An ancient sepia-tone photograph:
She stood motionless on the jetty, her back to the camera, staring at Liberty’s statue and a hazy Manhattan skyline. Middle-aged, in bundled clothing, her right palm to her face, in awe and bewilderment of all she beheld.
Exhausted, alone, and hopeful in a new world.
Michael Borne is a professional architect and an amateur watercolor artist.
No longer able to live in their home, the elderly couple moved to a long-term care facility.
Possessions gathered during their fifty-eight years together were tossed into a dumpster and hauled away to the landfill.
The house is empty of breath, waiting for a family to bring a new beginning.
This is Debbie’s second 50-word story. She is amazed at how challenging it is to tell a story in so few words. An aspiring writer, Debbie is excited to eventually meet her new neighbours.
Soft blue light illuminated the tank as Milton watched the cells divide.
2… 4… 8… 16…
He felt like Frankenstein, high in his tower, witnessing the inception of his creation. Through the portal next to his workstation the sun crested the Earth’s horizon far below.
It was a quiet birth.
Award-winning author of multi-cultural and transgressive literature, Pavarti K. Tyler can be found with Doc Martens strapped on over fishnets, but a girlish giggle as easily and likely as a throaty guffaw.
Pressure squeezes me to the rhythm of her heartbeat.
The warm fluid around me turns metallic and rushes past, pulling. I fight to stay until my body relaxes against smooth, strong walls.
I gasp as the womb releases me. My chest swells then releases the agony.
The silence is gone.
Sherri Ellerman is an Occupational Therapist who spends her free time writing short fiction and poetry. She has had a flash fiction story published in River and South Review, a literary journal. Her article “Five Steps to Consider in Romance Fiction” was published at Write Well, Write to Sell in July 2014. She is the Flash Fiction editor for Liquid Imagination, an online literary magazine.
She threw her coat on top of the bed and lay down beside it. She pressed her bulbous fingers against her belly, probing the veins as though they were fat roots. The scent of decay filled her nostrils.
After a while, a snowdrop pushed through the bed to join her.
Joan Gilfillan likes to read so much that she sometimes forgets she can write. One day, she will be a great author, if her memory doesn’t fail her first.