He held my hand as we wove our way through the ancient city. Our footsteps fell where Caesar once walked and echoed near where Paul wore his chain. Gladiators’ ghosts whispered tales, and the church bells sang out a memory.
But my heart was faint because he held my hand.
Amanda is a wanderer. She wishes she could travel the world over, but is content as a wife and mother to four explorers who keep her on her toes and show her the world anew through their eyes. In her spare time, she writes.
They met on the sand, slow waltzing to wavesong under a rainbow of stars and deciding love should last beyond forever.
Now he whispers those memories and her smile smooths the wrinkles of their pain.
He catches her last breath with a gossamer lasso and ties it to his heartbeat.
A.J. lives in Australia and wouldn’t mind being reincarnated as a kookaburra. She’s on Twitter at @manicol1.
The moment River’s life ended, brick by brick I built the wall. Covered the searing pain with concrete so no one could see. People passed and acknowledged the smile. The nod. The pleasantries.
Till you saw and lay down beside me, held me, and whispered. Whispered like River used to.
Eileen Brennan McIntyre is a writer from Northern California who loves writing stories that touch the heart.
I didn’t give her my password because it was “I LOVE SUSAN,” and I hadn’t told her yet. She ended the relationship the following morning with a text. She said if I couldn’t trust her, she couldn’t stay.
I responded with the password, but she said it was too late.
Rob O’Hara works with computers all day and words all night. Find out what Rob’s up to at RobOHara.com.
The morning after, I find myself putting chopped tomatoes in my omelette, the same way he did. He had them ready on our first visit and somehow it became our ritual.
I hate tomatoes. But I’m glad I never told him.
I’ll miss Grandpa’s stories. And his tomato omelettes, too.
Melissa Kelly is a poet and short story writer from Long Island, NY. You can see some of her work in WestWard Quarterly Magazine, Plum Tree Tavern, Soft Cartel, Amethyst Review, and Anti-Heroin Chic.
“Those Browns!” said Mom, after Billy’s first visit. “They’re not smart. Short-lived, too.”
Both were true. But when my leg was in a cast, Billy carried me into the school. He blanketed everyone with kindness—warmth personified.
When the cancer got him, age 50, our children and I cried buckets.
Rita Stevens has been a teacher and newspaper writer in west Michigan. She writes every day—three novels and a stack of short stories so far.
Sunshine after a murky morning,
Dark rings telling tales
Of pain
Screams from behind tired eyes
That once danced with life
And still briefly glinted
When he saw her
He peered into the glass and blinked
The birth of a tear
Gravity carving a salty track to the cheek’s edge
Jon is a frustrated storyteller from the North West of England, currently working in Local Government but with a background in Newspaper Journalism.
We talked for hours, while making lists of people to call. Halfway to morning we went to bed. We were shattered. Before we fell asleep the wind picked up, gusting snow off the trees. As the branches lightened, they scratched against the windows, like something asking to be let in.
Author’s Note: For Sarah Kate 1980-2010
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.
If he hadn’t hit the ball.
If she hadn’t caught it and tossed back the most luminous smile in the annals of baseball.
If he hadn’t scribbled his number on it.
If she hadn’t called, laughing and calling him “ballsy.”
But he had and she had. Together for eternal If.
Tilia Klebenov Jacobs is the author of Wrong Place, Wrong Time and Second Helpings at the Serve You Right Café as well as numerous short stories. She is a reviewer for IndieReader.com, a judge in San Francisco’s Soul-Making Keats Literary Competition, and a board member of Mystery Writers of America. Additionally, Tilia teaches writing classes for prison inmates. See more at tiliaklebenovjacobs.com.
We were stoned. Bowie was singing about Major Tom.
It wasn’t our first kiss, but it was our first nose-to-nose lingering stare.
Up close her eyes looked like something you might see through a telescope.
At the center, a sapphire sun floated in the diffused light of undeniable, lasting warmth.
Author’s Note: For C, of course.
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.