And he lived happily ’til the end of his days, enjoying life’s simple pleasures, never knowing that in granting his wish for happiness, the genie did not give him his heart’s desire but rather erased it, so the man would never suffer a day in the yearning for his dream.
Whitney is still working on her heart’s desire–to be a published novelist. In the meantime, writing, on most days, makes her quite happy.
I bought a packet of wildflower seeds and sprinkled them in the back corner of my lawn. In mid-May it wasn’t flowers that bloomed, but an entire miniature city filled with tiny people. They live a full life there. From time to time I take them water and other supplies.
Rachel Turney is an educator and artist located in Denver. Her poems, research articles, drawings, and photography can be found in a few publications. For more, see her blog at turneytalks.wordpress.com.
She picks up the pieces as usual. Wraps and mails the packages, amazed there’re so many names on his list. Readies the house for its new owners, catches the plane—and she can finally relax, imagining surprised faces when they open their gifts.
The girlfriend who gets his head screams.
Deborah writes at an old desk surrounded by five hundred pet bugs.
I hit my son today–slashed my wedding band across his little blond head. His mother took him to her mother’s. I watched them drive off, windshield wipers dragging rain.
When I went to say goodbye, he flinched–like I’d done it twice.
The bruise isn’t even visible. Not yet.
Nathan Jones is a writer from Tennessee whose work explores themes of grief, faith, and the uncanny. He recently graduated with a degree in English from the University of Mississippi and plans to pursue an MFA in fiction. When not writing, he enjoys letting his puppy chew on his digital watch, running tabletop campaigns, and drinking coffee.
Sometimes, turning a key, folding laundry,
coach will feel it, like yesterday.
First inning, his young pitcher struggled.
So, he pulled him, like the Red Sox
do on TV. Red-faced, the boy stormed off
slamming his glove to the ground.
His father, sitting in the stands, felt it too.
Matthew house-sits near a lake in Maine. Sometimes, the loons, who own the lake, will hoot and howl, yodel and tremolo, like no tomorrow.
The consultant had us draw a timeline leading up to the present. People stood and shared project milestones, corporate announcements, promotions.
I only saw doctors’ appointments, diagnosis, prognosis, treatment, rinse, repeat. Those tick marks charted her illness and death.
And he wondered why I didn’t go up to the front.
Norma Gardner retired from the corporate world a few years ago and enjoys spending time with family and friends, travelling, and expressing herself through her writing and sourdough recipes. Growing up in Northern Ontario, her family’s antics and her Italian upbringing supply the inspiration for her writing. She currently lives in Waterdown, Ontario.
The plant by the window grew arms to grab him. He kept watering it until it held him because he had told his girl not to come over ever again. One day, fully encased, he texted her to come over, said he needed help.
You said never again, she wrote.
Emily Dressler lives in Northeast Ohio. She works as a proofreader at a global advertising agency. Her flash fiction has been published in 10 by 10 and her poetry is forthcoming in Okay Donkey. Her short story, “The Bloody Nose,” was an honorable mention in the Atlantic Monthly Student Writing Contest.
When the aliens arrived they made their objective clear – to help us tidy up. Now, every day, every house and office leaves one thing out for collection. Neatness and order finally restored – blissful decluttering on a global scale.
Except that one nagging doubt: what are they doing with it all?
William Mitchell lives in East Sussex in the South of England. He is an award-winning author, having had early success with various Horror and Science Fiction publications before winning the Writers of the Future contest in 2012. His first novel, CREATIONS, came out in 2014 with John Hunt Publishing.
An 80 year old retired oncologist has a fall, sustaining two fractures and a brain bleed. My three year old routinely gallops across our living room and only sometimes slips, swiftly rising to smile sweetly and say “I’m fine.”
What is life, other than the distance between these two falls.
Naazia Azhar is a physician, writer and mom of four. Her work has been featured in The Intima journal and Pulse – voices from the heart of medicine.
The story of the week for May 13 to 17 is…
The Visit by Tery Gallagher