He wore bags under his eyes and dressed in all-black.
He mourned over having to let go of what he had known for years.
Yet, he gleamed with elation as he moved his tassel from right to left.
Four years had passed, but he knew it was only the beginning.
Ever since she was young, Annie Lin has been doing all kinds of outdoors activities, including hiking and biking. Drawn to the atmosphere of nature, she keeps busy with figuring out the animal shapes of clouds and learning more about cultures beyond the city life. She is frequently out in the sun, often finding herself coming home with an awful tan.
Things I’ve done for money: collected cans for cash, sold chocolate, shoveled sidewalks after a snowstorm. Once I built an amusement park in the backyard and sold tickets. That was the summer Mom quit chemo.
I told jokes for a penny. She bought a hundred, and listened from her bed.
Jane Hertenstein wrote this story.
The left arm was too long. Distracted, she’d miscounted the rows above the cuff.
He’d just grin and blame his shoulder. That permanent, lopsided shrug that gave his silhouette such beautiful asymmetry.
As she laid the neatly folded pullover on the grass, she noticed his headstone leaned the same way.
Tamsin is disappointed that she has never mastered knitting.
I was never so afraid
one night in winter,
when you were lost
you simply walked out
not saying a word.
the danger was real
where did you go?
I’ve worried so much.
To see you this way
it’s not fair,
you’re a whole different person.
Ana M. Torres (aka A.M. Torres) is the author of the Child Series beginning with Love Child which was first published in 2011. She has also published her poetry books Shadowed Tears, and Turmoil. She currently lives in New York with her two sons. See more at christmas1102.wixsite.com/mysite.
Ted was tired of waiting. He was a man of little patience.
All her life he’d waited while she did her hair, looked for her other shoe, or changed her dress (again).
“Oh, Dad,” she’d scold.
Now he waits to walk her down the aisle. He’s willing to wait forever.
Candace Kubinec posts her stories at storydribbles.wordpress.com and her poetry at rhymeswithbug.com.
Between sleep and wakefulness lies a moment of possibilities. She hovers there, feelings of desire and longing rekindled by dreams of him. Should she call? Risk rejection. Refrain? Always wonder.
Daylight seeping through a gap in the curtains brings reality with it. She remembers the heartbreak. Her phone stays untouched.
Bridget Scrannage lives near Bath with her husband. She’s the founder of an international online writing community with 120 members. See more at bridgetscrannage.wordpress.com.
When she leaves
it doesn’t matter
what we’ve been through
sadness and guilt
are transformed into
smiley face emojis
triple exclamation points
love you forevers
and I respond in kind
of course I do
we adore one another
especially from a distance.
The truth is in the text.
Robin Lubatkin does circle time with the very young and what she calls “songhealing” with the very old.
“Play it, Sam.”
I play it, sing it, my black fingers aching to caress your white face.
Do I have any chance with you, Ilsa? I could at least profess to you. See what happens.
Rick swoops in. My boss.
“Sam, I thought I told you never to play—”
David is a professor at Seton Hill University in Greensburg, PA, and a student in Seton Hill’s MFA in Writing Popular Fiction Program.
I’m not very good with words. Never have been.
So I’m writing this to let you know how much you’ve changed my life. How my every waking moment is filled with thoughts of you.
I hope one day you’ll read this.
When you grow up and learn how, of course.
Franca is a bilingual English language teacher and proud grandmother. She belongs to an international creative writing group and now lives in Italy with her husband of 40 years.
He thought he heard Marion in the house, her rusty rattle-breath.
He checked her recliner (re-plumping cushions), the tidy side of their bed (still indented), the bathroom floor (heaven forbid).
Finally he rang through to Ward 6, pressed her discordant song to his ear. Danced it from room to room.
Linda Irish wrote this story.