The water’s rising; it’s washed away the righteous and the sinners. I’m still here. I’ve bailed, prayed, bailed again. Ahead, there’s a girl huddled on a rooftop. I navigate toward her, lift her into the hissing raft.
It sighs, loudly.
I wave goodbye, clambering onto the slates.
The water’s rising—
Linda McMullen is a wife, mother, diplomat, and homesick Wisconsinite. Her short stories and the occasional poem have appeared in over seventy literary magazines.
We weren’t in the evacuation zone, but we drove to the shelter.
We’re petting mangy dogs and seeing the guns. Breathing in people sprawled on Army blankets.
Dodging spinning children in line to pee. Signing up everyone for Amazon Prime. Five bucks per referral.
We’ll upgrade our bathrooms with bidets.
JR Walsh writes in landlocked Idaho, but itsjrwalsh.com floats everywhere.
Icequake from the asteroid hit on Japan. The sky blotted out by dust; snow blackened; crevasses impassable. Communications dead for the past six months.
We celebrate Christmas: dinner is protein biscuits crumbled in water and our remaining brandy. The brandy warms us; later, the cold will numb us to sleep.
Mantz Yorke is a former science teacher and researcher living in Manchester, England. His poems and prose have appeared in print magazines, anthologies, and e-magazines in the UK, Ireland, The Netherlands, Israel, Canada, the US, Australia, and Hong Kong. His poetry collection Voyager is published by Dempsey & Windle.
Calamity. The world will never be the same.
I wipe sweat from my forehead. I have to tell everyone, but how will they take it?
Too late. The black eye of a camera glares at me, ready to listen. I clear my throat and square my shoulders.
“My fellow Americans…”
Luke Swanson is a fledgling author from Oklahoma City. He has a novel and a handful of short stories featured in anthologies from Limitless Publishing.
In the event of:
1. Flood – Assemble food and first aid kit. Be ready to evacuate.
2. Fire – Leave immediately. Once out, call emergency services.
3. Earthquake – Stay indoors. Prepare for cracks to appear in foundations. Do not involve passers-by. Subsidence is inevitable.
4. Marriage – Follow procedure in step 3.
Jo Withers writes micros, flash, and poetry from her home in South Australia. Recent work has appeared in Molotov Cocktail, Ellipsis Zine, Flashback Fiction, Spelk, 24 Unread Messages, and Mythic Picnic.
The smoke pushed towards our home. When orange glow appeared behind the hills, we filled the car with our favourite things.
I packed the photo albums, hesitated, then added the camera. We’d need it, I vowed. The fire could have the house, not our joy.
The happy snaps would continue.
G.B. Burgess wrote this while watching a bush fire inch ever closer to her home.
The photographer captured it all in high definition: the bride’s tumble down the aisle, the flower girl bawling through the service, the cake collapsing at first cut. No one had wanted a slice, anyway, after the groom’s wet sneeze.
If only I’d remembered to give the not-so-happy couple the horseshoe.
Rachael is an English teacher in Scotland.
She smiles, legs dangling carelessly from the roof. Blue eyes reflect an array of glittering galaxies.
Another speckle dots the black.
How I wonder
Her eyes widen, stomach tightening.
Hands clasp ears over the meteoric roars
Sirens. A mother’s horrified scream.
Fifteen-year-old Megan lives in Florida with her family and her cat named Luna Petra Zane. This is her first “plunge” into the realm of 50 word fiction.
The typhoon decimated the village.
Huts were razed to ground level; palm trees had snapped like matchsticks. Rotting corpses and flooding were giving rise to disease and more death. Post-disaster survival was paramount here.
Across the globe, a starlet with handbag Chihuahua was complaining about her caviar and lobster bisque.
Melanie Cranenburgh wrote this story.
Last drop of oil
Last chunk of coal
A healing earth
Cheap power for all
He climbed into his all-electric
Entered the coordinates to the Zero Carbon Celebration
Sat back for the ride
The first solar flare hit
And all hell broke lose
Paul Hock is from Fergus, Ontario, Canada, and is a writer of historical fiction. See more at paulhock.com.