First night back, I ditch duffel and boots and fall asleep on the floor by his bed.
A click in the dark wakes me. Beside me he sits, Nerf gun in hand.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Keeping you safe,” he says. Tilts his head at the darkness under the bed.
Graham Robert Scott’s stories have appeared in Pulp Literature, Nature, Barrelhouse, and others.
“I will make this bad week good,”
she says with the tenacity of a teenager
clinging to the lie of a broken curfew—
the tire flat; the phone dead.
Hunting and pecking key after key,
certain each stroke will not just create
a new world,
but wash away the old.
Cathrine Goldstein writes a whole lot of gritty, real-feeling “stuff.” Most of it takes place in NYC. She also eats boat loads of chocolate pretty much every day. To find out more about her bestselling novels, award-winning plays, and other writings including articles, short stories, and poetry, please visit CathrineGoldstein.com
Familiar kitchen sounds,
the blender’s roar and faucet’s trickle,
ground me here.
Illusory clouds of coffee
sting my nose,
an inescapable reminder
that summer is going fast
that vacation is nearly over.
I swallow hard,
and try to remember
how to not feel like a visitor
in my childhood home.
Maria is about to go back to college. She loves being home, but every once in a while, she’s overwhelmed by the understanding that things are changing.
David’s Gran smelled of urine and talcum powder, and her parrot always squawked when he visited her. He could not drink Gran’s tea or eat her cake.
“It’ll put hairs on your chest,” she said.
But David is still waiting for the parrot to sprout a fur coat and bark.
K. S. Dearsley’s stories, flash fiction, and poetry have appeared online and in print on both sides of the Atlantic, including in Fifty-Word Stories. Her fantasy novels are available on Amazon and Smashwords. Find out more at ksdearsley.com.
Open your eyes and ears.
Don’t make selections based merely on appearance.
Mix, knead and prove. It may take years.
If friendship does not rise, mix in more dough or start again.
May require variations depending on ingredients.
Joey believes there is at least one recipe for everything but many are not easy, especially if it’s important. But at least getting to his website, joeytoey.com, isn’t hard.
Scales shed by the monster as it attacked the city are thick underfoot. We make a covering path of them to traverse the glass shards and twisted metal filling the streets, seeking safety. The memory of a reptile’s gaze, my reflection so small in its mutant’s eye, haunts each step.
Brian Maycock lives in Glasgow in Scotland. His short stories have most recently appeared in 365 Tomorrows and The Weekly News.
There is no wind, yet the curtains move by the window.
Shadows shift languidly on the moonlit wall.
The night is warm, yet I am suddenly chilled.
I am alone, my first night in my new home, yet there are footsteps on the stair.
The bedroom door is creaking open.
John Young is an old chap, grappling with themes of limits, longings, and finitude. He likes spooky stuff.
The story of the week for July 27 to 31 is…
Kneel by Eric Persaud
Her look was summery; the weather was not. She stood shivering in her flower-speckled sundress, staring upward as the heavens opened, and torrents descended. Colourful ribbons in her hair were soon plastered against her scalp.
The forecast promised hot and sunny, but during the pandemic, nothing unfolded as it should.
Alan Kemister is the pen name of a retired scientist experimenting with more fictitious writing. He’s currently working on a climate change novel. Get the gory details at alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com
Towering above
stands a man
clad in iron skin,
sheets of copper
draped over shoulders,
taint of green eyes
barren of thought
Below
I am
told to kneel
before the man
who once
would have had me in shackles
and as empty in thought
as the monument
standing before me
Eric Persaud fights for public health.