He left on a fine spring morning. Then, she was still young and fair. When he returned, he found that she had aged; she was paler and her skin was wrinkled. It had only been a year, but to a person in love, a year is an eternity too long.
Vivian Leung lives in Scottsdale, Arizona, and has always held a love for music and writing. One of her goals in life is to land a career in healthcare. There are few things that are more rewarding to her than helping others.
Mowing the lawn is refreshingly mindless. Must look ahead to keep my rows straight and my cutting thorough. But I can also look back. And remember those who worked for me. One stepped in front of a train. But only one. Must keep my rows straight and my cutting thorough.
Robert Markovich spent a lifetime in what is charitably referred to as service journalism, writing and editing stories about everything from cars to toilets, most recently at Consumer Reports. He is happily and gratefully retired.
They scheduled routine check-ups, but the doctors were gone. They were tended by interns.
They sent children back to school. Half the teachers were gone.
So it went: at police stations, town halls, colleges, labs—everywhere, those with the most experience to pass on were either sick, or already gone.
Jennifer L. Freed mostly writes poems, which have appeared in various journals and anthologies. Her website is jfreed.weebly.com
It’s not your fault, Son. After all you went through, they still didn’t follow instructions.
“It didn’t work. There’s too much suffering. What can we do?”
Shut it down. Just like I started it 6024 years ago.
And God said, “Let there be no light.”
And there was no light.
Harry Demarest wrote this story.
My son has a plot—his own little piece of real estate. The grass is sparse, so I tend it: raking topsoil, spreading seed, pouring water. New sprouts emerge, filling the aching gaps.
I remove the weeds, pretending he’s on vacation.
But my heart screams his name and I cry.
Tawnia is an elementary teacher in Ontario who recently started writing. She is revising her first novel, a YA sci-fi, and hopes to start querying agents soon. She recently told a Red Chair story via Zoom for the Graham Norton Show. You can find her on Twitter @TawniaCourage.
A wide beam of sunlight slashed into the room. The window wasn’t where it should be and the doorway had been moved, and every piece of furniture had been transformed by age or substituted with an antique. Nothing was recognizable. Dust floated in the light. He breathed in the smell.
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.
Monday morning: I know she’s wrong.
Tuesday: I think she’s wrong.
Wednesday: I ask my workmate, “She’s wrong, no?”
Thursday: I cook pan-roasted salmon, wait for her.
Friday: “Are you still angry, Baby?”
Saturday: “Sorry. I knew I was wrong.”
Sunday: We drive to the beach, curl up under stars.
Mandira Pattnaik is an Economics graduate who lets her degree gather dust while she word-weaves. Some of those pieces have made their way into Spelk, Lunate, Gasher, Star82, and fiftywordstories. She tweets @MandiraPattnaik.
The story of the week for July 20 to 24 is…
Defined by CMF Wright
After Rapunzel donated her braid to Locks of Love, her head felt too light, like it might float away.
They called her selfless, saintly. They praised her for her sacrifice.
She couldn’t tell anyone the real truth—that she needed to learn who she was, without her hair defining her.
C.M.F. Wright writes sentences that occasionally turn into stories. Her short stories have appeared in Syntax & Salt Magazine and in the VSS365 Anthology.
Poverty’s chasing me. Getting closer all the time.
Bills due. Check spent. Emergency funds gone. Fridge’s close to empty.
Then something breaks. Again.
Doing without becomes second nature. Rolled coins, coupons, and the dollar store become tricks of the trade. Keeping poorness at bay. And I make it… this month.
Alyce Clark is adjusting to sheltering in place, practicing social distancing when shopping for essentials… and truly missing her grandmother.