The story of the week for September 14 to 18 is…
The One Who Can’t Close Her Eyes by Angela Carlton
PHIL W BAYLES: In the Blink of an Eye
Quiet house. Blink.
Crib in the nursery. Blink.
Changing nappies and late-night feeds. Blink.
First steps. Blink.
First words. Blink.
First birthday. Blink.
Second. Blink.
Third. Blink.
Fourth. Blink.
Preschool. Blink.
Playdates and birthday parties. Blink.
Red checked pinafore, black leather shoes. Blink.
First day of school. Blink.
Quiet house.
Phil W. Bayles is a father who wishes the tempus would stop fugiting so much.
MIKE SHIELDS: Grief in the Woods
The death toll grew daily as did the burial mound, dominating the prairie, then requiring the removal of ageless oaks and tall, proud pines. As the dense groves receded, remaining trees turned frail, their branches soft and thin, bowing their majestic heads as if in prayer.
And the willows wept.
Mike Shields enjoys the Flash and Micro format.
YESICA HURD: Autopsy Report
The sheriff calls me twice.
He tells me they have to transport your body across the Bay Bridge.
To San Francisco.
To get an autopsy.
I pay $500 to move your body.
No charges against him. The one who pushed you.
Me. I get emptiness.
Nothing but a silent siren.
Yesica is a Mexican-American writer who lives in California.
LUISE BOLLEBER: The Bird that Mistook a Window for the Sky
A thump against the window, again. This time a goldfinch.
He sputters on the deck, one wing dragging, the other spiraling like a paddle, frantic. Flightless now, he seeks cover, flails underneath the grill.
I did not need this sorrow today. I do nothing to help because I’m not God.
Luise Bolleber recently published her first book One War Ago, a biography about her father’s experiences in World War II. Her work has appeared in the New York Times, Cereal City Review, The Dolomite Review, and elsewhere.
LAUREN BUDROW: After the Funeral
It was supposed to rain. They went to the arboretum anyway. She wanted to see the peony garden where they were married.
It started to drizzle, then pour. Her son held an umbrella over her while she leaned down to sniff the battered but fragrant blooms already past their prime.
Lauren Budrow is an Assist. Professor of Mortuary Science.
GABRIELLA BRAND: ARFID
Hummus and pita chips. White bread. Sometimes fries. Non-sticky fruits.
Experts warn: Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder.
The boy still grows. Sometimes grey circles under his eyes.
He is taller than his twin, but doctors don’t know why.
Bribes fail. Nothing tempts him.
At night we wonder, how do bodies work?
Gabriella Brand’s fiction, poetry and essays appear in a variety of international publications including Alchemy Spoon (England), Shuili (India), Cordite (Australia) and Room Magazine (Canada). Her flash fiction can be found in Blink Ink, Moonpark Review and elsewhere. She lives outside New Haven and teaches languages in the OLLI program at the University of Connecticut.
MIKE KEYSER: Peace by Piece
A strange sensation shatters my illusion of protection.
A lump… surgery, and again I’m safe, but less of me today than yesterday.
Flesh heals. My mind wanders. I consider wings.
How many feathers can fall before the bird follows?
My destination still awaits. I’m arriving one piece at a time.
Through pencil and pulp, Mike Keyser shares his best pieces.
ANGELA CARLTON: The One Who Can’t Close Her Eyes
She wasn’t breathing. My mother stopped breathing in hospice. Cradling my face, I tried to catch my breath, I tried, as the air conditioner kicked on-off-on-off, a constant groan, before her hand gripped mine, ONCE.
And I’m that frightened child, in the dark, the one who can’t close her eyes.
Angela Carlton’s fiction has been published in Every Writer, Everyday Fiction, 6S, 50 Word Stories, Spillwords Press, Friday Flash Fiction and Paragraph Planet. In 2018, her story “The Roommates,” was made into a short film. In 2023, her story “Swallowed,” was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. See more at Angela Carlton Stories & Art | Facebook.
SOOFIA MAHMOOD: That Night Under the Sky
It was the night she learned that the moon shone brighter in a village than in the city. So bright she couldn’t open her eyes. So bright that the bones of the dead in the illuminated graveyard lay wide awake.
It was the night she was afraid of the moon.
Soofia Mahmood taught herself English as a teenager in Pakistan so she could become the first girl in her family to attend university. She found a love for writing strange things instead. Now in Toronto and having a late-midlife crisis, she just wants to be read. Read her short-story thought experiment, Tiny Tyrannies.