JENNIFER L FREED: Litter, 1959

Submissions, Touching, ,

“One barn cat’s enough,” Ma answered. “More, they’ll steal the chicks.”

Pa fetched an old grain sack.

At the pond, he paused a moment, still as stone, before turning away. Seeing I’d followed, he squatted, blocking my view, big hands wiping my cheeks.

Then he stood. “Best milk those cows.”

Jennifer L Freed writes mostly poetry, and sometimes micro-fiction. This story previously appeared in The Binnacle’s ultra-short edition, Fall, 2016. If you’d like to know more, please visit jfreed.weebly.com.

CAL S BRANSON: Room With a View

Artistic, Submissions, , ,

Socks.
White socks.

Shelly had known they were her husband’s white socks on sight; she’d cleaned them often enough. She recognized them immediately, dangling at eye-level just past the hotel room balcony, with Roy’s feet still inside them.

What she hadn’t recognized was the voice of the girl weeping above.

Cal lives in Hillsborough, NC where he writes experimental fiction, reads detective novels, and talks to his houseplants.

KATYA DUFT: The Fruit Hurts

Amusing, Puns and Wordplay, Submissions, , , ,

She saw him walk from cubicle to cubicle, and her heart filled with longing for him to drop by.

“Would you like a date?” his sweet voice softly whispered in her ear. She stopped breathing for a moment, until noticing a plastic bag of dried fruit next to her face.

Katya Duft is a translator, interpreter, and language teacher, and enjoys writing short stories, poetry and her blog Tales from the Bus.

JOHN GABRIEL ADKINS: The Feeling of Guilt Felt in Private by a Child

Submissions, Top Stories, Touching, , , ,

It was Christmas Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve (December 17th). Emily crossed the softball diamond in the snow, to where Sister Amy had had a tooth loosened by somebody’s loose ball in autumn.

“I’m fine!” she’d told them, face in hand.

Secretly Emily practiced alone until spring.

John Gabriel Adkins is a Pushcart-nominated writer of microfiction, anti-stories and other oddities, and is a member of the Still Eating Oranges arts collective. This year his work has appeared (or is forthcoming) in Literary Orphans, SPANK the CARP, Five 2 One, Sick Lit Magazine, The Sleep Aquarium, and more.

KEVIN G BUFTON: The Flesh is Weak

Odd, Submissions, ,

They call it astral projection. Plane-walking. Body-jumping. I’ve been doing it for years: I’m the master, the sensei.

To float above your body, your anchor to the world, is quite the trip. Most of the time…

That’s me down there, lying so still.
That’s home.
And I’ve lost my key.

Kevin G. Bufton has been writing flash fiction for nearly eight years and still hasn’t got it out of his system. He lives in Birkenhead with his wife and kids, who seem to tolerate him. He writes his darkest stories wearing his brightest shirts, and believes the world could do with more rum. He blogs on an irregular basis at kevinbufton.com.

JUSTIN HOOK: The Bridge

Artistic, Submissions, , ,

The first time I jumped I was trying to impress some kids my age who seemed much older. The second time I was in college, and I led the way because I knew how. The third time I had something to prove to myself, but now I can’t remember what.

Justin Hook is a comedy writer and coder living in Los Angeles. Visit justinhook.com.

JON NIXON: Up the Aisle

Amusing, Submissions, , , , ,

Ceremony? Booked.
Flowers? Done.

I was working my way through the wedding checklist, making sure I had thought of, paid for, and arranged everything.

Cars, reception venue, meal, gifts. I’d cracked it. A job well done… and with days to spare!

Now I just needed to find someone to marry.

Jon is an aspiring writer from the North West of England, currently boring himself to tears working in local government. He is looking forward to getting wed himself in the next month, but fears his own checklist is never ending… You can read more of his ramblings on the new web presence he has finally gotten round to creating at writingsonthewall645.wordpress.com

STEVEN FOWLER: The Camp

Adventure, Odd, Submissions, ,

Clear your mind, she said. He quietened his thoughts leaving only the crack and snap of burning logs. He gazed deep into flames.

Watching. Waiting.

A shape appeared. A face? Yes, his face, screaming, twisted, contorted in anguish.

Suddenly cold, he tore away. The camp was empty. Everyone had gone.

Steven is taking tentative steps into the murky lake of fiction writing. This is his first submission to the site. There may be a second.

JOEY TO: Too Bad For Nick

Amusing, Submissions, , , ,

Nick was the lazy type but he did put on his best suit to chair the Orbital Station’s OH&S meeting on Tuesday which was just too bad because the station suffered an explosive decompression that day and he was the last person sucked out right before the emergency force-fields activated.

It may not be good for your health and safety but you can visit Joey at joeytoey.com.