Belly pushed forward, one hand at my back, the other slowly patting circles over my protruding stomach. I study my reflection from the side and front, imagining something inside. But there’s nothing there. Only the seed of doubt that has taken root and started to grow: there may never be.
Margaret is an amateur writer, but her mother thinks she’s WONDERFUL. She resides in Indianapolis.
His feet were useless. Numb. His hands, too.
Madame Lilly had warned against dosing off during these quickie BDSM sessions. But Leland was a stubborn, silly, silly man, and he’d carb loaded earlier.
The knots were taking their toll.
Had such expensive discipline taught him nothing about patience? About himself?
Larry D. Thacker’s poetry can be found in over a hundred publications including Spillway, The Still Journal, American Journal of Poetry, Poetry South, Mad River Review, The Southern Poetry Anthology, Mojave River Review,Town Creek Poetry, and Appalachian Heritage. His books include Mountain Mysteries, and the poetry books, Drifting in Awe, Voice Hunting, Memory Train, and the forthcoming full collections, Feasts of Evasion and Grave Robber Confessional. His MFA in poetry and fiction is earned from West Virginia Wesleyan College. His stories can be found in past issues of The Still Journal, Fried Chicken and Coffee, Dime Show Review, Pikeville Review, Vandalia Journal, and Grotesque Quarterly. His stories have been nominated for Pushcart and Best of the Net recognitions. Visit his website at larrydthacker.com.
“It’s from the Mexicans,” she explained, slicing the cake.
“Mom,” I protested. “They have names.”
“I can’t remember…”
“Hugo and Gina. They’ve lived next door for more than a year.”
“They’re nice,” she admitted, “but I don’t let them in.”
Later that afternoon, the “For Sale” sign appeared next door.
Tony Jasnowski teaches English at Bellevue University in Bellevue, NE. He is grateful for those neighbors who welcomed his own immigrant parents and siblings many years ago.
I didn’t give her my password because it was “I LOVE SUSAN,” and I hadn’t told her yet. She ended the relationship the following morning with a text. She said if I couldn’t trust her, she couldn’t stay.
I responded with the password, but she said it was too late.
Rob O’Hara works with computers all day and words all night. Find out what Rob’s up to at RobOHara.com.
There must be 50 words to leave your lover.
Goodbye, see you later, don’t call, don’t text, don’t call or text again, it’s over, you cheated, I cheated, it’s not you it’s me, moving away, found someone online, with your brother or sister, with your best friend.
All recently used.
Denny E. Marshall has had art, poetry, and fiction published, including fiction in Night To Dawn April 2018. See more at dennymarshall.com.
The story of the week for May 7 to 11 is…
To the Grave by Melanie Cranenburgh
The morning after, I find myself putting chopped tomatoes in my omelette, the same way he did. He had them ready on our first visit and somehow it became our ritual.
I hate tomatoes. But I’m glad I never told him.
I’ll miss Grandpa’s stories. And his tomato omelettes, too.
Melissa Kelly is a poet and short story writer from Long Island, NY. You can see some of her work in WestWard Quarterly Magazine, Plum Tree Tavern, Soft Cartel, Amethyst Review, and Anti-Heroin Chic.
At dawn, Ronnie groaned. He picked up the new watch, his bargain from the market.
He smashed it against the wall. “The deal of the decade!” he exclaimed.
I pretended to be asleep, feeling guilty now. It had probably been a bit much to rewind it by four hours…
A former newspaper journalist, Ciaran Tierney is a digital storyteller and blogger based in Galway, Irealnd. He has a keen interest in Irish culture, music, politics, and travel, and is seeking new challenges in the digital age. Find him at ciarantierney.com.
The rule for any cougar is half your age, then add seven. Anything below this is unacceptable, and would you want to be known as a cradle robber?
I am 54, so under 35 is prohibited. Well that narrows it down a bit.
It also puts me in a predicament.
Vicky is a budding author, living in the remote, rural Irish landscape.
Knitting knitting knitting.
It grew. It grew. It shifted slightly just that way and became a caterpillar.
A fuzzy caterpillar.
It ate.
It slowed.
It wove.
It slept.
It slept straight through the pain, the breaking, the making, the knitting into a new life.
It emerged, for beauty.
For beauty.
Quite by chance, Plum Kennard has been around quite a while and is happy to be in this world. Her work reflects her delight in the magical moments of life, but also the grief & loss a long life brings.