“What’re you doing, Ed?”
He motioned for quiet, crumpling a napkin. “This moth’s toast.”
The insect was on the kitchen table.
“Don’t kill it, Ed. It has a life too.”
Life? Too? His face twisted.
After he released it into their backyard, it was almost immediately eaten by a bird.
David Sydney is a physician who writes fiction in and out of the EHR (Electronic Health Record).
Hi Leo.
Yes, the exhibition install was fine!
The issue we’re having is the wall text has raised concerns about your artwork.
Thing is, we’ve realised it’s correct.
I’m afraid the situation has changed.
It’s now just the wall text on display.
See you at 8.
The wall text insisted.
Simon Buckley is a Glasgow-based writer and visual artist. His interdisciplinary practice explores language, rurality and non-human intelligence. He is co-coordinator of the action research group Durty Beanz, and his artwork and writing has been exhibited and published by galleries, museums and institutions internationally. His flash fiction has appeared in MAP Magazine, with forthcoming work in BULL.
We had good decades held together by children, purpose, and compatibility. Our love turned quieter, moving out of the foreground. Now, we find ourselves in a bounded endgame, wanting to evade stagnation and trying to love more once again—while we still have left some time and love to spend.
Lynn Kozlowski has appeared in The Citron Review, The Zodiac Review, Molecule, 50-Word Stories, Bright Flash Literary Review, Every Day Fiction, The Dribble Drabble Review, Friday Flash Fiction, and The Malahat Review. He has a volume of short pieces, Historical Markers.
I see her at the intersection up ahead, so I hurry.
When I get there, three signs face us: straight ahead is PAST; both left and right, FUTURE.
“Which way?” I ask.
She says nothing and goes left.
I should go right… but I just stay and watch her go.
Nowadays, Joey is more concerned with red light cameras at the intersection. His work can be found at joeytoey.com.au.
The story of the week for July 6 to 10 is…
Forwarding Address by Paul D’Arcy
and
Mother’s Intuition by Bob Thurber
The pavement rolls under my tires like a conveyor belt of doom. Over and over again, taking me further and yet nowhere. At the intersection, the crane hoists a heavy load. Stopped at the red light, I imagine it coming loose, crushing my car’s roof. What would the headline say?
Melanie Reiffenstein is a writer thriving on coffee and books. She is a communications expert by day living in Toronto with her husband and two young kids.
I met my mother at a ritzy downtown restaurant to celebrate her divorce from my step-father. I brought a date. We had a feast.
After dinner, my mother said: “Listen. That girl.”
“Donna. Her name is Donna.”
“Not important. What’s important is you understand.”
“Understand what?”
“She’s not the one.”
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.
My encounter with serial killer David Hastings went unnoticed by all around us. In the crowd, I pressed close, wiped my bloody DNA-laced hand across his sleeve, and slipped Kelly Mason’s silver bracelet into his pocket. Then I strolled to the corner phone box and dialled the anonymous police line.
Sandra James writes from a rural property in Heathcote Victoria, Australia. Her second collection of short fiction, Black Rain and other stories, is available now.
To write a poem,
Then
Craft a sentence,
Then
Utter a word,
Oh, and to
Cook a full meal,
Then
Butter toast,
Then
Hold a spoon,
And also to
Run,
Then
Walk,
Then
Crawl,
But for the joy of seeing you, dear child, learn to… [continue reading in reverse order]
Joanna Norland is a writing coach and playwright based in East Sussex, UK.
I thought I saw you, in a crowded train car, face wearing a scruff that is new, no? I pawed at the crowd to see, just a look, as you turned away. Maybe you saw me and decided, just then, that we are better apart. That you are better apart.
Susan Prause is a short story writer based in Minneapolis, MN. Her stories have appears in 53-Word Story Contest, Flash Fiction Magazine, Friday Flash Fiction and Spark Flash Fiction.