Tag Archives: beauty

CATHRINE GOLDSTEIN: Time

Artistic, Poetry, Submissions, , ,

The woman in the old farmhouse
stares into her bathroom mirror
ignoring the crack at the bottom of the glass
and the matching cracks on her face.

Humming, she brushes her most prized possession
(although her once sun-kissed hair is now moon-drenched),
preparing for the tomorrow
that has never come.

Cathrine Goldstein writes a whole lot of gritty, real-feeling “stuff.” Most of it takes place in NYC. She also eats boatloads of chocolate pretty much every day. This story came to her on a trip out of NYC, as she passed an old farmhouse on the side of the road. To find out more about Cathrine’s bestselling novels, award-winning plays, and other writings including articles, short stories, blogs, and poetry, please visit CathrineGoldstein.com.

BOB THURBER: The Nose Twitching Scent Of Gladness (The Continuing Misadventures of The Broken Boys)

Artistic, Submissions, , , ,

Single file the boys descend a slope packed with spruce and pines. There’s no path, no clear trail. Pushing through, the needles tickle more than scratch. Tonight, the boys will make camp in the valley — where no shadows live, other than night itself — beneath a widespread blue-grey wonderland of stars.

Bob Thurber is the author of six books. Regarded as a master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in Esquire and other magazines, been anthologized 60 times, received a long list of awards, and been utilized in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.

PONTIUS PAIVA: Iris and the Indigo

Adventure, Submissions, , , , , ,

How amazing to discover colors existing in the grey of end times. It’s been ages since I’ve seen a flower, let alone a garden. I pick one, then another, unwittingly collecting a bouquet.

I pause.

Lovely as they are, they mock me. I can’t smell them from behind a mask.

Pontius Paiva’s flash fiction doubles as complementary pieces to his post-apocalyptic visual novel, DoomsDaisy. More at pontiuspaiva.com.

CASEY LAINE: They Grow Like Weeds

Submissions, Touching, , , ,

The child picked me flowers from the lawn every time she came. I put them in vases, fussing over their beauty. It didn’t matter that they were dime-a-dozen dandelions mixed with clover; it only mattered that she wanted to make me smile. My heart wept when she outgrew the impulse.

Casey Laine comes from a long line of talkative women. She works as Fantasy Editor at Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores, and publishes an annual anthology of fiction and poetry for her writing group, Writers Assembled. In her spare time, she chases butterflies with her camera. Find her at Facebook, Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores, and Amazon.

KATHLEEN LATHAM: Immaturity

Artistic, Submissions, , ,

She spent the winter wrapped in a chrysalis of heavy coats and bulky sweaters.

He laughed when she passed. Made references to the Michelin Man. Yetis. Stay Puft Marshmallows.

Spring came; ice melted. She shed her coats and emerged a butterfly. Shook his apologies off her wings like water. Soared.

Kathleen Latham’s work has most recently appeared in Bright Flash Literary Review, Boston Literary Magazine, and Fictive Dream. She lives outside of Boston, MA and can be found online at KathleenLatham.com.

MICHAEL ANTHONY FAGAN: Juniper

Artistic, Submissions, Top Stories, , ,

By daylight, they told her how she was born: her birth mother fled, abandoned like a burning oil rig.

She was wildfire: unplanned, unwanted.

When the world was at its darkest, she carved a hole in the sky and crawled inside.

The stars look different when you are behind them.

Michael Anthony Fagan is a Scottish fiction writer from just outside Glasgow. He is a high school English and Media teacher who has a passion for horror, science fiction, and making documentaries. He is currently working on his debut novel and finding places to publish his short stories.

REB ELKIN: Piano

Artistic, Submissions, , ,

The sound of the piano playing always keeps her awake at night, especially now that she is alone in the house. She steps quickly down the stairs, but by the time she gets there the music has stopped. Gently, she brushes her fingers over the keys and closes the lid.

Reb Elkin writes science fiction and fantasy. She has no plans to buy a piano.

BS ROBERTS: Morning Air

Artistic, Submissions, , , ,

I can’t tell where land falls into water, nor where the lake bleeds into the sky. Between gentle laps of waves, a black blemish appears – a boat drifting in still water. A lone man stares.

Hesitant, I call, “Hello?”

No response.

The fog shrouds him as though he’d never been.

When not indulging himself by reading or writing poetry and prose, B.S. Roberts makes a living as a museum curator and an administrative assistant at the University of Maine at Augusta. He lives in Maine with his fiancée, daughter, silver pheasants, turtle, and four cats.

ANN KATHRYN KELLY: Shine

Submissions, Touching, , , ,

She smiles at the young woman in the photo: bottle-blonde, bright-eyed. Her hair always drew compliments. It was freeing, being 22, radiant, at the start of everything. Her fingers comb through current locks; tinsel strands that wink. She smiles again. Gentlemen may prefer blondes, but nothing shines brighter than silver.

Ann Kathryn Kelly lives and writes in New Hampshire’s Seacoast region. Her essays have appeared in a number of literary journals, found on her website at www.annkkelly.com.

MARILYN McFARLANE: Priorities

Artistic, Submissions, , ,

On the street, strangers quickly glance away. At the mirror, the ravaged face smiles, because the mass of angry red splotches says the chemo attack, the destroyer, is working. Hurt vanity—and it is hurt, no question—has lost its hallowed standing to the incomparable treasure of a longer life.

Marilyn McFarlane is on hold from travel writing and takes pleasure in writing and reading the gems in fifty-word stories. She’s the author of Sacred Stories: Wisdom From World Religions, for children, and The Healthy Seniors Cookbook, for any age.