BOB THURBER: My bookie’s response to hand delivering him an envelope stuffed with play money on April Fool’s Day

Amusing, Submissions

You owe me. You know exactly how much you owe me. Everybody here knows how long I’ve waited and how much of my money you still owe. So listen up. Everybody in here’s a witness. You now owe double. Okay. Happy now? Double the amount. Who’s laughing now, funny man?

Bob Thurber is the author of six books. Regarded as a master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in Esquire and other magazines, been anthologized 60 times, received a long list of awards, and been utilized in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.

JESS COSTELLO: Sharps

Artistic, Submissions, , , , ,

It took three large men to move the piano. I never played; those ivory rectangles were the last thing you touched.

When the legs finally cleared the doorway, while the lid clanged onto that moving truck, a square of light poured from the window, pale snowflakes trilling above like possibility.

Jess Costello is a graduate student and writer based in Massachusetts. Her writing has appeared at Boston Hassle, Boston Accent, and The Blue Mountain Review. She is currently at work on another novel and drinking too much tea.

TORI TISO: The Meat Man in the Mall

Artistic, Submissions, , , ,

Tender grass grows in the pavement beneath him.

He is underprepared for the August heat.

Settling blood is thickening to jelly in paper.

Cars coil around the Dave & Buster’s parking lot.

His son cancelled on him today.

The truck was supposed to be insulated.

He can’t sling rib-eyes much longer.

Tori Tiso (she/her) is a writer, feminist, and cryptid enthusiast hailing from Wisconsin. She earned a BA in Creative Writing from UW-Madison in 2020. Lately, she has been embroidering cow sweaters whilst eating cheese in the Dairyland.

MARIAH FERIA: Chilled

Amusing, Odd, Submissions, , ,

She’d kept her books in the fridge, Risa discovered when her mother died. Where most stored milk, her mother put Woolf. She found Stein in the salad draw.

Risa took them home and went one better, placing them side by side in her freezer.

The pages gradually turned to Frost.

Mariah is a writer and reviewer living in London. She writes short fiction and has a particular love for translated literature and strange tales.

SUSAN SAGARIN: How You Know

Artistic, Submissions, , , ,

First, it feels like the flu. Your easygoing stomach rebels. Your head is a balloon flying skyward. A ribbon of sweat pops up above your lip. Your quiet steady heartbeat hiccups, stalls, double-times to catch up. Then, he cocks his head and looks at you.

You exhale. Everything is fine.

Susan Sagarin is a retired editor and aspiring YouTuber. Visit her site at inspirationonafternoonlane.com

FIONA McKAY: The Water Carrier

Submissions, Top Stories, Touching, , , ,

You carry the water, excited to be doing it for yourself. You rush, and water spills over the top, exuberantly, and you have to wait, impatiently, while I mop it up.

I carry your life in my hands, carefully, so that none of it spills.

Fiona McKay is an opera-loving recovering lawyer who is working on a novel in Dublin, Ireland.

MARTHA LANE: Hungry

Amusing, Artistic, Submissions, , ,

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.

MISSY LYNNE: Every Moment

Artistic, Poetry, Submissions, , ,

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.

ESTHER BYRNE: Loss

Artistic, Submissions, , , ,

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.