Stop! I can’t take any more. Shut off the television. Turn off the radio. Cancel the newspapers. Delete the apps on your phone. Pull Alexa’s plug. Close the blinds; lock all the doors. Got to bed. Pull the covers over your head.
Set the alarm for three years from now.
Sherri Bale is a retired geneticist, part-time personal trainer, Jack Russell Terrier mom, and writer of fiction as short as 50 words and as long as 90,000. Whatever it takes to tell the story.
Rent is paid. Insurance is pending. Take off the utilities and the credit card payment. Twelve dollars left. How much is on the credit line? If I guess-timate and don’t eat much, there’s just enough wiggle room. I can get us a zoo membership. Maybe we can be kids again.
Morgan Lewellen lives in Oregon and writes fiction when she’s not teaching math.
This morning I find a bunch of Tico kids fishing, probably for trucha [trout], next to the bench I’m sipping my Cafe Britt.
One of them asks me why I’m not fishing.
I tell him, “I’m thinking.”
He says, “Senor, you’d be better off fishing.”
The kid might be right.
Johannes Springenseiss is a world citizen and raconteur. He mostly writes speculative fiction and creative essays that he has published in literary magazines worldwide.
How many lives can I live in this one? To be a radiant woman, a passionate lover, a sweet daughter, a caring sister, a diligent worker, and a successful businesswoman. A shining example of humanity, child of God, daring to dream. How many souls must I embody in this lifetime?
Gabriela Lima wrote this story.
I love to rake. There’s a power in drawing leaves, clearing muck and nature’s chaos. It keeps me outside musk-filled rooms, much too big. For a moment, I smile; then I remember malaise, arguments, slammed doors. I tear my rake into earth and emptiness and whisper sorrow. More leaves tumble.
Yash Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA fiction program. His stories, “Soon,” “How To Be A Good Episcopalian,” “Tales From A Communion Line,” and “Community Time,” have been nominated for Pushcarts. Yash’s work has been published in SmokeLong Quarterly, The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, Write City Magazine, and Ariel Chart, among others.
Bills and clients call from screeching screens. Phones clang. But instead, amid a canopy of stars, my older sister tells me to relax. To breathe, to inhale. She takes my hand. We waltz to Tchaikovsky, while summer psithurisms whisper and a full moon rises, casting the brightest beacons, shadows fleeing.
Mir-Yashar Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA fiction program. His stories, “Soon,” “How To Be A Good Episcopalian,” “Tales From A Communion Line,” and “Community Time,” have been nominated for Pushcart Prizes. Mir-Yashar’s work has been published in SmokeLong Quarterly, The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, and Ariel Chart, among others. He has been working on a short story collection centered around two siblings and their quest for the American Dream. Mir-Yashar lives in Garden Valley, Idaho.
I survey my browser, opened to half a dozen bills. Deadlines glare in blood red.
I need a walk.
Evening falls, pink and purple mingling with naked tree branches. A light breeze pushes me forward. Streetlamps come on, breaking shadows with butter-colored warmth.
I smile. The night is still young.
Yash Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA fiction program. His stories, “Soon,” “How To Be A Good Episcopalian,” “Tales From A Communion Line,” and “Community Time,” have been nominated for Pushcarts. Yash’s work has been published in SmokeLong Quarterly, The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, Write City Magazine, and Ariel Chart, among others.
“You may begin… now,” the teacher said.
My mind focuses on blood types not elements. O+. B-. Incompatible. Kidneys had to match. The doctor said we’d have to act quickly if a donor emerged. I hoped it’d be an old one.
“Time’s up! Pencils down.”
I hadn’t even begun yet.
Aisha Yansane is 9th grade student from Philadelphia. This is the beginning of her creative writing journey. Find her on Instagram at @amourraisha.
Clara listens to their laughter, forces her own. Sips her wine as they swig theirs. She gauges the right moment to make her excuse, feigns a yawn—it’s been a wild week, hasn’t it?
At home, alone, Clara lies in the dark, calms her breathing. Being absolutely fine is exhausting.
Lesley also has short fiction published online at 101 Words, Paragraph Planet, and Wensum Lit, as well as a number of competition anthologies. She grew up in the North East and now lives in Hampshire.
Our plans didn’t work out. “OH NO!”
“Mañana,” they said. But mañana Gloria got sick and so did I. Then we got better, but Rosa may have to work.
“OH NO!”
“Esta bien, Roberta.” It’s okay.
That’s what I come to Mexico to learn. To learn that “esta bien, Roberta.”
Roberta Schine is a yoga instructor, former karate instructor, immigration activist, and writer living in New York City. She teaches yoga classes for people with Parkinson’s at Mount Sinai Hospital and is a regular presenter at the National Institute of Neurology and Neurosurgery in Mexico City. Her writing has appeared in Portside.org, Rattapallax, Passager, Penmen Review, Unfortunately (winner, Halloween Micro Contest), Hawansuyo.com (in Spanish), Perigrinosysuslettras (in Spanish) and other literary publications.