Every morning I stand on that platform waiting for the train to arrive. And every day, on the opposite end of the tracks, another train comes flashing right by.
All the while, another flash flies through my mind: What if I just walked over there and took the other train?
Dylan Martin is a University at Albany alumni who currently lives in the New York metropolitan area. His passion for fiction tends to gravitate towards the characters involved, and as such, his writing tends to focus on the characters as well. See more at dm-writing.com.
Moments wasted in anger:
55 hours arguing over finances,
6 months “discussing” our exes,
8 weeks agreeing to disagree,
18 frosty Sunday breakfasts after you came in late,
3 weeks not speaking over small things,
1 year, 7 months detesting your illness.
Moments missing you:
24 hours, 7 days, always.
Jo Withers needs to remember to make every moment matter. She spends them writing shorts, poetry, and flash fiction from her home in South Australia. She is also author of the middle-grade adventure 5 Simple Steps to Saving Planet Earth. You can follow Jo on Twitter.
It is garbage pickup day in Cambridge.
The empty bins are dancing in the street, rolling hither and yon, blown by the blustery gusts of wind, wind that has driven unimpeded from the icy Canadian tundra.
Neighbor corrals bin for neighbor; trash is secured house by house; the community thrives.
Martin Evans is an escapee from academia where he thrived for 35 years. He now potters around Cambridge, so he really didn’t escape academia!
Knotty-pine rails and shorn winter grass,
pastures wandering aimlessly,
subdued air chewed to the quick.
Puddles notch the ground
(rough-hewn mirrors of regret)
at the hushed gate where he waited.
The morning of the horse’s passing,
a rickety world presents itself,
clouds cobbled together
in a pale and unfinished sky.
C.G. Thompson was once owned by a tall pony who was kind enough to listen to her talk about poetry. Sadly, he passed away before any of her poems about him were published. She had hoped to read them to him. He continues to be an inspiration.
“Hey Google, close the blinds.”
“Hey Google, dim the lights.”
“Hey Google, start my favourite slow classics playlist.”
“Hey Google, send out all the last messages to friends and family from my draft box.”
“Hey Google, administer the anaesthetic and switch off the power to my ventilator.”
“Hey Google, Goodbye.”
Jo Withers worries that technology is getting out of hand and avoids it wherever possible. She is author of the middle-grade science-fiction novel “5 Simple Steps to Saving Planet Earth.”
Armed with her vintage Leica camera, she is convinced she can stop the passage of time, moments forever captured on film like flies in amber.
But despite her efforts, the clock persists.
Nest now emptied, she seeks solace in eighteen years of yellowed photographs.
Johannah Lipscher Simon is a professional ideator who writes and speaks on the power of living a creative life. See more at thewritingtype.com.
When she died, she left behind her stunning wardrobe, rows of hangers full of brand-new, high-quality clothes, silk scarves, designer handbags and shoes, most still with the tag on.
Most of the exquisite pieces had been hanging there for years, still unworn, being saved for later, for a special occasion.
Caroline Couderc is a multilingual writer and translator living in Switzerland and the UK. She has degrees in French Literature, Linguistics, and Cultural Anthropology. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Boston Literary Magazine, War, Literature and the Arts, Shotgun Honey, The Airgonaut, The Antigonish Review, and more. You can find her online at beautyisasleepingcat.com.
In this hostile environment
Where all are trapped, and none can escape.
And a mob’s slowly forming
To strangle that jerk
Blasting 70’s pop out his window.
Meanwhile, most sit,
With fingers drumming
For all eternity…
…until the stoplight changes,
and civilization returns.
Nelson Scott is the pseudonym of a student who has occasionally wanted to travel to New York City–and then has promptly remembered the crowds, traffic, and sheer degree of expenses that would likely greet him there.
Our eyes met through the glass, a chance that may never come again.
For one short moment we connected. Then just as quickly, she was gone—a graceful, young fawn.
I look for her on clear nights and wonder if she looks for me while eating apples under my tree.
Candace Kubinec posts her stories at storydribbles.wordpress.com and her poetry at rhymeswithbug.com.
The smoke alarm low-battery warning starts chirping.
Your kid’s stomach virus hits.
The faucet drips.
You notice that the cracks in the bedroom ceiling have gotten wider.
You hear an old train whistle in the distance.
You remember a song you haven’t heard since 1988.
I wonder where you are.
Robb Lanum is a failed screenwriter in Los Angeles. This is his third 50-word story. His longer, epic works have appeared on 101words.org.