The path to my school had a shortcut cutting diagonally through a square walkway. I always avoided it, figuring it wasn’t official. Then one day, I saw they’d finally paved it, making the route “real.” Guess I’d been behind the curve—and the crowd—all along, just stubbornly zigzagging away.
Sima Sharifi is linguist and translator, fiction enthusiast, and Vancouver-based author. Her debut novel is currently with the editor, readying for publication.
My heart still pounds when I think of her.
The screaming. The hitting. The abandoning.
She lays here in front of me and my heart still pounds.
But now she’s old, weak, fragile.
The hospital machines beep as she breathes.
Her heart pounds slower and slower.
And I forgive her.
Keyla Campbell is a writer who lives in Rhode Island.
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.
She used to think magic came from a magician’s wand and the words abracadabra.
Now she knows it comes from different kinds of wands; the sharp needle the eye surgeon pokes in her eye once a month to stop the degeneration, and the white cane she holds in her hand.
Carole Porter writes short fiction from beautiful Vancouver Island.
Behind withering cornstalks, we waited for the flying saucer squadrons. Each year, the all-night hypersonic zipping and spinning and illuminations mesmerized us.
We’ve never taken pictures. We’ve never tried to get their attention.
For generations we’ve kept quiet; we don’t want anyone telling us that we haven’t been seeing UFOs.
Liz writes from Western Massachusetts. Find her at LizMayers.com.
Because I am sick, I imagine myself capable of astonishing feats. I fit my bare feet into the crevices of mountains. I leap off cliffs armed with spears to take on sharks. I fly. Where to? But I am not sure it matters, as my wings have yet to grow.
Colleen Addison did a PhD in health information and promptly got sick herself. She now lives, heals, and writes on a small island off the coast of Vancouver, Canada.
Colorful leaves drift on the pond like little boats. It’s fall and they’ve given their all. Mother Earth is calling them home—only to send them forth again in the spring, sporting new finery. Nothing on earth is gone forever, only rearranged. I find comfort in knowing that is so.
A prolific writer, Carol Reeves is loving the freedom and challenge of Flash Fiction. Her stories frequently reflect the vicissitudes and blessings of aging and can be found in Flash Fiction Magazine and 50 Word Stories. Carol’s memoir, “All the Little Miracles,” was published in 2022.
We counted bullets and money. Drank warm beer that fizzed sour across our tongues. Lay under wide skies and watched stars fall. You said they were bad souls burning, that I could wish on them.
I wish on one now, my cheek pressed against the bars.
Wonder if it’s yours.
Deborah writes at an old desk surrounded by five hundred pet bugs.
By taking a long, winding pathway, eyes and heart open to the world and wonderous diversity of humankind and the beauty of nature. By traveling through a lifetime of adventure accompanied by loving family. Being loyal, being kind, taking risks, and embracing opportunity. Finding joy in life, parenthood, and you.
One of Eileen’s grandsons asked this question. It’s taken a year to find the answer.
The father cut the umbilical cord even as the lights flickered. The newborn looked determined to survive. There was some perfunctory crying, but she calmed down as soon as she latched on to her mother’s breast.
“I will keep you safe,” her mother whispered.
Outside, the bombs had devoured everything.
Jahnavi Gogoi’s poetry has been published in Indian Review, Coffee and Conversations, RIC journal, Café Haiku, Presence, Five Fleas, Haiku Girl Summer, tsuri-doro, Enchanted Garden Haiku journal, Zen Peacemakers, Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective, The Daily Verse by The Wise Owl, Haiku Corner by The Japan Society, Shadow Pond Journal, The Leaf Journal, haikuNetra among others. She lives in a quaint town in Ontario, Canada with her family and occasionally tries her hand at fiction and essays.