Succulent bluefish flesh and raspberry fool remind me of the day we moored “Rain” and collected supper on the island. Father caught fish; we foraged raspberries. That night, we savored our bounty in white candlelight, not knowing who would be gutted and who would be plucked when the pirates attacked.
Alison Moore has spent much of her career in marketing. Now she’s writing fiction for fun. Her work can be found in Edible Boston and 50-Word Stories.
“I don’t like this place,” said my 100-year-old mom. She lives in an ARF. “I’m going to leave soon.”
“You’re lonely,” I responded. “I understand loneliness. Have you tried connecting with God?”
“Oh, don’t give me that mushy God talk.
I want to go home and be with my mother.”
A former journalist, Maria Miller is working on a novel while enjoying life in Spain.
My neighbours think my wife accompanies me on my walks. We stroll, my hand firmly supporting her figure, and together we bob our heads in cordial greeting.
“Not ones for chatter.”
At home, I dismantle the puppet and pop it in my cupboard, whilst Jemima screams incessantly in the basement.
Estelle Bardot is the pen name of a teen music student studying piano and composition. When she’s not composing, Estelle can be found lost in the pages of a book or writing poetry. She loves long walks on the beach (or anywhere, really), travelling, and is a sucker for anything dark academia aesthetic. Her work has been published in Under the Madness Magazine, Flora Fiction, Alternate Route, and Skipping Stones.
Red rain’s fallen countless times, macabre downpours ensanguined by desert dust or tiny algae, swept into the clouds and tumbling back to earth. Mere quirks of nature and climate rather than doom-laden portents, providing novelty filler for condescending newspapers and social media.
Until today, when the skies weep real blood.
Deborah writes at an old desk surrounded by five hundred pet bugs.
Resigned to hunger and loose teeth, you have one second chance. Work hard, they said: your children will inherit a planet. The metal skin judders as it hits what passes for atmosphere here.
Where you land is littered with broken machine parts. Phobos waxes overhead. Home is a bright star.
If you like it, my bio might read: Joanne Merriam lives in Nova Scotia. Her writing has appeared in dozens of periodicals including Baltimore Review, Haikuniverse, and Pictura. She owns Upper Rubber Boot Books, known for the first English-language anthology of solarpunk, Sunvault. You can find her at joannemerriam.com.
“Can I go somewhere with fairies?” I ask.
“Sorry,” the gnome says. “They don’t like your kind. The only alternate world available to you is a version of your own where no one invents the telephone, radio, movies, or computers.”
“What do they do?” I ask.
He laughs. “Everything else.”
Susmita Ramani is a writer and lawyer who has a novella coming out from Running Wild Press in 2026. She has two teenage daughters and performs improv with a group. She lives in Palo Alto, California.
the town’s storyteller often used the word outwith
instead of outside
he claimed to have picked up
from Scottish and Yorkshire volunteers
now
the Garden’s shrinking around us
and there’s no other place left to live
we often say outwith among ourselves
concerning where
we’re going to find ourselves
soon
J.S. O’Keefe has published over three hundred short stories and poems in print and online literary magazines. See more at his website.
Time is money. Every second counts. He takes shortcuts, and shoots a red light at the big crossroads. He lies crushed, his insulated backpack spilling its contents over the tarmac. His bicycle wheel still spins. Someone dials 999.
Elsewhere in the city, impatient customers telephone the takeaway shop to complain.
Madeleine McDonald relishes the challenge of flash and micro fiction.
“Tell me again, Daddy.”
“Again?”
“Yes, please.”
“Well, my precious child, you need to grow up healthy and live a long, wonderful life. Because I love you so much that if anything ever happens to you, it will completely break me!”
“And then what?”
“Then… I will destroy the world.”
Rising like a phoenix from the ashes of his legal career, Liam MacDonald set forth to atone for decades of drafting countless legalese-ridden documents. He wonders whether the barest remaining mote of his soul can be saved.
At the eye doctor, the receptionist asks, “Primary care doctor?”
Blankness. She has to look it up on her phone.
Later, picking up her prescriptions, the girl behind the counter says, “Phone number?”
Again, blankness.
If she were twenty-five, she’d laugh – just an off day.
She is seventy-five, and afraid.
Jennifer L Freed is author of When Light Shifts, inspired by the aftermath of her mother’s cerebral hemorrhage. In the 2025 Eric Hoffer Awards, the book was a finalist for the Medal Provocateur, won second place in the Legacy Non-fiction category, and was short-listed for the grand prize. Please visit jfreed.weebly.com to learn more.