The story of the week for April 13 to 17 is…
Life of the Party by Marc Young
The story of the week for April 13 to 17 is…
Life of the Party by Marc Young
Sometimes, looking out the window at passing trees pushes the boundaries of anxiety. The little one in the backseat senses this as I open the moonroof.
“Those aren’t the good trees.”
You’re right, dear, those are not the good trees.
I don’t remember when we last saw the good ones.
Kristie Macris writes occasionally as she splits her time between Seattle and Nice. Very strong NDAs keep her from admitting to anything she wrote before she mostly retired.
Once, I caught a rust-red crawdad in the muddy forest creek. I took him home to a plastic tank, where his red bled out to deathly white. Crying salt, I buried him in the garden.
I only watch the crawdads now, their ruby bodies moving fast beneath the water’s surface.
J.C. Pillard is a writer and editor living in Colorado. Her work has been published in Hearth Stories, Abyss & Apex, Corvid Queen, and elsewhere. When not writing, J.C. can be found gardening and playing too much D&D. Find more of her work at jcpillard.com.
She is on the play mat, looking at the ceiling. He is above her, looking at the app. It says eighty-third percentile. It says he’s crushing it. She looks up at him with her cobalt shade of blue eyes, the same way she looks at the ceiling. He scrolls down.
Robin Koczerginski is a Toronto-based writer. He is completing a memoir on parenting his daughter, born with a genetic condition deemed “incompatible with life”. He lives with his partner and their two daughters.
Who stole the heart from my tin chest? You were flagged, a person of interest:
You flew away. I met a steely woman with lips of pewter, eyes of bronze. You were no longer of interest; a passing storm.
Tom Walsh writes these days from Cambridge, MA. His stories can be found in Emerge, Hobart Pulp, Lost Balloon, Bending Genres, HAD, Flash Frog, The Citron Review and elsewhere. He’s working these days on a flash-novel play about wildfire and fate. Say hi at @tom1walsh.bsky.social.
Authors are welcome to submit their stories for May 2026 as of today.
Typically, submissions are open from the 1st to 15th of each month. However, May 2026 submissions will be open from April 15 through May 15.
I will be away for a few weeks starting in late April, and I’d like to select and schedule some of the May stories before I leave.
Happy writing!
When the quake killed thousands of his subjects, the king took it as a declaration of war by the Earth itself. Swearing vengeance on an ungrateful ally, he ordered cannon aimed at the soil. Soldiers stabbed their bayonets at the oaks, and sappers crumbled the mountains. There was no surrender.
Dave Bradley’s words have appeared in publications such as Best Of British Science Fiction and Dorling Kindersley’s The Screen Traveller’s Guide, as well as various pop culture magazines and websites.
Saturday, he packed up all his books in boxes and loaded them in his car, and that’s when she knew he was serious. Previously, he’d grab his notebook, cigarettes, a satchel of socks and underwear. Then he’d drive around for a while. But he always came home to his books.
Bob Thurber is the author of six books. Regarded as a master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in Esquire and other magazines, been anthologized 60 times, received a long list of awards, and been utilized in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
Sunglasses-clad, the goat gnawed a bright red sari like candy. Shopkeepers bickered over whose festival idol it offended. Tourists snapped selfies; children clapped and whooped. I offered steaming chai. It licked my hand, blinked once, then trotted off, pausing only to nibble my neighbour’s winning lottery ticket. Chaos officially certified.
Susmita Mukherjee is an Indian author and former teacher at Army Public School, based in Kolkata. Her work explores human tenderness and oddities in everyday life. She writes with precision and empathy, finding humour and strangeness in ordinary moments.
This time, I was travelling alone. Would see, know and relish alone. We had anticipated another sunny moment. I noticed her glow and blossoming after our last vacation, but then she opened another door—a door to the celestial, a door to spiritual solitude. It was another strange discovered path.
Thompson Emate is trying his hand at every genre of fiction. He has a deep love for nature and the arts. He lives in Lagos, Nigeria.