After the funeral, we started emptying her house.
“Do you remember her blackberry rhubarb crumble?”
“No.” I don’t.
“I remember. It was delicious.”
“I’m allergic to rhubarb. Gives me a rash.”
My sister looks away. “I’m sorry.” She’s not apologizing for being forgetful.
It’s easy to clear a stranger’s home.
Lucy McMahon is a student at the University of Bristol. She enjoys writing, painting, and baking.
I drop the bags on the floor thinking I’ll unpack later and slump down onto the couch. Feet up, shoes on, too tired to care. My exhausted mind starts to drift as my eyes close.
Suddenly, a hand hits my face.
“Daddy, I missed you. Will you play with me?”
Ben likes playing with his children, but sometimes it’s hard to get off the couch.
Once it soared, glorious.
Now watery eyes observe him.
He holds out his pipe. They played this game when it was new hatched – until his eyebrows were singed clean off.
There is a rumbling. A wispy flame ignites the tobacco, and a glimmer flickers in those eyes.
A dragon’s smile.
Brian Maycock lives in Scotland. He has work forthcoming in the British Fantasy Society’s Horizons magazine.
The story of the week for March 29 to April 2 is…
The Water Carrier by Fiona McKay
Wrapped in an unbreakable silence, she stares down at the silent, perfect child in her arms. Her face is drawn, wet with endless tears.
Fingers tracing his eyelids, translucent, indefatigably closed, pause, as with a sudden, unbearable clarity she realises the colour of his eyes will be for ever unknown.
Rachel Canwell is a teacher and book blogger, writing in secret for years but starting to put her head about the parapet!
“Every evening after dinner we’ll do some exercise,” Richard says. “What do you like?”
Graham shrugs. “Nothing.”
Richard knows this is Graham’s fifth foster home in as many months. “Let’s start with jogging.”
It takes months, but stamina builds; endorphins are released, words too, and Richard never leaves Graham’s side.
Laura Besley writes short fiction and squeezes her writing into the bookends of her day. She has lived in Holland, Germany, and Hong Kong, but now lives in land-locked central England and misses the sea. Her flash fiction collection, The Almost Mothers, was published in March 2020. She tweets at @laurabesley.
I did not look in the mirror and think, “I wonder if there’s a fancy apron I could sew that draws unwanted attention to my generous hips, and wait, wouldn’t it be cool if I could only find noncomplementary fabric colours and patterns in my stash?”
But here we are.
Sharon Gerger has recently retired and is cycling through all of her interests now that time has been set free in her life. Up next, learning to play the harmonica. Her writing appears here and there, in print and on the internet.
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.
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.
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.