At first, she felt free. She’d bask in the summer evening radiance, watching the kaleidoscope of stars filling the night sky with their regular patterns. Like lights from faraway friends, watching over her.
But in winter, the pavement was cold. Clouds blocked out the stars. Friends seemed very far away.
Jo Withers hopes that everyone has friends nearby. You can follow Jo on Twitter.
When I was young, I wished I could ride my bike around the block, coasting downhill all the way.
Since I got my degree in physics I know that’s impossible.
I now wish that the integral of the gradient of the gravitational potential around a closed loop could be negative.
Harry Demarest received a BA in physics from Reed College in 1969, and a PhD in planetary and space physics from UCLA in 1975.
I miss reading your gothic paranormal dinosaur erotica poetry.
I miss you playing B-side heavy metal on low volume whilst veganising carnivorous recipes.
I miss picking up a full jar of pickles and standing stupidly with only the lid in my hand.
I missed the meaning of your goodbye note.
Alice Lam moved to Australia from the UK with her partner and they share a house in Melbourne, along with a cheese-seeking, greying Boxer dog. See more at alicelambooks.com.
Just when Tabitha tired of dating, she met a Buddhist monk. He was perfect: sensual, serene, and cute as heck. And no ex-wives or step-kids to deal with.
But his constant cheerfulness finally got to her. She missed drama and the thrill of a good argument. The breakup was inevitable.
Debbie L. Miller writes from Brooklyn, New York where she writes in multiple genres. She won the 2017 Mona Schreiber Prize for Humorous Fiction and Nonfiction.
Every morning, rain or shine, after his breakfast, Roland negotiates the overgrown sidewalk to his mailbox. Most days he finds it empty, but occasionally there’s a bill or political ad.
Neighbors sent him a pamphlet highlighting snail mail addiction. Roland reviewed it, painstakingly resealed it, then specified “Return to sender.”
Roberta Beach Jacobson is a humorist from Iowa.
Being available
Is not always
A virtue
In many situations
It is a vice
You are sweet
Happily you greet
But they are there
To get your meat
It’s your peace
That they wish
To eat
Drain your brain
Till you allow
To entertain
Be bold
And learn to complain
Preeti Singh is an Indian French interpreter, writer-journalist, cinema artist.
You can learn more about her at: https://about.me/preeti-singh
Before dying, she softly whispered, “I’ve never really loved you, and now I can’t make it up to you.”
He already knew, and consoled, “Don’t worry about that now. I’ve loved you enough for both of us.”
That’s when he saw in her eyes the love he’d always waited for.
Connell is always upbeat about putting something in his bio section and personally writes them all by himself as others couldn’t be bothered doing it for him.
We threw out his WWII manuals on the M4 Sherman, the “Tommycooker.” Piles of clothes and shoes carted off to Goodwill. Flotsam of a lifetime, from legal documents to Nazi plunder to oxygen masks, still fighting his own private war. The holocaust filled each room, that lingering smell of pipe-smoke.
Jim Doss lives in Sykesville, Maryland, and earns his living as a software engineer. He has previously published two books of poems: Learning to Talk Again and What Remains. In partnership with Werner Schmitt, he also published a book of German translations entitled The Last Gold of Expired Stars: The Complete Poems of Georg Trakl 1908 – 1914. In his spare time, he is an editor for the Loch Raven Review.
The story of the week for July 23 to 27 is…
Another Misadventure of the Broken Boys by Bob Thurber
“Hand over that bag. Quick,” the man snarled.
He remembered inspirational words from his father, martyred in Kargil: “Always be brave.”
No time for valour, he reasoned.
He gingerly surrendered the bag. The man unzipped it, gave an evil smile, and shot him.
There is no fixed time for valour.
Vijai Pant is a language teacher in a school in India. He is also a freelance writer.