A memory, as if only yesterday.
This young woman is a metaphor for freedom
her strong hands guide the yacht
she flies over the crests of the ocean
braces against fierce, frigid salt blasts
that strike her windburnt face
over and over
flicking her blond locks into a wild dance
Alice Lam moved to Australia from the UK with her partner and they share a house in Melbourne, along with a cheese-seeking, greying Boxer dog. See more at alicelambooks.com.
I open my eyes.
It’s still here. Thank you.
It was here yesterday, and the day before that. Uncertain how long it will be here for me, though. Nobody can tell me, because once I nearly saw the last of it. I nearly died.
I hope it’s here again tomorrow.
Michael has not been published by a major publishing house as yet, although he has written a handful of articles for local lifestyle magazines and one or two rural media reviews. He was a photographer (retired) by trade. Michael has been writing for many yearss. He is now living with hearing failure, but that doesn’t stop him from writing on a daily basis.
She pushed me to the door. I said, “Before you say your piece, heed this; hearken to the sages: words said are words written on the fabric of your soul. They cannot be unsaid. A soul cannot turn back.”
She said, “Get the hell out of my house.”
Why there’s the very fellow. See Peter: in Dublin does he lurk, all beard and books. Perhaps today he is an extra on a film set, perhaps tomorrow he plays freelance with a camera, the day after that a writer. Wherever he is, whatever he is, he is most likely having coffee or thinking of his next one.
(For Trey, with everlasting love)
The last time the boy slept at grandma’s house he told her that portraits of her face had been painted on the inside of his eyelids, so that’s what he got to look at every night while he waited to fall asleep. He pinched finger to thumb. “Brush this big.”
Bob Thurber is the author of “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel” and two collections of stories. A celebrated master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in 60 anthologies, received dozens of awards, and been used in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts where, despite severe vision loss, he continues to write every day. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
Piggies race on sawdust track, bandanas flying: red, blue, yellow, green. Girly squeals for Green. Final turn, Red spins wide, Yellow bashes Blue, and Green squiggles through to claim the checkered flag. Yay, Green! “Free Bacon” coupons for everyone!
Girly adds two and two—and lets out a heart-rending wail.
Jeff Nazzaro writes short fiction and poetry in Southern California. His microfiction has appeared in Dogzplot and Drabblez and is forthcoming in Blink-Ink.
“Congratulations! Is it true your bride learned to cook, years ago, at her mama’s knee?”
“Yeah,” Jim said without enthusiasm.
“Polly’s perfect with shortbread and shortcakes but for everything else she only makes a half recipe. In hindsight, I reckon she ought to have stood on a chair.”
John H. Dromey has a rather short (but complete) story reprinted in the anthology Timeshift: Tales of Time (Shacklebound Books, 2018).
We sit around the table grasping at the slippery eels of conversation. Better catch one soon, or it’ll be the weather next.
I imagine trickles of blood dripping from our ears the longer we talk, white collars stained red by desperation to belong, to impart some meaning to our lives.
Simone Schutte is a jack-of-all-trades, master of none. She’s a wife and mom, aspiring author, Pictionary artist extraordinaire, bookworm, photography lover, and green-fingered elf.
“What are all those fires?” I asked.
“Oh, that? They’re burning books again,” said the ever-apathetic voice of my time-traveling guide. “Don’t worry, it’s just empty symbolism at this point. If they managed to get this far, you can bet they never would have read them in the first place.”
Thanos Filanis is a writer and IT student from Thessaloniki, Greece.
When you pick up a seashell from the beach, you are receiving an opportunity from the ancient pandemonium of the water.
The water doesn’t owe you anything. But it puts out anyway.
“Here is something; don’t waste it,” it murmurs. What you don’t take, it will recycle.
Don’t waste it.
Arcadia Conrad teaches and writes in the South Bay Area, California. She really dislikes playing Two Truths and a Lie.
While smoking my second-to-last cigarette under a street lamp in the desert, I decided that life operated on bad metaphors and absurdist poetry.
As I was crushing the last embers, two jack rabbits ran pitter patter away to have their children and die among the sand dunes and salt flats.
Peter Vickland is a college student living and working in Sacramento, California. His hobbies, aside from writing, include reading and collecting books and not cutting his hair as often as he needs to, as he is frequently reminded by his loving girlfriend.