Two rockers in the corners. One’s been empty for years.
Pictures line the walls, smiling faces from younger days. The kitchen echos memories. Remember when? Can you still smell those biscuits?
Clocks tick like my heart beats. Tick, tick, tick.
He’s moving out, but a part of me will stay.
Amanda is a writer and dreamer by day and a mother of four by night (when will they sleep?).
Finally in the supermarket checkout, another shopper said, “You’re that guy, aren’t you?” Specifically: “That guy from that one new show.”
Close enough. The cashier confirmed it, I was that guy.
Game on after that. Strangers waving on the street. Soon it turned surreal. Groupies at the clubs. Stalkers. Leeches.
Todd Mercer won the Dyer-Ives Kent County Prize for Poetry, the National Writers Series Poetry Prize, and the Grand Rapids Festival Flash Fiction Award. His digital chapbook, Life-wish Maintenance
, appeared at Right Hand Pointing
. Mercer’s recent work appears in 100 Word Stories
, The Lake
, Plum Tree Tavern
and Vending Machine Press
Out in Jupiter orbit, Langdon woke, his panicked breathing echoing through his space suit.
A nearby helium miner picked up his SOS. Their medic examined him; traumatic amnesia, she said. They began the journey back to Callisto base.
Inside his body the creature stirred, sensing the presence of new prey.
Bill lives in Aberdeen, Scotland. A cadre of monks maintain the chant, keeping the nightmares trapped in his head. If they should falter, then the whole universe would tremble…
The story of the week for January 29 to February 2 is…
Sugoi by Gwendolyn Joyce Mintz
The winner of the 2017 Story of the Year, along with the $50 prize and enshrinement in the Hall of Fame, is:
Constellations by Jonathan Kosik
From the first time I read this story, I was fascinated by the magical moment it portrayed, and by how deftly that moment is held separate from the terrifying context it is placed in. The reader is transported into something so very special, this whirling and intimate playtime between parent and child, and then one simple sentence grounds the entire thing. It’s gut-wrenching, and yet it remains beautiful, and the moment continues; the whirling continues. It’s joy and fear; it’s life. What a ride.
Honourable mention yo My Father, in Worcester, Massachusetts by Jennifer L. Freed (who won the 2016 story of the year, by the way, and no, that didn’t factor into my choice this year!).
The waiter set their plates down on the table. He said, “Enjoy your meal.”
The man replied, “Thank you.”
As the waiter turned to leave, the man added, almost without thinking, “Goodbye.”
When they got home, the man was still thinking about that.
Several months later, he still can’t stop.
Spencer Chou is a writer and editor from Nottingham, England. He runs the literary magazine and publisher The Nottingham Review, and his writing has been published in various places. In 2016 he was shortlisted for the Bath Flash Fiction Award. You can follow him on Twitter at @spencerchou
Step one, turn on the lights. Two, install ceiling.
Three, make something to stand on; add plants.
Four, hang some twinkle lights; five, fill fish tank.
Six, create humanity—no wait.
Crap, this isn’t gonna work.
Maybe a horde of giant lizards is the way to go here.
Occasionally EO wonders if God is ever tempted to wail on the reset button.
My aunt called, said her brother was dead and I should help pay for his funeral since he jumped from his hotel window the week after we met. You likely said something to cause it, she said.
I figured out what, but I never told my aunt or sent money.
Paul’s new collection of Flash & Micro, “Kiss Kiss” from Truth Serum Press, will be out in March.
They called me to the principal’s office. Thought I won the essay contest.
I felt good. They seemed worried.
“Was everything you wrote about your uncle true?”
Lying would save us. So I did.
“No, it wasn’t true. Just fiction.”
I hadn’t won. I stopped believing in right or wrong.
K. Joffré is a married gay latino living in New York. He is a Slate contributor and has had fiction published in ContemporaryQueer.com
. Slide into his DMs at @meanhood
I’ve thought of you so very often these past thirty years or more. In my head, I still hear your gentle tone and I feel the touch of your warm embrace.
Good memories last a lifetime. I’m coming to see you soon.
You never let me down.
You won’t now.
Jean lives in a village near Bath in the UK. She refuses to believe this is all there is.