Everyone watched in silence as she placed her old, shaky hands on the piano for one last time. A tear rolled down her cheek as she tried to remember what she had once played.
I stay huddled in the corner, too young to understand.
Now she is dead.
Alessandra Merto is a 6th grade student. She likes reading, writing, dancing, and running.
A bow in hand,
she breathes to life
four magical strings.
A canvas of sound
paints my life
in fairytale colours
of distant dreams.
Her body swings, the strings sing,
tears release my joy,
smiles in refrain.
The music pulses
within my veins.
have touched me
Patrick listened to his grandfather, father, and daughter play the violin, with great delight.
He asked, “What kind of music do you like?”
She thought, Well, there’s Duke, Dizzy, and Miles. Can’t forget Errol and Oscar. Bop, Modern, and Cool. Maybe I should just say:
He said, “I like jazz too. I actually just got a new Kenny G. CD.”
She said, “Oh.”
Robert Iulo’s work has been published or is forthcoming in Epiphany, Culinate, Deep South, Museum of Americana, Story Teller, Gastronomica and others. He’s had a special feature published in The Mississippi Sun Herald about his volunteer work on the Mississippi Coast after Katrina.
The body had washed ashore holding a note: “Bury me near a piano.”
I carried the body to the landfill where the grand piano stood half submerged in garbage. I placed the body on the keys and listened to the music it made as trash blew wildly in the wind.
Christina Murphy’s stories appears in a range of journals and anthologies, including, most recently, Page & Spine and Samizdat Literary Journal.
All great jazz players stop here first in after-life: the Swansong Island Lounge. McCoy’s coming soon; the Steinway might not survive his hammer-handed tenure.
After it goes, no more instruments. Silence.
God installed these mechanisms,
walked away, and let be be.
West of the Moon, notes carrying over shoreline surf
Todd Mercer won the Woodstock Writers Festival’s Flash Fiction contest and took 2nd and 3rd place of the Kent County Dyer-Ives Prizes. His chapbook Box of Echoes won the Michigan Writers Cooperative Press contest. Mercer’s poetry and fiction appears in The Lake, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Thema, Blue Collar Review, Right Hand Pointing, Apocrypha & Abstractions, Cease, Cows, Dunes Review
and Eunoia Review
“Jimmy, keep practicing that paradiddle, loud and in time.” It was up to the boy now. Dave lay back exhausted.
The boy banged that hollow log, eyes closed, finding comfort in the rhythm.
He played and played, his cheeks wet with tears.
The rescuers heard the call.
Was Dave alive?
Feeling optimistic after the success of her first submission, Anmari decided not to kill Dave off.
The fortuneteller strokes my hand, the callouses along my fingertips. Her brow furrows. “You have the hands of a pianist… But that cannot be…”
My nostrils burn in a dark, musty room, air of silence shattered by empty notes only I hear. She shudders at my memories, proving herself authentic.
Denise Long writes from her home in Nebraska. She works as a freelance copy editor and an English instructor. In her spare time, she is also a wife, and a mother to two young boys. Her flash fiction has appeared in or is forthcoming from Burrow Press Review, Journal of Microliterature, and The Story Shack, among others. She occupies a small bit of online space at denisehlong.com
Everything he lost came back,
even a bit extra.
The Fates restored
what was snatched away,
with interest paid—
a practical apology.
He climbed out of a bottle,
walked home from the railroad trestle.
His wallet anonymously returned,
jammed full; the sainted
truck-chasing dog—alive again;
his woman re-enchanted, forgiving.
Todd Mercer won the Woodstock Writers Festival’s Flash Fiction contest and took 2nd and 3rd place of the Kent County Dyer-Ives Prizes. His chapbook Box of Echoes won the Michigan Writers Cooperative Press contest. Mercer’s poetry and fiction appears in The Lake, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Thema, Blue Collar Review, Dunes Review and Eunoia Review.
One day Henry was updating his iTunes.
Henry did not actually read anything.
The next morning Henry, to his horror, found that all his music had been replaced.
With Michael Bolton.
Henry had agreed to the terms.
Brady Gerber is a current student at Indiana University studying business and music who also loves to write. Some of his favorite writers include Kurt Vonnegut, Henry Miller, Ernest Hemingway, and Bob Dylan. Brady does most of his writings on his blog (Headphone Nation
) and on his Twitter (@BradyWGerber
The truck moved at a high speed, the driver singing along to the music on his iPod.
His phone vibrated in the back seat, receiving a call from his wife. The road ahead was cracked.
It was too late before the driver realized danger. He never reached home for dinner.
Mr. Literato, unlike his name, is not Spanish. He reigns from somewhere unknown in Asia and maintains a blog: alwaysrandomposts.blogspot.com.