A little ringing in my ear. If I listen to it, it sings louder, over, under, and through the little holes of my ear. There’s a tiny TV playing a tinny song. A little choir in my ear, with one-note songs. They sing on, on, on, maybe until I’m gone.
Will Loop is currently homeless and enjoys spending time at his local library.
“Your box of sunshine is here,” the cheerful delivery man said after ringing the bell.
I watched him skip down the steps, ever mindful of social distancing.
Since the pandemic, almost everything suddenly became available for home delivery.
Almost.
My delivery of friends and family is still on back order.
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She looks forward to a return to normalcy.
Unsurprisingly, you’re the main character, fully responsible for the plot, constantly calculating and determining the storyline. Without you there is no direction, no structure, no foundation. You’re the weaver twisting shadowy emotions into ribbon cables, looping lengths methodically around drip lines connected to open wounds. Face it. You’re the hero.
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.
A warm summer’s evening:
A light breeze.
Green trees,
with an orange sunset.
And where:
The birds chirped.
The cat purred.
The dog barked.
The parents yelled—
and the baby cried:
Being cradled gently and carried away
by an elderly woman,
with a somber face and badge on her hip.
Pratt Institute attendee, Connor Williams started learning to write about what mattered after fleeing Brooklyn in the wake of Covid-19.
I rowed the boat whose motion made me feel like a god
seated on a water-throne.
I steered fate with a pair of rods,
breathing equanimity
into treetops,
in an animistic temple
where beauty is worshiped
and though we exchanged few words,
the conversation
was between my eyes
and water-drops.
Susie Gharib is a graduate of the University of Strathclyde with a Ph.D. on the work of D.H. Lawrence. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in multiple venues including Down in the Dirt, Three Drops from a Cauldron, Impspired Magazine, The Opiate, Mad Swirl, Leaves of Ink, The Poetry Village, A New Ulster, Adelaide Literary Magazine, The Ink Pantry, the Pennsylvania Literary Journal, the Penwood Review, and Crossways.
She was alone in the wilderness of the coronavirus. Telecommuting to work, texting friends, waving to neighbors from a distance.
She took a long drive. At a quiet intersection, she stopped briefly at the red light, then accelerated.
The police car behind her turned on its siren.
Finally, a conversation.
C.G. Thompson’s stories most recently have appeared in FlashBack Fiction, Brilliant Flash Fiction, and Flash Frontier. In December, one of her stories was read in Hong Kong. Her work has also previously appeared in 50-Word Stories.
A bedside bouquet blooms fresh, red and yellow, only for you.
Ignore the square machines humming under sterile plastic sheeting. Consider every brilliant petal a perfumed watchman, the spirit of those that yearn to hold you and bolster your withering hope.
The flowers plead, “Fight! You’re needed here with us.”
Andrew Bridgeman wrote this story. See more at andrewbridgeman.com.
“If you don’t break me out, I’ll do it myself,” the text said. Two infections in her nursing home; more to come.
I used to be a light sleeper. Now I can’t remember how I used to manage without the rhythmic, labored sounds of her apnea machine lulling me comatose.
Jane Danforth is a student who suddenly has a lot of time on her hands. She is a senior attending Zoom University.
The story of the week for April 13 to 17 is…
Beautiful Things by Jennifer L. Freed
and
Kith by Maria Cargille
She entered the hospital room where her husband lay, his eyes bandaged from his accident at work. As she sat beside his bed, he took her hand in his. “Well!” she thought, pleasantly surprised. “He hasn’t been this affectionate in years!” She began talking.
Then he exclaimed, “Oh, it’s you!”
Thomas A. North avoids marital troubles the easy way: by remaining a bachelor. This story has appeared at itrhymesattimes.wordpress.com.