You take the room in back, just sink, bed, and chair. The haggard woman unlocking the door disappears quietly back into dust.
Alone, with nothing but a ray of moonlight to talk to, you tell it your life story, then wait for tomorrow’s visit, plead with it to never leave.
Jim Doss has published two books of poems: Learning to Talk Again and What Remains. 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.
The lightning bolt struck, knocked me unconscious, threw me into the water.
Tom dove in, dragged me into the boat, started my heart.
Now I lie here, an active mind trapped in an unresponsive body. I think, “Did Tom do me a kindness when he compelled me to continue living?”
Warren Beatty wrote this true, autobiographical story.
Fifty years ago they played the game: never step on the cracks, her brother warned. If you do, they open wide, then down you slip between the flagstones. You just disappear.
Now, dragging along the wheeled suitcase that holds the broken-backed remains of her life, she understands what he meant.
Mick Mangan lives in England, and writes plays, poems, songs, fiction and non-fiction. See more about his music at mickmangan.com.
How about a sandwich? Her words were casual enough, but her voice made me feel she was more in need of company than food.
Only twelve, but too serious, sad, and worried.
I told her, Soon you’ll blossom into a fine young lady. Obviously she wanted much quicker than soon.
Jim Freeze is seventy-two years old, retired and widowed. He was happily married for fifty-four years and has two grown sons. He began writing in early 2012 to have something to do. His short stories have been featured in several publications including Brilliant Flash Fiction, Calliope Magazine, The Original Writer, and Literally Stories.
The child always held It.
It had big eyes, long teeth, and a tail. To most, It was a monster.
But It was soft. And It never ran away, keeping her warm through cold nights.
As she grew, the nights became colder, longer. And she held It to the end.
Joey doesn’t collect plushies although he doesn’t mind them either, as long as it’s not a bear. Because bear plushies are lame. See more at joeytoey.com.
Pulling barbed wire buried in the scrub,
it lightly flicked and nicked the skin.
Found the blueish pulse. Drew the brightest reds.
The colour and size of ladybirds.
And wiping in afterthought onto shirt cloth,
It darkened the sleeve while I carried on.
Alive for a moment, slowly becoming dirt.
Patrick Mc Loughlin is an English Language Teacher in Ireland and dabbles in writing. He also dabbles in painting and music and some day hopes to do more than dabble. He lives in the west of Ireland where it’s hard to concentrate.
A bright pink moulting boa constricts her long and scrawny neck. His battered trilby sports bedraggled pheasant’s plumage.
Perfectly matched, they strut the High Street, clucking falsetto greetings at flocks of old biddies.
At dusk, they return to roost in the nest from which no chick was born to fly.
Karen Tucker has been reading since pre-school and a writer from an early age. She is delighted, so many years later, to have two published full-length novels and five short collections of short stories for sale, mostly on Amazon UK and Amazon USA. She lives in Tunbridge Wells with her partner, and has no children or animals, but a growing collection of interesting friends. Her website is karentucker.me.uk.
I love “people-watching” on rainy afternoons.
Some of them walk with a run, their collars up, heads in shoulders, hands in pockets, then they scatter into doorways and bus shelters.
Some look up into the falling drops with outstretched hands.
Some open their umbrellas and just get on with life.
Over the last few years, Michael has completed a YA psychological thriller and a couple of children’s (animal and toy protagonists) chapter books. He is currently working on a 1930s-themed sci-fi. Michael is living with heart failure, but confesses: “I love writing!”
I remember your eyes shimmering like constellations the night we fell in love.
They say when we look at stars, space is so immense that we’re seeing light broadcasted from bygone histories. And even after death, our lives go on, conserved by light, traveling perpetually across the soundless, glittering darkness.
Kiki Gonglewski is a senior at Albuquerque Academy. She was a finalist in the 2017 state-wide “NM Girls Make Movies” screenplay contest, has won national recognition in the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, and has been published in the 2018 edition of Navigating The Maze, an international teen poetry anthology. Her six great loves in life are art, movies, Kurt Vonnegut books, astronomy, writing, and Korean barbecue.
More than a tourist in the land of the Parkie where the governor
mumbles and shakes. I’m like a warrior trying to escape; PD has
a grip on my soul. A voting citizen, I fell off the floor and opened
the door to a new life that yells: watch out!
Michael Mogel is an out of work Fire Alarm Inspector due to Parkinson’s and has been writing poetry since college where he founded a literary