“Statistically, it is almost impossible to win the Lotto,” her maths teacher used to say. Spoken like a man with a permanent, pensionable job.
For many years, Rita heeded his advice.
Now she shuffles to the till. Asks for a Quick Pick. Endures the pitying look. Says a silent prayer.
Geraldine McCarthy lives in West Cork, Ireland. In a former life she was involved in tutoring, lecturing, translation, and research. She has been writing short stories and flash fiction for nearly three years now. Her work has been published in The Fable Online, The Incubator Journal, Seven Deadly Sins: a YA Anthology (Gluttony, Wrath, Avarice), Scarlet Leaf Review, Brilliant Flash Fiction, and Every Day Fiction. See more at facebook.com/cruthaitheacht.
The dog barked, too late. She stumbled to the kitchen, dropped her towel over the puddle. He nosed his bowl into its folds.
She returned to the couch.
The interview was in an hour, but she was naked, too raw.
He followed, whimpering.
“Shhh,” she said.
They were both hungry.
Kiran Kaur Saini’s work has appeared in Glimmer Train, Pleiades, and elsewhere. See more at kirankaursaini.com
My life depends on the drugs, the research, the doctors. There are no miracles, only love of family. The IV drip is like the beat of a second heart pulsing its cancer-burning flames through my body. It keeps this fire raging in my eyes that both consumes and saves me.
Jim Doss lives in Sykesville, Maryland, and earns his living as a software engineer. He has previously published two books of poems: Learning to Talk Again and What Remains. In partnership with Werner Schmitt, he also published a book of German translations entitled The Last Gold of Expired Stars: The Complete Poems of Georg Trakl 1908 – 1914. In his spare time, he is an editor for the Loch Raven Review.
You’re feeling down
And a little lonely too
I have come around
To be close to you
Hold on, I am here
Hold on, cry those tears
Soon you will see
As we join hands
We’ll do this, you and me
You’ll smile and understand
Hold on, dry those tears
Mary has written poetry since age ten and continues to do so. She is also writing short stories and enjoys being a member of a writing group.
The moment River’s life ended, brick by brick I built the wall. Covered the searing pain with concrete so no one could see. People passed and acknowledged the smile. The nod. The pleasantries.
Till you saw and lay down beside me, held me, and whispered. Whispered like River used to.
Eileen Brennan McIntyre is a writer from Northern California who loves writing stories that touch the heart.
Belly pushed forward, one hand at my back, the other slowly patting circles over my protruding stomach. I study my reflection from the side and front, imagining something inside. But there’s nothing there. Only the seed of doubt that has taken root and started to grow: there may never be.
Margaret is an amateur writer, but her mother thinks she’s WONDERFUL. She resides in Indianapolis.
It was the worst haircut of her life.
Tears welled in her tired eyes. It was patchy and asymmetrical with long, dark curls sprouting at her left temple.
The stylist shrugged apologetically.
Tears escaped. “I love it,” she grinned.
Her first style since brain surgery framed her face with hope.
Jo Withers is becoming addicted to writing 50 Word Stories. She also has a middle-grade, science-fiction novel out this month.
Things I’ve done for money: collected cans for cash, sold chocolate, shoveled sidewalks after a snowstorm. Once I built an amusement park in the backyard and sold tickets. That was the summer Mom quit chemo.
I told jokes for a penny. She bought a hundred, and listened from her bed.
Jane Hertenstein wrote this story.
He flits between branches, his jaunty, upturned tail bobbing. I’ve seen him before, but never this close, and never singing fit to burst his tiny heart.
His head twitches left and right. Perhaps he’s just scared, but I need to believe it’s because he’s caught a sideways glimpse of spring.
Tamsin can’t sing or flit, but she’s definitely on the lookout for the end of winter.
She had always been afraid of heights.
Finally she decided that today, on her birthday, she would conquer her fear and go to the top of the tallest building she knew.
Looking out at the extraordinary view she knew this would always be a date to remember.
September 11, 2001.
Jonathan Cook is a one-time farmer, pharmacologist, stand-in head of an EU delegation, international training advisor, and current language school director. Throughout, he has retained an abiding interest in anything as long as it is well written…