Mum loved cats and dogs but wouldn’t let me have either.
Dad explained: “Mum gets too upset when they die. Our cat died before you were born and her heart almost broke. We vowed we would never have another.”
Mum passed last month. Now I understand. I don’t want another.
Sandra James writes from a rural property in Heathcote, Victoria, Australia.
On the date that my father died, I shopped for Norwegian gifts. I made his favorite foods, creamed corn on mashed potatoes. I pondered his life – and his death. I remembered his smile, his grace, his strength, and his love. On the date that my father died, I missed him.
Lucia Blau lives in Minnesota surrounded by reminders of her Scandinavian culture. She wrote this to honor her Norwegian father and the pride he took in his heritage.
Watching the pair of graceful swans in the pond behind the hospice facility calmed her anxiety in ways the end-of-life therapy regimen had not. During the visit, she said, “See, they’re like us, perfectly matched.”
After her funeral, I returned to the pond.
Now, just a solitary swan swam alone.
Bud is a disabled veteran who writes flash fiction and short stories.
When the town-sheriff reported my mother dead, my grandfather disagreed.
Where’s her body, he said. Show me a body.
I drove us downtown. Our visit to the morgue silenced the old man.
That’s not her, he said on the ride home. There’s a resemblance, but I know my own daughter.
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.
I stood on the edge of the cliff with my arms wide open, my eyelids filtering the last glow of the dying sunset. His arms wrapped around my love handles, and his pointy beard rubbed against my cheeks. He whispered, “It’s too late.”
I woke up wearing a black dress.
Ruchi Acharya, hailing from the vibrant city of Mumbai, India, is a visionary in the literary world. As the founder and driving force behind Wingless Dreamer, a dynamic publishing company, she is dedicated to nurturing and promoting fresh, creative voices. With a deep passion for storytelling and a commitment to quality literature, Ruchi has established Wingless Dreamer as a haven for writers and readers alike. Her work continues to inspire and shape the literary landscape, one dream at a time.
The hospital vending machine drones an accompaniment to the febrile bouncing of my foot: rubber kissing laminate.
You could be anywhere by now.
When I tip my head back, I see stars: souls trading places, a life for a life. We should be out there, where the air tastes sweet.
A translator by trade, Lesley Warren lives for language. Born to Welsh and Filipino parents and now resident in Germany, her work encompasses themes of identity, displacement and “otherness”. Her poetry and prose have been published in a number of digital and print journals as well as appearing in a podcast.
We’re leaving our child in California.
It’s a relief boarding our return flight,
Backs turned from the hotel room,
the hospital ward,
this ruin of a holiday.
Yet as the skyline tilts and expands beyond our window, our hearts ache.
Goodbye, little one.
If only we could have said hello.
Jez Poyner lives in Manchester, UK. He writes on his phone at night, whilst his wife sleeps beside him.
Time for our evening walk. I tug. She won’t budge. Not in the mood either. I release her leash, plumping myself onto the sofa. Cuddling the pillow close, tears stream down. My poodle strokes me with her tongue, staring into my eyes as if she’s saying, “Just let him go.”
Chidi Young lives in Jos, Plateau State, Nigeria. He’s a teacher, photographer, and graphic designer who loves to read and write short stories.
On this dark night, a man roams the beach, eyeing the abandoned lighthouse – once a beacon guiding wave-ravaged boats home, sea-savaged soldiers conjuring the strength to set burning arms to oars again.
He longs to break in, to light up the sky, searching for his wife, nestled in the stars.
Billie-Leigh Burns is a writer from Liverpool. Her work has been featured by Funny Pearls, 50 Word Stories, and Fictionette.
I destroyed Marjorie’s umbrella a dozen times: a trip to the library dumpster, to my brother’s Pennsylvania farm and his burn barrel. Every time, it reappeared in the break-room where Marjorie had left it that day she got caught in the sudden rainstorm, the day before she died of pneumonia.
Ann Marie Potter is in her last year of a PhD program at Oklahoma State University while enjoying her first year in the beautiful state of Wyoming. Her work has been published in The Storyteller, The Meadow, Peauxdunque Review, and Literally Stories.