Tag Archives: war

SAMI MATIN: Childhood in Bangladesh

Artistic, Submissions, , , , ,

We celebrated the four main religions here: Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity. Regularly we sang, danced, cooked. Painted. Learned truths about our history through fearless journalists, families’ testimonies, the war heroes the government erased from textbooks. Nobody hesitated joining the Monsoon Revolution, arms drenched and outstretched as bullets sped toward us.

Third-person bio: Sami Matin is a writer from Bangladesh. She holds degrees in English and Creative Writing from the University of Michigan and the University of Arizona. Their literary work is forthcoming or published in SmokeLong Quarterly, Hobart Pulp, and the Wingless Dreamer.

NELLY SHULMAN: The Roof

Artistic, Submissions, , , , ,

What bothered Friedman most were the bird droppings. Washing them away from around the hotel pool, he gazed at the sea, mesmerized by his urge to take a plunge. However, the roof had been fenced off for safety, which struck him as ironic since the war had begun in earnest.

Nelly Shulman is writing in Berlin.

RON SCULLY: The Monument

Artistic, Submissions, Top Stories, , , ,

The Memorial Day Parade passes, brass blaring, drums pounding, ending at the town cenotaph with a flyover finale, in missing man formation. Among the names engraved in polished granite is my wife’s first love, downed in Vietnam.

She thinks of him, takes hold of my arm;
doesn’t know I know.

Ron Scully wrote this story.

KEITH HOOD: Another Sunrise

Adventure, Artistic, Submissions, ,

Gunfire rang out. Cedric swore he could hear the scream of the butterflies. A fellow soldier took a bullet in the thigh. Coins tinkled from his pocket. They took cover, fighting off the attack and spending the night in the bush. The sun shone through thick haze the next morning.

Keith Hood is a former janitor and window cleaner. He retired from a job as a field technician for a Michigan electric utility after 32 years avoiding electrocution. Keith Hood’s writing has appeared in Blue Mesa Review, Your Impossible Voice, one sentence poems, Five Minutes One Hundred Words, and The Forge Literary Magazine.

PETER LI-PING: Starlight in the East

Artistic, Submissions, , , ,

Nothing remains but the air he breathes. Banks of earth redolent of death protect him still. Another shell lands close, mud and metal raining on motionless brothers. An eye peeping above the parapet sees an azure sun swallowed by a buttercup sea and he knows. There will be another day.

Peter Li-ping walked in the City Square long before the Beast came and he knows he will do so again, long after the Beast is broken.

DEBORAH TAPPER: Battlefield

Artistic, Submissions, , ,

Conflict ripped this land apart. Now nature slinks back, swallowing rusty weapons and mossy bones. The scarred ground slowly heals. Trees take root. Cautious birds begin to sing again. Animals return, their shyness lost in abundant vegetation, cleansing rain.

When people eventually rediscover this lush tranquillity, they call it paradise.

Deborah writes at an old desk surrounded by five hundred pet bugs.

PATRICK YU: Us and Them

Artistic, Poetry, Submissions, , , , , ,

Five die on each side
Ten replace them
History repeated
My hat off
Held to my chest
Gusts of wind
Amber and Crimson leaves
The season is changing
Winter around the corner
My grandson is warm
Under the Christmas tree
I feel it’s
The last chance
At what was normal

One of Patrick Yu’s favourite memories was paging through the Sears Christmas wish book.

HUGH CARTWRIGHT: No Place Like Home

Artistic, Submissions, , , ,

Children scour tanks left crippled among the dying trees.

A bloated body in khaki, abandoned by retreating troops, is fought over by crows, greedy and fractious.

Rushing out, the woman stares; one glance at what remains of his face is enough. She screams and collapses.

It’s the road to hell.

Formerly a University scientist, Hugh is now retired and living in the Pacific Northwest, where writing provides a diversion from his doomed attempts to grow Canadian oranges. His stories have appeared in Nature Futures, Foxglove Journal, Meniscus, The Drabble, Grey Sparrow Journal, and elsewhere.

BILL COX: Morning in the Warzone

Artistic, Submissions, , , ,

The plane hangs like a cross in the sky. It climbs uncertainly, laboriously, precariously. A finger of fire rises briskly up to meet it, to stab it down from the clouds, back to earth. I watch the fragments fall, scattered like forsaken prayers, and wonder if we’ll ever rise again.

Bill lives in Aberdeen, Scotland. He arrived here from a parallel universe, where he was the most famous author of his generation. Sick of fame, he now seeks obscurity and his current standard of writing pretty much guarantees that.

LISA MARIE LOPEZ: Sunflowers

Artistic, Submissions, Touching, , , ,

For every week the war goes on, I plant a row of sunflower seeds. Before long, two rows turn into a dozen. After a while, blooming begins. Soon, golden yellow sunflowers are everywhere. Whenever someone asks how many sunflowers have bloomed, I shake my head and say, Far too many.

Lisa loves quiet walks and coffee. She’s been published in various literary journals, including Blink-Ink and Potato Soup literary journal.