He studied his frail body’s reflection in the dairy case door. What was it he had come for?
His flushed face pressed against the cool glass. A voice came to him as if from another place or time.
“You alright, sir? Sit here, you’ll feel better.”
Butter! That was it!
Dick Narvett is a retiree from a prior life in international business and independent film acting. He currently resides in Pennsylvania where he writes flash fiction and poetry.
Most of the pumpkin pie is still in the pan, but I’ve little taste for it. We’ll be eating the turkey Dad shot for days. No oyster dressing this year, another disappointment, something else to miss.
I’m lucky not to be alone. The plague has spared so few.
S.L. Bowen is a fiction writer who lives in Virginia with her husband and lots of books.
Robb and I had eluded the Yeti in Tibet, Nessie in Scotland, and Bigfoot in the Pacific Northwest. But while on a Caribbean cruise seeking mermaids, I saw a green-haired female in a wheelchair stand up. Then she and Robb embraced, whereupon both leapt over the railing into the sea.
Don Nigroni has a Bachelor’s Degree in Economics from Saint Joseph’s University and a Master’s Degree in Philosophy from Notre Dame and worked as an economist for the US Bureau of Labor Statistics.
It starts out as a vague outline, but a warm feeling of familiarity envelops me as my pencil glides across the stretched canvas and a body begins to take shape. Smooth strokes fill in the curves of her hips and her eyes take on a life that no longer exists.
Maria S. Nitsolas is an emerging writer from Sydney, Australia. To follow her writing journey, visit mariasnitsolas.com.
Nearly every old strip-mall parking lot has one, a brick-and-glass memorial to when some kid inside handed you your finished Kodachromes.
Where did all those Kodachromes go? To dusty drawers and landfills. And the kid? To ‘Nam, where he stayed as his parents grew old wondering why they let him.
Robert Markovich spent a lifetime in what is charitably referred to as service journalism, writing and editing stories about everything from cars to toilets, most recently at Consumer Reports. He is happily and gratefully retired.
Tangy salsa over fried eggs. Buttered toast, sliced in half and glazed with apricot jam. She hasn’t opened a menu in over ten years. Everybody at the corner diner on Hamilton Street knows to call her Suz, and never to ask why certain songs from the jukebox make her cry.
Lisa Marie Lopez has had stories recently published in Blink-Ink and The Ocotillo Review. She loves baseball, turtles, and writing in cozy little cafes. Visit her on Facebook at Author Lisa Marie Lopez.
Seen on the running trail: tall, beefy (beloved you, at the end, emaciated). Black hair under cap (you, at the end, bald). Muscular legs (you, at the end, wheelchair-bound). Blue eyes (you, at the end, blind). Trim beard (you, at the end, blotches). Gentle breathing (you, at the end, gasping).
Over 45 years, Paul Lamar’s poems and stories have appeared in The Southern Review, Prairie Schooner, Steam Ticket, Bryant Literary Review, etc.
Sissy’s behind gray walls, the day of competition. Singing occasionally with radios in quiet rooms, I find some courage. As poison takes over her brain, doctors with false hope insert silver needles.
But I sing, dizzy, from worn out bones, my only sister, broken.
Behind velvet curtains, I let go.
Angela Carlton lives outside Atlanta with her husband and two daughters. Her fiction has been published in EWR, Every Day Fiction, Pedestal Magazine, Long Story Short, 6S, High Noon and Friday Flash Fiction among others.
I know the future. You imagine yourself on your motorcycle with your scarf fluttering behind, a middle finger to the naysayers who believe the doctors.
But I know the future. You decided to repair that wooden chest with the rusty nails. You weren’t careful. One scratch and I was in.
Sarah Samson is a consultant, writer and corporate responsibility professional living in Portland, Oregon.
She didn’t need her smile after her husband died, so she gave it to her daughter, who was pregnant. Years later, she looked up to see someone walk through her door. It was her old friend the smile, now with short legs and rosy cheeks.
“Have some cookies,” she said.
C.M.F. Wright writes sentences that occasionally turn into stories. Her short stories have appeared in 50-Word Stories, Syntax & Salt Magazine and the VSS365 Anthology.