After the storm we walked the shoreline, sifting through mounds of brown-green algae, looking for survivors. The wind does such cruel tricks, tossing hatchlings onto their backs, offering them up to sun and birds. We left each right where we found it, after turning them over and setting them straight.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble”. Visit BobThurber.net.
Once upon a time I had a son, as familiar to me as my own hands.
For years, his sweet face betrayed nothing about his struggles.
One day he left unannounced and upon his return two years later, he was no longer my son.
Please smile. I gained a daughter.
Claire Polders is a Dutch author writing short prose in English. More of her work can be found at clairepolders.com. She likes it when readers say “hello” to her on Twitter.
When darkness fell over the Rappahannock, the guns rested, but fighting continued.
One side fired “Battle Hymn of the Republic”, the other returning shots of “God Save the South”.
They fought until one side played “Home, Sweet Home!” The other repeated. They sang together.
Tomorrow, they’d return to their guns.
Matthew Gregory is a writer and filmmaker living in South Florida. Some of his work can be found at geronimatt.tumblr.com.
Without costume or painted face, he played the clown. He became the one who made her smile, while she became the world.
It was cold the day they married, but the biting wind brought consolation, helping to freeze his own smile in place as he read his best man speech.
Anna Sanderson is a writer and performer from Nottingham, England. She writes about the world as she sees it, hoping to make a small, positive change, one word at a time. She has been published online and in numerous zines and anthologies, and is currently working on her first novel. Follow her on Twitter.
She was crying, but Grandma knew what to do. Come here. Sit with me. We can watch the clouds.
She stopped crying. Eventually she got bored.
Look, ants! Put your hand here. They walk on good people.
She did, but all the ants walked around her.
She started crying again.
Beáta Schlosserová is a young student who loves traveling and having fun. She is studying translation and interpreting.
He squinted at first, but then shielded his eyes when the light proved too overpowering.
“Why me?” he bellowed in the direction of the source. “Surely there are better specimens for you to abduct.”
Move your hand, came the reply, unspoken and foreign, yet understood. We can’t see your face.
Eldar is currently wondering (1) what achievements are considered noteworthy enough to include in a bio, and (2) whether perhaps a blurb highlighting failures is more telling and useful. He figures that some governing body has already addressed and decided on this issue.
I once watched a momma bird feed her babies. She returned again and again with a worm for their waiting beaks.
As the babies got bigger, their number decreased: four, three, two, one.
And when the nest was empty, the robin sat holding the worm, no longer valuable or necessary.
Sue Silva is a freelance writer who lives in Ontario, Canada.
She awoke from the grips of the nightmare. She’d been standing over him again, a knife dripping red in her hand.
Reaching towards him, towards the soothing warmth of his body, she frowned. The bed was empty.
Right, she thought. It hadn’t been a dream. Funny how she kept forgetting.
Melissa is a writer, teacher, and dog-lover living in the Middle of Nowhere, Michigan.
“Surface area is easy to calculate.”
Chalk squeaked. Equations appeared. The teacher picked up a wooden box and a steel ruler.
“All that’s needed is a good ruler and the right formula.”
The box rattled.
“What’s inside?” shouted a student.
“Not important,” said the teacher. “Won’t be on the test.”
Bruce Meredith retired from the practice of law about seven years ago. For most of his career he represented educators. After he retired, he started writing fiction. He has had six submissions accepted for publication, four of them in Veterans’ Journals.
Her body was ideal: spotless skin, flawless features, and perfect proportions. She was never sad; she never worried. She never even frowned.
They all watched her, marveling. If only they could be in her shoes!
So they looked up at her, wide-eyed, as she stood motionless behind the glass display.
Bojan Ratković is a writer from Serbia, now living in Ontario, Canada. His work has appeared in Every Day Fiction, Liquid Imagination, Great Lakes Review, Fiction Vortex, and on the World SF Blog. He is pursuing a PhD in political philosophy from the University of Western Ontario. Follow him on Twitter.