When the doctor returns with the information the man remembers how his wet hair turned to ice the night he jumped from his bath and ran across the unfurrowed field, water dripping down his hairless legs, his feet pounding the frozen potato dirt, where no summer fingers now ever dig.
John Riley’s fiction and poetry have appeared in Metazen, The Dead Mule, Smokelong Quarterly, Connotation Press, and many other places online and in print. He lives in North Carolina.
Hands, rough from years of hard labour; hands, morphed to the shapes of their tools; hands, discarded, unwanted, idle; hands, now tornadoes of boredom and rage and frustration; hands, locked together with bracelets of steel; hands that would’ve toiled until the life drained out of them, if they’d been allowed.
Laura Besley writes short fiction in the precious moments that her children are asleep. Her fiction has appeared online, as well as in print and in various anthologies. Her flash fiction collection, The Almost Mothers, was published in March 2020. She tweets @laurabesley.
It started with surreptitious phone calls. Overheard whispers about holding her… “she’s the one.” How could he?!
Jenna’s heart raced as his car pulled up. Ready to confront, she threw open the door to find him cradling Millie, their new Labrador puppy.
Moral: distrust can be ruff, but fur-giveness heals.
Lisa Chambers is a Texas girl who enjoys writing and appreciates the amazing writers of Fifty-Word Stories.
He set the bottle down at the door, grunting as his back popped. He wiped the troll blood off his sword, toed off his muddy boots, and shook leaves out of his hair. Satisfied, he picked up the bottle and entered.
“I’m home!” he shouted. “And I brought the milk!”
Anthony Lora is a serial and short fiction writer living in Orlando. Follow him on Twitter at @AnthonyLFiction and find a free set of his flash fiction on Patreon.
Brittney is young, healthy, so she’s not worried. She and her friends gather in each other’s apartments, sharing beer and restlessness, missing Real Life.
Then Brittney’s neighbor—the retired kindergarten teacher she buys groceries for—tests positive.
Finally the headline sinks in: Brittney and all her friends could be carriers.
Jennifer L Freed mostly writes poems, which have appeared in various journals and anthologies. Her website is jfreed.weebly.com
Who stole my youth?
When I hired a detective, he discovered the truth. “They were in it together, these two,” he said, passing me their photos.
Father Time showed no remorse, his face kind and gentle.
Mother Nature was unrepentant. “Honestly, darling,” she said when questioned, “what did you expect?”
Kate Fellowes has published six mysteries, most recently A Menacing Brew. Her short stories have appeared in many publications, from Woman’s World to Crimestalker Casebook. Working in a public library, every day is a busman’s holiday for her. She blogs at katefellowes.wordpress.com.
Forty dollars. That’s it. All day walkin’ hot alleys. Ain’t nobody want the last corn and watermelon I got here. My feet are burning, my hands are sore from leading this pony.
Now, pony, just one more alley. I’m gonna find you some water.
Watermelon, watermelon, red to the rind.
Ann Bracken has authored two poetry collections, No Barking in the Hallways: Poems from the Classroom and The Altar of Innocence, serves as a contributing editor for Little Patuxent Review, and co-facilitates Wilde Readings Poetry Series in Columbia, MD. Her poetry, essays, and interviews have appeared in numerous anthologies and journals. Ann’s advocacy work centers around arts-based interventions for mental health and prison reform. See more at annbrackenauthor.com.
The wheel is spinning.
I am gambling on red.
If this pays off I will be very rich.
It will be the perfect casino heist.
Only…
the traffic light is green. A truck hits me side on.
The wheel is spinning. I can’t control…
This getaway is strictly
no dice.
Brian Maycock lives in Glasgow, Scotland. His short stories have appeared in magazines including Dreamcatcher and The Weekly News.
His tortoiseshell glasses lie on a table by his armchair, where his coffee used to steam. He’d put them on to narrate The Twits, demystify long division and, later, to share the cryptic crossword. Alone here now, I tame the unwieldy broadsheet and ink-shape solutions, just as Grandpa shaped me.
Michelle Christophorou’s short fiction has won and been placed in competitions, including the latest Strands International Flash Fiction Competition, and the Retreat West Fire-themed flash competition, for which she received a ‘Best of the Net’ nomination 2019. In another life, Michelle practised law in the City of London. Follow her at @MAChristophorou.
The story of the week for June 15 to 19 is…
In Memoriam by Thad DeVassie