He was always the better one.
First out of the womb. Pitcher while I played the outfield. Scoring the winning touchdown while I sat on the sideline eating Cracker Jacks. Valedictorian in high school. I was a B-student at best.
The first in a coffin. Now I’ll never measure up.
Christa Lyon-Moon spends her free time crafting flash fiction that finds meaning in small moments where imagination meets real life.
Great hustle. Love the effort. Some notes.
Descartes, there are two Is in narcissism.
Laplace, there’s no time for tape review.
Maxwell, save the Goldilocks routine for the bedroom.
Searle, I don’t care how, just put some points on the board.
Alright, now get out there and give ’em Hell!
Nicholas De Marino only knew about two of those before reading up on this.
Driving a hearse and singing “Another One Bites the Dust”, Vivian turns onto the country road, accelerates. She’s late and preoccupied with life, as a plume of dry earth trails behind.
At least she knows not to hum the refrain in front of the family at the grave this time.
Lauren is an Assistant Professor of Mortuary Science. She enjoys writing poetry that leans into short fictional fragments.
The story of the week for March 9 to 13 is…
self-conference by Maria Cargille
It was a twilight in summer. We talked at length, sharing family memories that played back and forth between us. She promised that we would see each other again.
Feeble boughs swayed gently as the wind sighed and sang. Leaves, scattered across the porch. Her favourite season whispered her absence.
Thompson Emate spends his leisure time on creative writing, particularly poetry and prose. He has a deep love for nature and the arts. He is trying his hand at every genre of fiction. He lives in Lagos, Nigeria.
“Happy Birthday, Ma.”
The phone had rung ten times before she’d picked up. “Oh, hi. Hang on a sec…”
Cell on the counter, she cooed at Herman, “Ah, sweet boy… Do you want a widdle tweat?”
It wasn’t a second before she returned, or a minute. It was a lifetime.
Laura Levin lives in New York’s Hudson Valley where she teaches writing as an adjunct professor. She has an MA from the Writing Seminars at Johns Hopkins University.
too old to drive,
that’s what my daughters told me
when they took away my keys
my dignity
my freedom
in a heartbeat
all my choices disappeared
boredom set in
as suddenly my world became
four walls
tv, radio, the cat
and me
just sitting,
existing in hushed silence…
waiting
Roberta Beach Jacobson, 73, is looking ahead.
myself at fifteen and twenty-two
sit down together in a half-imagined
coffee shop to compare notes.
she, my seven-years-ago self,
looks me up and down with curiosity,
quick insecurity-laden belligerence,
and speaks a challenge:
“you haven’t changed much.”
I say, warm and aching,
“oh, my love, believe me: I have.”
Maria Cargille wrote this story.
Larry’s coworkers formed a threatening circle around his cubicle: arms spread, fingertips touching, staring emotionless. He was despised for his pessimism: always speaking of murders, car accidents, drug dealings, adultery, death.
Speechless now, Larry’s thought was quietly heard: Coven.
His coworkers softly opened their wings. “Of sorts,” one responded aloud.
Philip Matcovsky’s writing is nominated for Best Small Fictions 2026. It features in DarkWinter Literary Magazine, Brilliant Flash Fiction, Amethyst Review, Braided Way Magazine, Odyssey Magazine, and elsewhere. Philip is a lightworker and cosmic traveler based in New York.
It happened to our saurian cousins.
It will happen to us, too.
Crushed and pressurized, our bones trapped between billions of layers of sedimentary rock. Extracted and refined, our blood poured into barrels of premium petrol.
What types of vehicles will our bodies fuel?
Who will sit behind their wheels?
Parker Davis is a writer, a reader, and a complicit consumer of Earth’s dwindling energy supply.