She didn’t need her smile after her husband died, so she gave it to her daughter, who was pregnant. Years later, she looked up to see someone walk through her door. It was her old friend the smile, now with short legs and rosy cheeks.
“Have some cookies,” she said.
C.M.F. Wright writes sentences that occasionally turn into stories. Her short stories have appeared in 50-Word Stories, Syntax & Salt Magazine and the VSS365 Anthology.
The autumn leaves fell in the soft breeze and swirled around Penny’s feet as she trudged down the lane. The world was dying around her, perhaps more so than in years past.
Heart heavy, she chose the biggest acorn, dug a deep hole in the yard, and planted fresh hope.
Lucinda Gunnin is a commercial property manager and author in the western Philadelphia suburbs, looking for hope that 2020 will eventually end.
I’ve seen this word. I’ve traced its letters, spelled it, tapped it, sang it, formed it with clay, formed it in sand, and closed my eyes real tight and pictured it hundreds of times, times, times, but my brain is like a giant bulb, full of hot air, blinking red.
Alyssa Minaker is a reading support teacher who helps students with dyslexia.
The needle pierces my worn-out vein. A schism opens between mind and body, thoughts and deeds; widens as I tumble into chaos, search for your eyes in those that turn away. Waves of light bear down on me. Blasts of sound. My head meets the pavement. And there you are.
Jayne Martin lives in Santa Barbara, California. She is a Pushcart, Best Small Fictions, and Best Microfictions nominee, and a recipient of Vestal Review’s VERA award. Her collection of microfiction, “Tender Cuts,” from Vine Leaves Press, is available now through all online book sellers. See more at jaynemartin-writer.com.
The widower, Mr. Rochester, didn’t pick up his rose bouquet today. He says roses remind him of his beautiful wife.
His neighbor, Mr. John, walked in the next day. He asked, “Do you have Yellow Pansy?”
I answered, “No. Why?”
“Pansy would remind me of my good friend, Mr. Rochester.”
Lea is a ghost writer who hides in another person’s shadow. She came out today to write stories again.
I remember it well. Me and Neil and Buzz, loping along, kicking up moon dust like cowboys home, home on the range. Only we had no horses and we wore space helmets, not stetsons.
So many times I’ve watched that footage. Yet it’s always a surprise: I’m never in shot.
Thomas Malloch is a retired doctor from Scotland. Always a reader, he thought he might try his hand at writing. He completed a Masters in Creative Writing (Distinction) at theOpen University in 2018. His work has appeared in the barcelona review, Bath Flash Fiction, Reflex Fiction, and Gutter.
My dog waits at the door
Outside he’s in his element
His charismatic smile
A beacon
For everyone to greet him
He thrives on affection
Times have changed
His disappointed eyes look back
For an explanation
There is no affection from six feet?
How surreal
The virus
And its implications
After 42 years of working with industrial computers, robots, and automation, Patrick Yu has retired. While not ideal times, he looks forward to his many hobbies, one of which is writing.
The story of the week for August 31 to September 4 is…
Inbox Emptiness by Yash Seyedbagheri
Following a grandson’s visit, Dot got a phone call.
“Did you get frustrated and yell at Dad?” her daughter asked.
“Regarding his hearing aid, I may have raised my voice to ask whether he wanted me to change his batteries.”
“That explains it! Sammy thinks his grandpa is a robot.”
John H. Dromey’s short fiction’s been published in Mystery Weekly Magazine and over one-hundred-fifty other venues.
Thinking of you is like sipping my second cup of coffee of the day: not a yearning rush, just savoring the dreamy warmth and bittersweetness. My eyes will still moisten suddenly, fogged in the aroma of the past, when my fingers run across your old ring laced with green patina.
Lorna Ye writes flash fiction and poetry. She enjoys listening to soft jazz and trying new recipes.