I watch father through a panel of glass.
I long to remove my mask and give him a hug, but the nursing home will not allow it.
Perhaps tomorrow, I tell myself.
Be patient.
For him, you have all the time in the world.
Marjan Sierhuis loves reading 50-word stories.
I warn her not to over-water the plant in the window, but she insists that more water is needed to reach the roots. This is just like her: to do a little too much, to love a little too hard. Just like that plant, one day I, too, will drown.
Ran Walker is the author of 22 books, including the 50-word story collection THE STRANGE MUSEUM. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University in Virginia.
They had the kind of love
that camped out in cotton shirts
Damp with perspiration from
Morning gardening
Afternoon lovemaking
Evenings with her back pressed against his chest
As they looked into an endless sky
And pondered how the love they shared
Felt bigger than the entire universe before them
Ran Walker is the author of 21 books, including the 50-Word story collection THE STRANGE MUSEUM. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University in Virginia.
He left on a fine spring morning. Then, she was still young and fair. When he returned, he found that she had aged; she was paler and her skin was wrinkled. It had only been a year, but to a person in love, a year is an eternity too long.
Vivian Leung lives in Scottsdale, Arizona, and has always held a love for music and writing. One of her goals in life is to land a career in healthcare. There are few things that are more rewarding to her than helping others.
Someday, I will kiss your cheek and make you smile. I will wrap my arms around you in a warm embrace.
I will sing your favorite song at the top of my voice. I will stay by your side and vow never to leave. Mother, I will promise you this.
Marjan Sierhuis enjoys reading flash fiction.
He knelt, burying
his face in her waist,
the knowledge
of how many times he’d die
for her
choking
so he
could only say
you have no idea.
Held fast, she
(looking out the misted glass
at the crabapple trees with their pink heads
thinning)
echoed
you have no idea.
Celine Low lives in Singapore, a tiny country in Southeast Asia with a hodgepodge of cultures. She holds an MA in English Literature and loves to dance and take long walks. Her works have appeared in Blood Moon Rising Magazine and 9Tales From Elsewhere.
I cast one last glance at the phone, still dark on the bedside table. My heart ached for it ring; my body willed it to stay silent. I let myself slip into the embrace of another, and watched the distance between us stretch beyond what two lost souls could repair.
Patrick Eades writes stories about people who are misunderstood, whose voices don’t get heard despite having something important to say. He has worked in the healthcare industry for nearly a decade, giving him a perspective into life, death and everything in between. His work is soon to be published in Idle Ink and Scarlet Leaf Review. He lives sandwiched between the National Parks of southern Sydney with his wife and dog, and has appeared in one film, where he played a drunken boxer with a strong dislike of DJs who think they can sing. He can be found at patrickeades.net.
He stands on the corner, holding a sign that reads: Hungry. Please Help.
I reach into my backpack and hand him a turkey sandwich through our car window.
He nods his thanks, lowers on one knee, and feeds it to his dog.
“Don’t worry,” Mom says, “tomorrow we’ll bring two.”
Lisa Reynolds is an internationally published writer, living in Eastern Ontario, Canada. She writes short stories that focus on social justice issues. “Sharing A Meal” was inspired by an act of kindness she witnessed in Toronto, Ontario.
Nahla watched warily as they unpacked her belongings: bowl, leash, collar. Sooner or later, she’d have to move again. It never lasted.
A child scrambled forward, wrapping her in a welcoming hug. Warmth, unlike any other, flooded Nahla’s chest.
How long can I stay? she searched.
Forever, his eyes answered.
Cadence Rage is a musician, animal rights activist, and caffeine-addicted weaver of speculative fiction. She publishes flash fiction and hilarious observations at cadencerage.wordpress.com. Find her on social media @cadencerage.
You cry in a voice that is not your own, act like dead weight, call me horrible names. But sometimes you look me in the eye and smile. Sometimes you remember. I brush your beautiful hair and think, That’s alright my love, I’m also not who I used to be.
Julian Dores lives in Brussels, Belgium. He enjoys writing fiction and taking candid photographs of everyday life on the street. You can read more of his work on his website.