I had been away too long.
Back to the comforts of home. Familiar places, friendly faces, birds singing into the air that once sent my dreams aloft. Some long forgotten, others I could never let go.
Home is forgiving, though, patiently waiting its turn to claim “I knew her when.”
Lisa Chambers is a Texas girl who wishes all of you a happy holiday season.
“Do you remember this?” I trace grooves in the plaque. An engraved spaceship glints, perpetually airborne.
Dad’s eyes remain closed, lips parted.
“We went to Cape Canaveral. You shook the president’s hand.”
Nurses appear and vanish.
I wonder if Dad feels like he’s floating. Preparing to sail into the unknown.
Emily Roth is a librarian and writer based in Chicago. Her writing has recently been published by Exposition Review, Brilliant Flash Fiction, and TL;DR Press, and she was shortlisted for the 2020 SmokeLong Quarterly Award for Flash Fiction.
Lightbulbs shattered and sparked. Free at last!
Spheres of light drifted outside. They floated over buildings, resembling moving stars. These stars huddled together in a small forest. Giggles came from them as leaves brushed against their faces.
An abandoned temple impeded their earthy merriment. Its disheveled state made them cry.
Jerome Newsome is an upcoming writer who has been published in Aftermath Magazine and soon to be published in Fiction Southeast. When not writing, he likes to play video games.
The relentless sun beat down on the old man in the stern. Ahead, his son pulled in the net, easy movements belying the backbreaking effort. The man looked at the few, undersized fish in the boat and wondered whether he had been right to teach his son everything he knew.
Ben lives in Dallas where he is viewed with tolerant amusement by his wife and two small boys. He occasionally writes screenplays, which are primarily treated with indifference, but he lives in hope.
On his ninth Christmas, Adam presses inquisitive eyes to his new telescope. Magis’ candles, he marvels, christening fiery stars with childhood’s fancy, forging a closeness against their remoteness.
Aged eighty, he discovers a new star, eternalizes his name. He shuns ensuing fame, only savors his lifelong glimpse into heaven’s mystery.
Gary Thomson is old enough to know better, but he still wishes on falling stars.
My brain knows you are gone. It spends long, fruitless hours explaining this to the rest of me. There are graphs and spreadsheets, detailed PowerPoint presentations, and endless lectures that lay bare the facts for all to see. My heart takes it all in, nods politely, and continues to bleed.
Aeryn Rudel wrote this story.
Dad stood on the doorstep. “Come in, love. You’ll catch your death.”
“You know I always decorate the linden outside at Christmas. It cheers up the whole street.” Ma bound the trunk with tinsel.
They cut down the tree the year after Ma died.
Dad said the roots had gone.
R. J. Kinnarney is a tutor and author of children’s novel, Abigail Aces Acting. R. J.’s short story, The Blue Bowl, was runner-up in the Daunt Books short story competition. She won the Southam Book Festival 100 word story competition and has been published in 100 Words of Solitude, The Write In, Funny Pearls. She is currently working on a novel, which looks at attitudes to war, together with changing methods and speed of communication. See more at rjkinnarney.com and follow R.J. on Twitter at @rjkinnarney
My first memory? Darkness. Devoid of all senses.
One question consumed my thoughts: Why must I be alone?
For millennia I floated, exploring the void and, eventually, my powers.
My favorite memory? The day I birthed the universe. I made light, warmth, humans.
Powers consumed; I was no longer alone.
Alyson grew up in Arizona, and moved to Maryland where she got married, had her only daughter, and began writing. She has appeared in Altered Reality Magazine and has a piece coming soon at (mac)ro(mic).
The story of the week for December 7 to 11 is…
A Temporary Interruption by Dick Narvett
She found them at the bar, two men in their mid-thirties knocking back whiskey at her best friend’s memorial. She looked from one to the other. “Are you the good brother or the bad brother?” she asked.
The panic on their faces was gratifying.
They’d both been very bad brothers.
Carolyn R. Russell is the author of The Films of Joel and Ethan Coen, published by McFarland & Company in 2001. Her humorous YA mystery, Same As It Never Was, was released in 2018 by Big Table. Carolyn’s new YA dystopian thriller, In the Fullness of Time, was published by Vine Leaves Press in March of 2020. Her essays and short stories have appeared in a variety of publications, including The Boston Globe, Flash Fiction Magazine, and Bridge Eight Press. She holds an M.A. in Film Studies from Chapman University, and has taught on the college, high school, and middle school levels. Carolyn lives north of Boston with her husband and two children.