I was born six weeks premature. I got good grades but I left school before graduating. I’ve always had trouble holding a job for any length of time.
Consequently, paying bills was often a problem.
I topped out at 5 foot 3.
That’s my life in a nutshell. 49, 50.
This 50-word story was distilled down by Robert Carlberg from a 17-volume 1,460,000 word massive opus written over a span of 23 years. No it wasn’t.
“Looks like an alien,” my son said of the horseshoe-crab shell: translucent, fragile, dwarfed by his palm.
“You’re not wrong. They evolved in a world different from ours.”
“Shouldn’t we clean it up?” he wondered of the carapace-littered beach.
“Let the waves take care of everything. How about ice cream?”
Tim Boiteau is a Writers of the Future winner and Editor at Every Day fiction. He is the author of the novel The Nilwere (Grendel Press, 2024).
The story of the week for April 28 to May 2 is…
Swimming by Melanie Winklosky
and
Eye of the Beholder by Alicia Cox
The day of the move, I watch you crouch by a box.
Maybe nostalgia is a play of light. Maybe it’s denial. Either way, it’s embedded in your every move, the way you handle old letters—eyes soft, unfolding each one like a secret and saying, “Oh, I remember this.”
A Turkish writer, Sarp Sozdinler has been published in Electric Literature, Kenyon Review, Masters Review, Vestal Review, Fractured Lit, and 100 Word Story, among other journals. His stories have been selected or nominated for such anthologies as the Pushcart Prize, Best Small Fictions, and Wigleaf Top 50. See more at sarpsozdinler.com.
The sound of eggshells cracking echoed across the room. The sizzling bacon in the pan was soon joined by the eggs as the man hurried around the kitchen.
His wife takes a seat at the table and her eyes tear up. “You have made an extra serving again,” she whispered.
Omar Rihas is travelling the land of words, seeking to find stories and tales that bring wonder and comfort. Literature fascinates him and he is constantly on the hunt for new and exciting things.
Fireworks finale—a descending canopy—envelops them. “Whoa!” Her five-year-old’s hand, she holds. Through his eyes, awestruck, she watches. Her husband’s forced-enthusiastic presence, this moment excludes.
Faraway pops-and-crackles, she hears from her bed. That little hand, she misses. Her now-adult son will hold her hand when she needs, she trusts.
Motherhood and writing are two things Shanti Chandrasekhar finds most rewarding and fulfilling. She writes from her home in Maryland.
A flick of the wrist brings a new page, new number, possible new beginnings. Can one calendar page make me a year older? Does it matter? Admitting to the day might result in friendly celebrations or freebies from businesses trawling for customers. Others don’t need the real numbers. Do they?
Eileen comes from a family that puts great store in celebrating birthdays, even during the pandemic.
Paper, barely white, ashen like your complexion, faded charcoal shading, smudged not erased.
Each time, it looks a little less like you.
You seldom model, but were you here, I’d place a page upon your face, trace the outline of a smile.
Instead, I pierce the surface with sharpened lead.
Steven Holding lives in the United Kingdom. His story TURNING A TRICK appears in the collection BLOODLUST from Black Hare Press. You can follow his work at stevenholding.co.uk.
A leaf fell to her feet and she knew it was meant to be hers. She collected three more along her journey, each damaged in some way. Still – she found them incredibly beautiful, feeling a near obligation to appreciate them. Mere foliage? No. Not to her. Not to a witch.
Alicia is a Brooklyn-based writer and nature lover, often found wandering through Prospect Park, waiting for inspiration to strike – or perhaps fall to her feet. A firm believer that there is power in the wounds we carry, she hopes to transform pain into art, helping others reclaim their voice and strength, through creative and unapologetic non-fiction.
I’m calling to tell you: I’ve been kidnapped.
I laughed.
What’s funny, David? He’s got me trapped here…
Who?
This chubby elf-man.
WHO?
My CAPTOR.
You mean George?
Who the heck’s George?
GEORGE, your husband.
Later, George returned. He helped sprinkle salt around the house, to ward off the elves.
Piper Pugh is a writer and educator living in Los Angeles, CA.