Sitting within the home at night by lamplight, what comparisons did the German people draw? What murmurs from the radio cut through into the room?
Did someone speak the fear aloud: are we like them, is this like now? Did someone else say: No, we live within a different time.
Nina Feinberg is a writer, photographer and distance runner. She lives in Brooklyn, NY and works in user experience design.
Tapping up and down against my window, wing flapping, wild chirping. I thought this little bird must be hungry. I go outside with seeds and water. It refuses any of my offerings. In a frenzy, it keeps attacking its own reflection on the glass until one of them drops dead.
Kapka Nilan was born in Bulgaria and lives in the UK. She lives between languages and likes spending time crafting little stories. Her flash and microfiction have been featured in Bath Flash Fiction Award Anthology 2018 and online.
Feel the change in the air.
Feel the energy, the power,
Undulating just out of sight.
This is a time of the looking-in,
It’s a time of peace and growth.
The wind is blowing,
Carrying the pulse of what will be,
__________________what has been.
Guide me, brother.
I will listen.
Fredrick Hudgin is the author of the End of Children Trilogy, Ghost Ride, The School of the Gods, Four Winds – A Collection of Poetry, A Rainy Night and Other Short Stories, Green Grass, and Sulphur Springs. See more at fredrickhudgin.com.
“This enchanted mirror shows your worst enemy’s secret identity,” said the sage.
The hero leaned closer.
“I’m my own worst enemy? That’s deep. Am I a split personality, or just way too self-critical—”
“…Wait.” The sage fumbled. “Wrong setting, sorry! My kids must’ve left it on ‘front camera’ again.”
C.M.F. Wright is an avid reader and sentence wrangler. Her short stories have appeared in Fifty Word Stories, Microfiction Monday, Syntax & Salt Magazine and the VSS365 Anthology. Follow her at @cmf_wright.
The memories ripple as you wade in, the concrete beneath your toes cushioned by abstract thought. Your fingers trail the surface, silver swirls of emotion patterning in your wake. Pause for a breath, then plunge down, losing yourself in memories even as they nibble away the edges of your mind.
Jenora Vaswani would like to think of herself as a lightfoot halfling, nimbly toeing the line between fantasy and reality. In actuality, you’re more likely to find her at her desk poring over various literary theories, surrounded by biscuit sandwiches and red velvet cookies. If you’d like to see more of her work, feel free to pop over to her website.
They say I know you,
But truly, I don’t.
We have a deep connection?
A long history together?
I can’t believe it. I won’t.
You are hideous. A monster!
There is nothing before me that I wish to embrace.
Be gone, deceitful reflection, and take your disgusting lies with you!
October seems to bring about that icy trickle of fear that maybe we are who we think we are, after all.
It was a ghastly picture of a girl who seemed my age, but pale-skinned her head shaved. “Whose picture is it, in my drawer, Ms. Bevins?” I asked the doctor.
A few minutes later I overheard Ms. Bevins instructing the nurse to take the mirror off of my drawer.
Divya is a story-teller, sorehead, whiner, occasionally a Pollyanna. (To sum it up – a personal/ lifestyle blogger!) She works for an IT company by day and blogs by night. Divya lives in India.