I cleaned out the kitchen junk drawer, and along with toothpicks, ballpoint pens, and dead batteries, I found three hours I’d lost in 2006. Should I mow the lawn, get extra sleep, fix my life?
Caught in traffic, I pulled them out. No good: they were deader than the batteries.
David Holloway lives and writes in Northern Virginia. He has had work published in Gargoyle, Kayak, and The Mad River Review.
It looks at the Blue Whale suspended overhead and sadness clouds its thoughts. It is a robot but not unfeeling.
Programmed to preserve, it has overseen the installation of thousands of extinct species.
It watches the latest display being lowered into place. A male and a female. Designation: Homo sapiens.
Brian Maycock recently won the Scottish Book Trust’s monthly 50-word story competition and lives in Glasgow.
A baby boy sleeps, tummy side up, arms and legs open in vulnerability and confidence. A mother puts a hand to his chest, feeling the rise and fall, listens to his ragged breathing. On the floor beside the crib, she lays on her side, curled inward, fear coiling around her.
Cheryl Somers Aubin’s work has appeared in newspapers, magazines, and online journals. She has an MA/Writing from Johns Hopkins University and is the author of The Survivor Tree: Inspired by a True Story. Cheryl teaches memoir writing and is featured speaker at book festivals and writing conferences.
Homeless, he roamed the streets aimlessly, each day a looming uncertainty.
Kindness sought from strangers was elusive until a chance meeting outside a laundromat. Finally: someone who saw beyond his very rough edges.
These days, “Ben” lives cozily, his tail beating a joyous rhythm whenever his new Dad is near.
Lisa Chambers is a Texas girl and writer who loves happy endings.
The songs we sang in the evenings without electricity, seated at the doorstep, four of us and father: warm evenings with warm hearts.
The songs are old now.
I play my old songs on piano, singing them to my daughter with a new light, but I’m not sure she sees.
Noriko Jayasekera is a university lecturer.
They called you King Edward.
There were colors spilling from your guitar, swirling into sounds that shook us, the eruption we didn’t expect.
You molded our tiny, fragile worlds until we found our own strengths, and cancer found yours.
Goodnight, King. There’s still a glow from the fire on stage.
Angela Carlton wrote this tribute to Eddie Van Halen.
It starts out as a vague outline, but a warm feeling of familiarity envelops me as my pencil glides across the stretched canvas and a body begins to take shape. Smooth strokes fill in the curves of her hips and her eyes take on a life that no longer exists.
Maria S. Nitsolas is an emerging writer from Sydney, Australia. To follow her writing journey, visit mariasnitsolas.com.
Ironic that they named me “Mercy.” Am I supposed to show mercy or ask for it? They never told me.
Tomorrow I will sentence Slade for grand theft. I’ve accepted his modest gratuity.
Thing is, I’d already decided to go easy on him anyway. No harm, no foul, I figure.
Steve Legomsky is a former mathematician; Washington University law professor specializing in immigration, refugees, and human rights; and Chief Counsel of the immigration services agency in the Obama Administration. He has had visiting research or teaching appointments in twelve countries and has published three scholarly books (Oxford University Press and West Academic); numerous academic journal articles; one novel, “The Picobe Dilemma” (Booklocker.com, 2017); and short stories in The Ravens Perch, Fewer than 500, the Broadkill Review (forthcoming January 2021), Idle Ink (forthcoming Nov. 7, 2020), and Offcourse. Steve lives in St. Louis and loves his family, children, animals, and the Red Sox.
The story of the week for November 9 to 13 is…
Blowing Off the Dust by B.S. Roberts
With a swipe of my hand, the pentagram completes. Cold air ignites into neon light. I wave, pushing the star away—curtailing physics, defying rationality. Choking on my tears, my naivety of a moment ago astounds me.
As the glow fades, I close the ancient tome. Magic becomes fantasy again.
When not indulging himself by reading or writing poetry and prose, B.S. Roberts makes a living as a museum curator and an administrative assistant at the University of Maine at Augusta. He lives in Maine with his fiancée, daughter, silver pheasants, turtle, and four cats. See more at bsroberts.com.