When her heel snapped, she literally fell into his arms.
Embarrassed laughter, quick smiles, then hasty apologies – she was late. Now hobbled, she’d be even later. Impulse seized him; he called her a taxi, paid for it as she zipped away.
He picked up the broken heel, thinking of Cinderella.
Rebecca Ruvinsky is a student, poet, and emerging writer in Orlando, Florida. She has kept a streak of writing a poem every day since 2016, with her poetry being featured on Poetry on the Move. She loves baking cookies, watching rocket launches, and listening to music too loud. She can be found at @writeruvinsky.
My dog waits at the door
Outside he’s in his element
His charismatic smile
For everyone to greet him
He thrives on affection
Times have changed
His disappointed eyes look back
For an explanation
There is no affection from six feet?
And its implications
After 42 years of working with industrial computers, robots, and automation, Patrick Yu has retired. While not ideal times, he looks forward to his many hobbies, one of which is writing.
Mom, why am I not like other kids? / Because you are special. / Are you special? / I am if you think I am. / Mom, what are you made of?
I felt for a pulse — but couldn’t find one. Wanted to say dead volcanoes and lava flows, bit my tongue, said cheese.
Bojana Stojcic writes prose and poetry, and has her words published here and there. If she could fly right now, or ever, she’d most likely head for the moon.
It was 1918. Grandpa loved his 9 grandchildren, but the Flu was deadly, so whenever a grandchild approached, he held up his hand, and shouted, “Hey!”
His grandkids still loved him, but they never hugged.
They started calling him “Heypappy”, and that’s how it was for his remaining 25 years.
Harry Demarest wrote this true story about his great grandfather, Franklin Conklin.
Should I reach out and take her hand? Will she shake it off? Can I pretend we just touched accidentally? That would be tough. Do I look at her when I take hold or do I pretend like it’s nothing? Tight squeeze or loose?
What if she holds mine back?
Richard Baigent has always wanted to write and has just started.
Watching Big Sister play baseball, Roberta scraped her knee. The lady she asked for a bandage gave her one, and said, “You walked past three other ladies to get to me. Why didn’t you ask them for a bandage?”
“They have little purses,” said Roberta. “Big purses always have bandages.”
Thomas A. North has a batting average of zero, and therefore hopes he is better at writing than baseball.
Just look at all of the different soft shades of green!
His van was a garden shed on wheels, full of baskets, gloves, tools, and a Folger’s coffee tin with a roll of toilet paper.
Never had to use it, but it sure was comforting to know it was there.
Rosemary is a retired nurse who enjoys gardening.
Priestess in my untidy temple, I wait alone upon my adorable Oracle.
She bestows her gifts freely, but not easily. Her words, strewn casually, discarded carelessly, I gather and scrutinize, turning them over in my mind, looking for truths, profound and ineffable.
“Do you know what an elephant says?”
John D. Payne grew up in the American Midwest, watching the lightning flash outside his window and imagining himself as everything from a leaf in the wind to the god of thunder. Today, he lives with his wife and family in the shadow of the Organ Mountains in New Mexico, where he imagines that with enough concentration he might be able to rustle up a little cloud cover for some shade. For updates, new fiction, and exclusive content, visit patreon.com/johndpayne.
I saved my little sister’s life.
She had a bad case
of deadly Arphidarfilus.
She sought a second opinion.
Mom was busy in the kitchen.
Dad was, as always, on the road.
I prescribed gumdrops.
(Gumdrops is the only cure.)
Half a century later
she says I’m still her hero.
Ron. Lavalette has been widely published in both print and pixel forms. His first chapbook is now available from Finishing Line Press, and a reasonable sample of his work can be found at EGGS OVER TOKYO.
Grinning skeletal figures wearing multicolored clothing stand before a severely warped structure resembling a dilapidated house with crooked unproportioned windows. Unusually shaped flowers of an undeterminable species sprout wildly alongside treelike etchings. The artwork is inscribed with barely discernable letters, “To Momma, I love you.”
-Displayed at Galerie de Frigidaire.
Carrie Backer is the author of two children’s books: Wayne’s Trip to the Moon and Mr. Jacobs and the Serving Spoon. See more at backerbooks.com.