“Ouch!” I yelp, snatching back my hand from the water.
Blood beads, oozing from two dainty wounds.
“Maybe there really was a mix-up,” wonders my wife, picking up the baby soap.
We never did call the hospital back.
Licking her lips, our daughter smiles sweetly up from the bath tub.
Dr. SK Chynoweth is a humanitarian aid worker and pracademic living in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. She writes micro-sagas and other stuff in her spare time. See more at sarahchynoweth.com.
The story of the week for November 30 to December 4 is…
Playground by Claire Natale
Mom never lets me visit.
Space is too tight. Writing deadlines.
No mention of a bedroom after a year.
If I question, she says love transcends space. I’m too domestic in attitude. Like Dad.
I spend weekends with movie moms.
At least it’s easy to capture and recapture a hug.
Yash Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program. His stories, “Soon,” “How To Be A Good Episcopalian,” and “Tales From A Communion Line,” were nominated for Pushcarts. Yash’s work has been published in The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, Write City Magazine, and Ariel Chart, among others.
Robb and I had eluded the Yeti in Tibet, Nessie in Scotland, and Bigfoot in the Pacific Northwest. But while on a Caribbean cruise seeking mermaids, I saw a green-haired female in a wheelchair stand up. Then she and Robb embraced, whereupon both leapt over the railing into the sea.
Don Nigroni has a Bachelor’s Degree in Economics from Saint Joseph’s University and a Master’s Degree in Philosophy from Notre Dame and worked as an economist for the US Bureau of Labor Statistics.
She pushed me off the swings
and kicked mulch in my face
I didn’t push back
just laid there
eyes stinging
blush forming
from the pain in my knees
from the shame of my position
from the flutter in my heart I got
watching her
pink
lace-up
shoes
skip away
Claire Natale wrote this story.
A delicate blossom, the king had called her. His lily.
“Do you know what lilies and foxglove have in common?” she asked over lunch, and he laughed—Only women care for flowers.
She watched him lift the petal-tainted bite to his lips, and she contemplated the resizing of his crown.
C.M.F. Wright is an avid reader and sentence wrangler. Her short stories have appeared in Fifty Word Stories, Microfiction Monday, Syntax & Salt Magazine and the VSS365 Anthology.
Lockdown. Again.
I’ve disinfected everything, painted the whole house, and the garden looks stunning. I’ve watched Game of Thrones in its entirety, read a novel a week, and taken long walks. I’ve been schoolwork monitor and playmate for my kids. Working from home’s actually been fun.
Lockdown again… It’s great.
Helen Merrick lives in the UK Midlands with her family. When she’s not teaching, she likes to scribble short stories and dream about writing a novel. She might, one day. See more at authorhelenmerrick.wordpress.com.
The contents of the cupboard are as follows:
I grab it all, collapse on the floor beside the table blocking the door, and feast while something awful moves beyond the boarded windows.
Joy Rayner writes at the peak of Lake Erie. In January she will be migrating north to study floral design.
“Eight, please,” I said politely to the old man standing next to the control panel as I entered the elevator. He pushed the top button, instead. Suddenly, I was scrunched flat to my knees from an immense upward acceleration.
“We’re way past the moon, now,” the old man said, calmly.
Dave and his lovely wife, Kate, and their two hungry rescue cats live in the Pennsylvania countryside, where he enjoys working on his novel about distant planets and flying saucers.
Twin trees grow side by side, sap pulsing to the same rhythm, roots entwined; they are more one than two.
Then the wind… Furious storm engulfs them, ripping, tearing, rending-
CRASH.
Endless silence.
The survivor slowly gathers up shredded roots and cradles them as the dregs of life drain away.
Maria wrote this in remembrance of all the trees that were destroyed in this year’s derecho. These two trees are real, and the one that made it still looks lonely.