She rests a heavy rock on her stomach and sinks into the sand.
Through the shimmery layer between lake and sky, the blue expanse above looks beautiful enough to plant a seed of doubt.
Her lungs spark and burn.
She shoves the weight off, slowly floating up to the clouds.
Lauren is an aspiring author studying Creative Writing at Emerson College.
Knotty-pine rails and shorn winter grass,
pastures wandering aimlessly,
subdued air chewed to the quick.
Puddles notch the ground
(rough-hewn mirrors of regret)
at the hushed gate where he waited.
The morning of the horse’s passing,
a rickety world presents itself,
clouds cobbled together
in a pale and unfinished sky.
C.G. Thompson was once owned by a tall pony who was kind enough to listen to her talk about poetry. Sadly, he passed away before any of her poems about him were published. She had hoped to read them to him. He continues to be an inspiration.
Before, gold earrings complemented her brown hair and eyes,
Enhancing her orange and beige shirts.
She chose fuchsia eyeglass frames to complete the color palette.
Now, she buys silver earrings to match her grey hair,
And purple and blue sweaters,
But her glasses will forever draw attention to her eyes.
Miriam Stein is a social worker, writer, and the author of Make Your Voice Matter With Lawmakers: No Experience Necessary. See more at makeyourvoicematter.com.
Overweight girls don’t have many dates
My mother told me when I was 15
You might never get married
The diet doctor prescribed appetite-controlling pills
When I was still so hungry
Mother said, “Eat some lettuce”
I knew lettuce wouldn’t fill the emptiness in my stomach,
or in my heart.
Miriam Stein is a social worker, writer, and the author of Make Your Voice Matter With Lawmakers: No Experience Necessary. See more at makeyourvoicematter.com.
What do I love about my body? Not much.
They say I’m good enough, and smart. Am I?
I stare in the mirror at my unrecognizable face, then stick my tongue out, giggling, cracking a smile.
You’re important. You matter.
A face painting class is just what I needed today.
Lisa Miller is a native of Portland, Oregon. You can check out many of her stories on Friday Flash Fiction.
Growing up, I looked up to my dad more than anything. So when he said my mom was a goddess in every sense, I was perplexed. She was… matronly. Crow’s feet and freckles.
As I grew older, it never dawned on me.
Until I met a goddess in every sense.
Isaiah Smith has lived in a lot of places, but his favourites are where he’s among friends. Before he was a writer, Isaiah didn’t have a purpose outside of pleasing his friends and family. He wears a two-piece suit while he writes. It’s just business.
Fields of vivid yellow; enthusiastic sunflowers tell me stories of love, life, and laughter as I lay amongst them.
Imposing, tall, stretching, kissing the sun.
I rearrange them in their vases. Together we look out the kitchen window, sighing.
They’re wilting now, but I count the days ’til next year.
Michael is currently writing bios for up-and-coming artists in the U.K.
I visit him in the nursing home every week. He’s in the lunchroom now, his food untouched, diligently filling in coloring book outlines with crayons. He no longer recognizes me.
“Are you here to eat or to color?” he asks.
“To color,” I say as I sit close beside him.
Alex thinks that most nursing homes are simply repositories for human flotsam.
She had always enjoyed cosmetics. The colors, varieties, the subtle application and oh, she was good at it! She knew her color palette, chose just the right pigments: peaches, chestnuts, the occasional burst of orange. Wonderful!
Who knew the progression of her canvas would so overtly dictate her artistic endeavors?
F.M. Johnson is a writer from Richmond, VA. Her book, Tales of the Supernatural, is available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble Book Stores, and her website, fmjohnson.com.
That summer the churches stopped selling religion.
You had to know a guy who knew a guy.
I was living by the ocean with a sea captain’s daughter.
He brought home boxes of the stuff.
We shared holy communion. We wept through miracles.
Her and me. Us and the sea.
Bob Thurber is the author of “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel” and two collections of stories. A celebrated master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in 60 anthologies, received dozens of awards, and been used in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts where, though legally blind, he continues to write every day. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.