Her hands were a blur
of harsh bitten nails
smudges of ink
and the assurance that comes
On her arm there were
scabs and paint
and one ancient hair tie,
She was a mess,
and I loved her before my eyes ever
made it past her elbows.
Maria doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but her muse keeps trying to change her mind. She’s delighted to announce that her poem “Swept Away” was recently featured in The Coe Review.
Their spouses’ corporations had merged.
Wow, she said, blinking.
How embarrassing is this, he said.
I’m having flashbacks, she whispered.
He smiled shyly.
Remember falling, she said, into one another’s embrace? Remember holding on for dear life?
Youthful mistakes, he sighed.
Perhaps it’s time we made them again, she said.
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, though legally blind, he continues to write every day. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
She was crazy, but not like others
She had the madness of a woman who lives as if every day were Friday
She was the one who thought that betting on her was better than going to a casino
She was the one who had never regretted anything
Candela Martinez wrote this story.
Before you rise out of sleep I memorize every moment
of the black timeless night when we moved in discovery and ecstasy
and ignited enthrall before lying in perfect harmony
even though only yesterday
we were strangers seated side by side
in 3A and 3B on the flight from Hamburg.
Lynette moves to a new country every two or three years and currently lives in Denmark, but calls the Mornington Peninsula in Australia and San Diego in the U.S. “home”. She has a Master of Arts (Writing and Literature) degree from Deakin University.
Nobody saw the blood on her hands, as she walked out the door. She had only done him and herself a favour. They probably wouldn’t have had a “bright future” together anyway. It was for the best.
Back in the room, her inner artist child lay slain, bleeding to death.
Yassi Dooo believes the inner artist of each person is of the opposite sex. How else could one pro(actively)create?