He likes listening to music, so the choice was easy for his birthday: a Bluetooth speaker!
Right now, I regret it. The music is way too loud! I can’t handle it anymore.
I go to his bedroom, open the door, and shout: “Please, dad, can you turn the volume down?!”
Noé Colle is a 17-year-old student from Chimay, a town in the French part of Belgium. He saw the website 50WS during his English lesson and wanted to give it a try. Noé is a composer and a DJ: music is his passion.
Last night, Dad came round to introduce us to his latest bride to be. “There’s life in the old dog yet,” he said.
She said nothing.
This must be his third engagement since Mum died, or his fourth including Carol.
“Who’s counting, anyway?” he asked with a grin.
David is remarkably immature about these things. He finds that writing about it does help a bit.
Sarah couldn’t bear to look out the back window. She hated the garden. Peter had been promising to remove the yard toys since January, but he didn’t have the heart to do it. They fought about that. They fought about everything.
Tina was only four. Perhaps heaven has yard toys.
Paul Laughsend is a previously unpublished writer, always looking for support and guidance.
The tiny hand was lost within its father’s. Each gripped tightly, softly to the other. Within that touch, free from language or misinterpretation, resided the very essence of love.
The small hand slowly went limp; the larger paused, then released. One now free; the other chained eternally to that moment.
Adam Mitchell is a teacher, mostly, and a learner always. Current published work can be accessed in his dreams.
He was never much for talking,
but he must have felt
our youthful lack of questions
as a wound: when
we asked him, later—
when we were old enough
he’d never told us
of who he was,
his answer flared
quick and sharp:
Jennifer L. Freed usually writes poetry but likes the challenge of micro-fiction. She recently had a 100-word story (“The Lesser”) published in The Citron Review
. Her website is jfreed.weebly.com
The notes by the headstone say “Thank You”, anonymous followers grateful because her death finally opened their eyes.
Mine says “Sorry”, for even as an enemy of the state, a hero of the people, or an urban legend, she was still my daughter and I failed to keep her safe.
Mohamed is an avid reader who found a calling in writing, both fiction and non-fiction. Mohamed is writing a short story collection titled “Broken Men”. He also wrote The Café, his first novel in Arabic. See more on his blog.
“Put the tip of your knife in the silvery place where the soft-scaled belly meets tail. Press down. Draw the blade away, not toward. Cleave the meat, and fish out the gnarled black guts; smell the sour salt.”
“And if he tries to help?”
“Say no. This is most important.”
Post-MFA, Lora Rivera worked as a literary agent’s assistant, children’s biographer, e-learning developer, and crepe maker. She likes: rocks and climbing on them, words and chewing on them, people and connecting to them, and ferns because they are old and slow to evolve and so must be very wise. Find her on Twitter
or at clippings.me/lroseriver
The girl fell, once. Gingerly, her father picked her up. He kissed her wound. “Roses bleed, too,” he said, drying the tears from her face.
She looked up to him, beautiful, bright-eyed, and unknowing of the secrets behind his eyes. Because given time, even roses grow dull and wither away.
Joaquim Chichava is unbearably quirky, and has grown to love wearing shorts.
You tuck in the quilt again. She frowns, her eyes remaining shut.
You kiss her forehead. She’s still warmer than she should be. You know it’s just a cold, but…
Her eyes open. “Daddy, don’t have to stay. Don’t want you to get sick…”
Forcing a smile, you stay anyway.
Joey tries to write a little. You can find him and abuse him at joeytoey.com
Adalyn climbed up her father’s lap for a game of “hop, hop to Boston”. Her father was the strongest man alive and she loved him “the morst”.
“Watch out my little girl!” he sang as she squealed.
But she never fell in: she flew from his lap all grown up.
Damian Sebouhian is a freelance writer, playwright and English tutor living in Northern California. He misses the rain.