Inside the empty cottage, shadows of ghosts: smudges where your picture used to hang; discolored floorboards where your cactus stood guard; a sepia burn on the kitchen counter; air stained with your perfume.
Six hundred bucks to show for a lifetime’s work.
Your gifts whisper to me in my dreams.
Monica is a sustainability manager by day and a writer by night, who used to visit Cape Cod every summer and every Christmas.
I tripped over something and fell a long way,
didn’t expect this to happen today. Wrapped
in darkness Like a coat. Felt my belly hit
my throat. Looked for the ground
that should have been found,
but I was misinformed and
quickly became bored
as forever falling
became my
calling.
Christopher Gannon is a writer of short fiction and theatre. He does not make up the stories; they make up him.
During Uncle Harry’s visits he dazzled me with magic. At six he held my nose, tapped my head, nickels tumbled out. At eight he pulled quarters from my ear. At eleven he reached up my skirt to pull a ten dollar bill from my panties just as dad walked in.
Paul Beckman was one of the winners in the Queen’s Ferry 2016 Best of the Small Fictions. His stories are widely published in print and online in the following magazines amongst others: Connecticut Review, Raleigh Review, Litro, Playboy, Pank, Blue Fifth Review, Flash Frontier, Matter Press, Metazen, Boston Literary Magazine, Thrice Fiction and Literary Orphans. His latest collection, “Peek”, weighed in at 65 stories and 120 pages. See more at paulbeckmanstories.com
We lock eyes at the supermarket exit: White kid; nineteen, maybe twenty; camo and boots in this heat.
I look for the AR-15 but all he carries is a box of Twinkies.
Someone yells, “Hey!” but the kid is fast, already on his moped. Gone, Twinkies crushed between his knees.
Susan Rukeyser loves America but has concerns. She wrote a novel, Not On Fire, Only Dying (Twisted Road Publications, 2015). Find more at her website, susanrukeyser.com.
He hears the wood thrush now
just at the edges of hearing, watches the trickling stream
from his front porch, and recalls
running from the bottom of this hollow
to its very crown—
—with his son on his hip.
And there, looking out
he observed
there was nothing—
—but potential.
Matthew now lives and writes in Maine. He always relaxes, just a little, when driving north on I-95 and crosses the Piscataqua River Bridge. There he is greeted by a large sign, white lettering on a blue background: WELCOME TO MAINE – The Way Life Should Be.
She promised to save me a seat.
“I’ll drape my sweater over the chair next to mine.”
I’ve looked every where and can’t find her. The only sweater I see is on a chair beside a little blonde girl.
Estelle has white hair
Maybe she didn’t make it into heaven.
Candace hopes someone will save her a seat.
Ah, there’s a car door. I hope it’s the realtor.
Come show this place, please. Sell it.
Get rid of it for me, finally.
The story of this house, of everything in it, has to end.
But how do you sell a house that so badly wants to be haunted?
Larry D. Thacker writes and paints in the mountains of Appalachia.
After the World Science and Ethics Commission (the W.S.E.C.) discovered the answers for the annoyances of old age, disease, war, and famine, the population—over time—grew beyond humanity’s control.
I smiled broadly at the prospect of coming out of retirement, unpacking my black hooded cloak, and sharpening my scythe…
J.D. Lone Bear wrote this story.
Bringing cups of tea, handing a pillow. It didn’t matter why he was there. The conversations between them were enough to brighten someone’s day. Laughs shared, stories told, and feelings of excitement at the start of every shift.
Paul’s head bowed as he walked away from the empty hospital bed.
Calum is a down-to-earth guy who thinks that anyone can make a difference. This is his first 50-word story.
The train slowly churns away from the platform. From the front car, sitting on the left-hand side, I see the entrance to a world below the surface, its green glow eating at my curiosity. Just as I’m imagining what lies beyond, we’ve picked up speed, and the next song plays.
AC Baldwin is primarily an author of fantasy and science-fiction. This is her third published piece of micro-fiction. She is also currently funding a space-fantasy novel on Inkshares called The Traveller’s Cup.