When I was a kid, Mom asked, “Can you see the man on the moon?” Peering through my telescope, I searched hard for the astronaut, but only saw big dark blotches. “That’s his eyes, nose, and mouth,” she explained. “See him?”
Fifty years later, I still can’t figure it out.
Charles is originally from New York and is now retired in Texas. He likes playing chess and writing flash.
To surprise the visitor, they bring out their special table, small and rarely used. With great care, they choose and position the treat on a dish gleaming like gold. This temptation should be irresistible. The kitchen falls silent.
From a hole in the wall creeps the mouse, its whiskers twitching.
Sharon lives in eastern Canada. Her work has appeared on 365tomorrows.com. Some day Sharon will look up from the book she is reading and say, “We were in quarantine?”
Bills crinkle. Words crack. Four letters.
Drawers groan. Doors slam.
Toyota roars.
Pick up cell phone. Straight-to-voicemail.
Merlot pops. Glass clinks and tinkles like tears.
TV laugh track assaults.
Words break into regret.
Drawer opens and closes. Picture frame scrapes and lands with a thud.
Air conditioner whooshes. It’s cold.
Yash Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. His work has been published in SmokeLong Quarterly, The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, Write City Magazine, and Ariel Chart, among others.
Bank robbers found themselves fleeing the scene of their crime on foot.
“What was our getaway driver thinking? His car has a rundown battery!”
“He’s probably laying the groundwork for his defense in case we’re caught. He’ll hope to receive a reduced sentence by pleading guilty to a lesser charge.”
John H. Dromey has a short story in the August 2021 issue of Mystery Weekly Magazine.
Time to launch my poem into the world.
The journey begins with abstract watercolors – yellow swirls, purple splatters. I print my poem in 12-pt Arial. Since cutting feels predictable, I rip my words from the page. Once glue hits that wild art, a collage is born.
Blue ribbon – county fair.
Roberta Beach Jacobson is a poet from Iowa. This year she won three blues and two reds.
Between the commuter train and the office, the lunch break and working late.
Between the park and the bookshop, where I delay going home, to the apartment where I don’t want to be.
Before the morning alarm begins another day.
I never really stop.
Anything to not think, not feel.
Brian Maycock’s short stories have recently appeared in The Drabble, Flash Fiction Magazine and Paragraph Planet. He lives in Scotland.
I lost everything in the divorce and was reduced to shopping at the pound store. Diane hooked up with a younger guy, who swiftly left her after the hefty settlement.
Next time I saw her she was in the aisle opposite, feeding her favourite mink coat tins of cheap tuna.
Raymond Sloan lives and writes in County Down, Ireland. He has recently been published in 50 Give or Take, The Dribble Drabble Review, and 101 Words.
The fairy folk, once here or there,
would dance about without a care.
But also looking for some gold,
at least that’s what I had been told.
Abundant things they did arrange
with talents that were passing strange,
but dancing at a languid pace
they vanished, leaving not a trace.
Don Nigroni is a retired labor economist and volunteer Weed Warrior at the John Heinz National Wildlife Refuge.
We’re driving into the countryside when Howlin’ Wolf begins crooning over the radio. Blues night on KSYM, San Antonio’s college station. The further we move from the orange hue of the city lights, the darker it becomes.
The frequency flickers. I look down to change the dial.
A deer appears.
R.J. Stanford is a former student of Southwest Texas Junior College. He holds a lifetime membership to Sigma Tau Delta. Career-wise, the author is working toward an English professorship. He and his wife reside in Hondo, Texas. Follow him on Twitter at @byRJStanford.
The story of the week for July 26 to 30 is…
Storm’s Wake by Katherine Gleason
and
They all Take her Photo in the Lounge by Marie Little