An office drudge’s gloom always characterized James’s daily commutes.
Today, he smiled as he slid into City Station’s unisex washroom. Jaimie emerged, boarded the train and bypassed his regular stop.
At line’s end, she gazed across the sun-dappled street at New Beginnings’ help-wanted sign. Perfect place to restart my life.
Alan Kemister is a retired scientist experimenting with more fictitious writing. Get the gory details at alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com.
Jane was trapped in a world of low ceilings and high furniture.
At a charity event, she met an avant-garde decorator specializing in purple lighting. She told Jane, “Stand out. Be bold and bright. Shine. No excuses.”
So nowadays Jane lives in a beige cube with powerful splashes of purple.
Roberta Beach Jacobson is a humorist from Iowa / USA. She writes tanshi (short poetry), greeting cards, and flash fiction. See more at RobertaJacobson.com
One leg missing and the other hanging by a thread, the bedraggled teddy bear had sat forgotten on the thrift shop shelf for years.
“I want her,” Mollie said.
Mollie’s mother frowned.
“Pick something better. It’s your birthday.”
Mollie rolled her wheelchair closer to the shelf.
“No, I want her.”
Lionel Ray Green is a horror and fantasy writer, an award-winning newspaper journalist, and a U.S. Army gulf war veteran living in Alabama. He ironically loves Bigfoot and hobbits and believes Babe is the greatest movie ever made.
Bravely, he sits at the piano, hands going through the motions. He feels every note of his last performance, his swan song.
Nine-thousand nine-hundred and ninety-nine people rise, applaud. One stays seated, head down, emotions too much to bear, crying.
“Dad, I’ll always miss you,” she says under her breath.
David Maher is an aspiring writer trying to gain the confidence to complete his first novel by sharing stories, viewpoints, and his attempts at writing fiction.
In Mount Isa, miners train their savage dogs to attack Aboriginals that wander too closely to their houses.
I jogged through neighborhoods panting polluted air, my afro curls caked in lead dust. Chained beasts pulled their leashes tight while snapping teeth through low built fences.
I screamed, “I’m an American!”
Khalilah Okeke was raised in the Pacific Northwest and now resides in Sydney, Australia, with her husband and two children. Her work has been published in The Plum Tree Tavern, Down in the Dirt magazine, The Red Eft Review, The Orissa Society of the Americas Journal, and 50-Word Stories. She has work forthcoming in The Scarlet Leaf Review. You can follow her blog at khalilahokeke.wordpress.com.
I lost my face last night. No eyes so I looked by feel.
So many things feel like a face. A silk scarf, a mud puddle, a love letter, a string of kelp.
I found it and put it on. Then I saw it wasn’t mine.
I wore it anyway.
David Holloway lives, reads, and writes in northern Virginia. He’s had stories published in Gargoyle, The Mad River Review, and The Offbeat. His favorite invertebrate is the Nudibranch.
The man’s hair is grey and his face worn with much thought. With gravity and authority, he announces the only possible verdict. The other man looks back at him in fear.
The next day, one of the orderlies takes away the retired judge’s mirror and the doctor ups his meds.
Alice Lam moved to Australia from the UK with her partner and they share a house in Melbourne, along with a cheese-seeking, greying Boxer dog.
Alice’s website can be found at alicelambooks.com.
One of the brakes on my bike is broken. It doesn’t matter. It’s flat here.
Smiling white folks wave at me from golf carts. The weather is always warm. I married up.
I wonder if I’m as good as they are. Or as bad. Maybe I’m both. But hopefully neither.
Sarah Hausman likes to keep her bio shorter than her stories. Links and updates can be found at Facebook.com/sarahhausmanwrites
“No, they do not teach you in school. They don’t teach you how to find the art in your name, and how to speak of that art. No, they don’t teach you to love your beautiful warm, brown hands.
“They only teach you to love black on everything but yourself.”
Angelica is a Kenyan writer who seeks to educate the world about the New Afrika she grew up and lives in, through the stories she weaves.
It’s tough being queer when no one knows, and the closet only gets hotter during the summer.
I play dress up all I want—it is a closet, after all—but it’s stifling, uncomfortable.
When I peel away the lace, it’s soaked with sweat, and I peel away with it.
R.R. Bastek is a first-generation Polish-American writer interested in exploring life through the lens of literary fiction.