What color is my mind’s eye?
Does it match the two green orbs set in their sockets to gather and compress the world down into a space the size of a round melon?
Does it blink? Obviously yes: I walk into a room, stop, wonder:
“Why am I in here?”
Le Anne likes the cozy retreat afforded by a blustery winter day, no excuse needed to spend its entirety putting thought to paper. Even the dove is snuggled in the straw under the azalea bush, eyes closed. No, slightly open…no, closed…
Awards, diplomas, and trophies cover the walls. Her desk’s concealed by to-do lists, empty coffee-cups, and pencil stubs. Her fingernails are bitten down to the beds, eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights. Her family praises her, but a mother who ran makes her wonder if she’ll ever truly be good enough.
Karalyn Wayne enjoys writing stories with a hot drink in hand and her dog at her feet. When she isn’t procrastinating, she writes. This is the first time she’s been published.
High in her tower, the witch wove her hands over the dark crystal globe. Smoke swirled and gathered. Her grey eyes glimmered as the image of her hungering desire took form.
A deluxe cheeseburger and cola.
The globe flashed green, and the image became an hourglass. Ten minutes, it showed.
Michael B. Keane is a London-based writer. He dabbles in poetry and short speculative fiction.
You were sitting at the kitchen table as usual, enjoying your morning coffee. I gasped when I saw you. I couldn’t help it.
You must have seen that you’d shaken me, because suddenly you were gone. Vaporized.
But how could I ever be afraid of you? Next time, please stay.
Alex Markovich believes in guardian angels.
The story of the week for January 18 to 22 is…
Homecoming by Finnian Burnett
He would sometimes sleep with his books, several outlining his body, others resting beneath his pillows. He loved holding them, tracing his fingers along their covers. And while this should have been enough to inspire him to learn to read, he was content to collect them for their beauty alone.
Ran Walker is the author of twenty-three books, including The Strange Museum: 50-Word Stories. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University.
Cold eyes roll. With a shrug, I am dismissed. I know not to risk a hug; too long since he acquiesced. Instead, reaching for a smile, I say, “Sick, bro!”
(Am I saying it right?)
Eyes narrow without leaving the screen. “Get lost, Dad.”
But he is smiling, a little.
Emma Robertson is an emerging fiction writer from London, UK who had her first three pieces published in late 2020 (Pure Slush and Eastern Iowa Review) and early 2021 (Free Flash Fiction). She teaches inclusive dance in adult education and community outreach, currently online, and has previously written articles for dance industry magazines. Follow Emma at @emmadancetrain
“I love estate sales,” my mom said.
“Me too. You find the coolest books. Like this one. It’s so old the pages are vellum!” I said, passing her the book.
“Isn’t vellum usually lamb skin?” she asked.
“Yes, why?”
“This page has a tattoo of a Navy anchor on it!”
David Faulkner is the puppet to two cats, owner of a dog, and possesses a twisted sense of humor.
My phone vibrates. I have drunk three bourbons, and the moon is small. I stumble through alleys, looking for child-sized shadows. Maybe she’s behind an inflatable Santa, spinning in the light.
I buried my child under a tree. Nobody looks for her. My heart pounds with desire; my criminal heart.
Becca Yenser is a recent graduate of the MFA creative writing program at Wichita State University. They like paying attention.
Lydia had run out of excuses to give to friends when she ran across his obituary.
She made wild plans: to date again, dance like Shakira, run at dusk, create a Facebook account to share adventures, sleep through the night after changing the locks one more time against his ghost.
Kay Rae Chomic is a novelist (A Tight Grip), and writer of flash. Kay lives in Seattle dodging raindrops, has a passion for ping pong, and is a Motown fan forever.