Tag Archives: lingering

ANGELA CARLTON: In the Evenings

Artistic, Submissions, , , ,

We usually meet at dusk waiting for the moonlight to illuminate the Chattahoochee River. We don’t always speak; heavy thoughts transcend as the earth spins-spins-spins. Still, we drift inside a magical realm, until the cemetery groundskeeper looks up to hear the swift stirring in the tall-tall pines, our souls whispering.

Angela Carlton’s fiction has been published in Every Writer, Everyday Fiction, 6S, 50 Word Stories, Spillwords Press, The Dribble Drabble Review, and Friday Flash Fiction. In 2022, “A Jigsaw Life,” a collection of stories was released. In 2023, her story “Swallowed,” was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. See more on Facebook.

BOB THURBER: Lasting Impressions

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Every time the spacebar sticks or a letter key jams
I remind myself I was not always a ghost with no voice.
Though I honestly cannot remember a moment of any life,
or a time when I was not constantly beating an old rusty typewriter to haunt an empty house.

Bob Thurber is the author of “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel” and two collections of stories. A celebrated master of Flash and Micro Fiction,” his work has appeared in 60 anthologies, received dozens of awards, and been used in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts where, despite severe vision loss, he continues to write every day. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.

SUSAN LOZANO: Last Words

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Friends and family gathered around me on that cold rainy February night, waiting for the news.

“No brain activity,” the doctor said.

Walking in the house at midnight, I called out your name, by habit.

In the dark silence, your last words echoed through my mind: “I can hear you.”

Susan is a Curriculum Developer at a mortgage company. She is widowed with two grown daughters and two stepsons, and four awesome grandchildren, two boys and two girls.

MARK FARLEY: Sole Spectator

Odd, Submissions, , ,

Our once-glorious team faded into obscurity. The fans faded too – dwindling from solid, to transparent, to mere shadows in the air. Now, sitting alone in the stands, I couldn’t see them at all.

“Why’s he still here?” whispered a nearby voice.

“Perhaps he’s not as devoted,” came the muttered reply.

Mark Farley is writing the autobiography of a tree dragon named Crimble.