when my daughter finally left
that I’d be free
could go back
to my old self.
Nobody told me
my breasts would ache
for her hunger,
or that her heat, her scent,
her fierce little grip
would hold me
even after I’d given her away.
Jennifer L. Freed likes inventing characters but doesn’t have enough time to write. The narrator of this story did not exist until a prompt (“Write something on the theme of independence”) brought her to life.
She has to have her cigarettes. Buys them with the baby food money. Buys a six-pack, too. She lights up; first drag is always the best. She drops it in the sand, crushes it. She chugs the beer, staggers, falls into the moonlit surf.
She gave the baby up today.
poetry, prose, and photographs have appeared in Melancholy Hyperbole
, When Women Waken
, and Blotterature
. She travels the scenic route between St. Pete, Florida and the Off Campus Writers Workshop (OCWW) in Winnetka, Illinois. When she’s not writing, she’s listening, picking up slices of life or shells on a beach.
“Yes, honey? Do you know that I love you more than anyone ever will? One day you’ll get married but… I’ve known you since the second you were born. That will be some guy you just met, in the grand scheme of things.”
“Dada,” said my 10-month-old in agreement.
Marcus Benjamin Ray Bradley grew up in Perryville and now lives in Versailles, KY, with his wife and daughters. Other work can be found in the pages of Chiron Review and Five 2 One magazine as well as online at the Kentucky Arts Council and here at Fifty Word Stories websites.
I brought her some West Virginian wildflowers fresh from the Star City exit on I-79.
She cradled them like an infant wrapped in burlap. The little bluets danced along the dewy glow of her paling face. “What should we name them?”
“Honey …” She wanted to name everything.
Amber D. Tran graduated from West Virginia University in 2012, where she specialized in lyrical non-fiction and contemporary poetry. She currently lives in Alabama with her husband and miniature dachshund. Her first novel, Moon River, will be released this fall.
They had to cut me to take you.
I heard your cry fade down the hallway.
It haunts me nightly.
I bought you cards every birthday, not knowing if I should buy for a son or daughter.
You are fifty years old today.
I still crave my beautiful bastard baby.
Joan is an educator in Australia who loves the beauty of language.
She rocks him slowly, gently in her arms, his tears still sparkling on hot, red cheeks, too exhausted to sleep.
Motherhood. When does she get to feel as if she’s doing this right?
He opens his eyes suddenly, sighs, then yawns sleepily.
At this moment, she is doing it perfectly.
Jackie was thrilled to have her first attempt at flash fiction published recently, and is hoping to keep up the momentum with more in the future, as well as working on her fourth novel and a travel journal.
I watched, awestruck, as my baby daughter’s chubby little fingers slid across the surface of my smartphone. Roads and landscapes shifted beneath her touch. She pinched, and the map zoomed out.
A photo of my husband drifted past, betraying his GPS position.
Wait… That’s not the location of his conference.
Karen doesn’t claim to be Wonder Woman, simply a wife, mother, writer and roller girl, in addition to a day job as an Electronic Design Engineer. You’re invited to draw your own conclusions. Her debut release, an eBook titled “Trapping Honey’, is available now. See more at karenpomerantz.uk
Breathless from her climb, Lisa straddled a high branch and gently rubbed her belly. She watched the elm’s shadow creeping across the church’s stained-glass. When the preacher said “Whoever has reason that these two should not be joined,” she would grip the tire-swing’s rope and leap, swinging out, shattering everything.
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.
There is nothing as beautiful as a sleeping baby.
Sarah’s eyelids were fast shut and I fancied I even saw them flutter slightly as if she were lost in a dream.
And when the nurse took that tiny red body away, I wondered if I would ever feel whole again.
Mark Farley is a little bit older than he ever expected to be.
I poured one for myself and one for good luck and drank them both. It was going to be a long night.
Through darkness I crept, my heart racing as I clutched the high-value cargo against my chest.
The scream came as I reached to switch on the baby monitor.
Guy is equally scared of war and parenthood. This is his second fifty word story.