Her recorder, smaller than she remembers it, now covered with a decade’s worth of dirt.
She wipes off the mouth, lifts it to her lips. A sighing sound burdens the breeze as her breath stumbles through.
Somehow her fingers find the holes with ease and tap out a hollow melody.
Prisha is a high school student who aspires to be a successful author one day. You can find out more about her at prishamehta.com.
Maisy watches with awe as rockets launch in the distance. They rise majestically into the atmosphere, leaving behind trails like shooting stars. The girl makes but one wish: for these mysterious, departing spaceships to revisit our planet soon.
Hours later, continents away, the nuclear missiles begin their return to Earth.
Jeremy C. North is a Melbournian writer of horror, sci-fi, and tragedy. You can catch him in the act at guyawks.tumblr.com.
The story of the week for March 25 to 29 is…
The Door by James Geneser
“See who’s at the door, Emily.”
I notice his muddied broken boots. Then his face all lined. His widow’s peak, sharp like mine. The smile, curling like newsprint thrown in the fire.
He says, “Found you.”
A chrysanthemum blossoms on his chest. I take the gun from mom’s shaking hand.
James Geneser is a writer and an artist who doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but knows he loves telling stories.
There is a sheet of rain between them and their hearts pound, hair suctioned to their cheeks, water droplets running off their fingertips.
Kiss her, he thinks.
Kiss him, she thinks.
“Goodbye,” he says.
“Goodbye,” she says.
And they turn away, the sheet of rain pouring down heavier than ever.
Jenna Gomes teaches English composition at the University of Dayton and sometimes writes a 50-word story in the middle of class if the inspiration hits. The secret is out.
“Can’t you just look at what the mannequins have on and wear that?” asked Joe with disdain.
Shelly’s cold sore was back, a tingle on her lip. Her body’s warning system, telling her this guy was bad news.
He moved in for a kiss. Mouth to mouth, she pressed hard.
Heidi Lobecker writes about how the body holds feelings and emotion and how movement can transform pain. She puts her pants on and hopes they fit, just like everybody else.
Grandfather’s fantasy-filled tales of visits to world capitals were sparked by a vivid imagination. “See the world,” he would urge, pointing to maps pinned precariously to the wall.
We sensed he had never ventured abroad, but his gestures and improvised foreign dialects kept us enthralled.
Listening to every single word.
John B. Sinclair is a much-travelled Scot who has now returned to Scotland, where he enjoys freelance writing on a variety of subjects.
The walls inside the grimy bathroom stall are plastered with rumors: pregnant, gay, abortion, slut.
As if words didn’t mean anything. As if they didn’t have power over a person’s life.
My grip around the Sharpie tightens. In an empty corner, I add some truth: You will be missed, Kerry.
Tonia Markou is a writer and university teacher based in Germany. She holds a Masters in Creative Writing. When she isn’t writing flash fiction or short stories or editing her first novel, she collects Converse shoes, stationery, mugs, and pajamas – not necessarily in that order. Her fiction has appeared in Flash, Lit Up, The Junction, and P.S. I Love You.
Winds whisper the sounds and sights of fall; fading flowers and falling leaves.
Dancing shadows slip away at dusk to appear again in the chilly dawn.
Golden wheat fields fall to the force of gobbling combines.
The Meadow Lark’s song signals change.
The harvest moon fills the night with mystery.
Charlotte McElroy is an 80-year-old retired teacher. She is finally following her dream: writing!
The new guard was familiar with most of the devices the curator showed him. He was experienced. He had worked, with the utmost discretion, at some of the highest security vaults and museums on the continent.
The only difference? Here they were all on the other side of the glass.
Daniel Galef collects those little metal clips they give you at the door.