises and sunsets from every continent.
When she died, he lived on. (Twice as hard, for both their sakes.)
Susmita Ramani lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and two children. She’s a lifelong writer, and passionate about mindfulness and the environment. She’s published essays for various blogs, and is working on a collection of short stories. Follow Susmita on Twitter at susmitabythebay.
Beth smiled and flirted and said my name in a breathy, sexy sort of way.
When we were neighbours. When I had a home.
Now, she’s silent and scurries away when she sees me on the street.
I may no longer have an address, but I still have a name.
When P.L. Elkins is not reading, writing, or working, she’s enjoying family time with the men in her life.
When she’s young she dreams of gingerbread castles. Floating on a sea of candyfloss and racing down liquorice slides. Today her fantasies are no longer shaped by sugary treats. Asleep, she dreams of a place with lower bills. Getting that promotion. A good mortgage.
Happiness, and the occasional chocolate éclair.
Gloria Gozi is a Library Assistant and writer from London. She has written for various magazines including Glasgow based Mycelia.
The day came you woke a wife and went to bed a widow, your grief a lead curtain pulling shut against the sun.
If I climb, plant flowers, will you allow the rain?
Let lonely clouds wander. Let rain come. Spring also.
Your grandchildren will bear armfuls of daffodils, laughing—
Felicia Sanzari Chernesky is a longtime editor, slowly publishing poet, and picture books author. In 2018 she moved away from the masthead to work with people who want to share their stories, ideas, and poems in print. Her poetry received a 2020 Allen Ginsberg Poetry Awards honorable mention. Her short fiction was nominated for a 2021 Pushcart and Best Microfiction. She lives with her family in Flemington, New Jersey. Find her online at feliciachernesky.com.
The cancer-stricken girl was munching on the fortune cookie grandma baked that morning. Finding no fortune, she smiled a smile – the kind that would heal any broken soul.
“The fortune-cookie-fairy owes you a fortune, precious.”
When she breathed her last that night, grandma found solace in her escape from suffering.
Aneena Elza Binod is a nineteen-year-old who became a Gold Award Finalist in the Queen’s Commonwealth Essay Contest 2019. Her hobbies range from taekwondo to chess. She loves compering and photography. She writes on Wattpad and YourQuote. She is a Tripoto blogger as well. She lives with her family in Kerala, the southernmost state of India. See more at wattpad.com/myworks/245532022-reconnected.
My hands are ambitious
though
they do not want to
conquer the world
Nor build monuments
create beauty
or find treasure
My hand’s ambition
it seems
is to be ready
to catch you
when you fall in love with me
My hands are ambitious
but they can’t see the future
Joshua Benitez wishes he could use his feet as a second pair of hands.