Rent is paid. Insurance is pending. Take off the utilities and the credit card payment. Twelve dollars left. How much is on the credit line? If I guess-timate and don’t eat much, there’s just enough wiggle room. I can get us a zoo membership. Maybe we can be kids again.
Morgan Lewellen lives in Oregon and writes fiction when she’s not teaching math.
Your husband takes a DNA test after his father dies. Your father-in-law was a traveling salesman who really got around; maybe there’s siblings.
You test as moral support, secretly hoping a girl with a moon face, the pinkest skin, a girl you’ve held just once, is looking for you, too.
Georgene Smith Goodin’s work has appeared in numerous publications, and has won the “Mash Stories” flash fiction competition. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, the cartoonist Robert Goodin, and their four children. Follow her on Bluesky at @gsmithgoodin.bsky.social.
Thoughts of his mother flooded his mind: two years gone, today. It seemed so much longer. Outside, no jacket, he never minded freezing air that stung his face. Turning southwest, away from the full moon, Jerry looked skyward. He imagined he could see her ship, hurtling toward a distant world.
John Singh is a long-time publicity and communications executive in the entertainment industry, working for such companies as Disney, DreamWorks and Lucasfilm Ltd. He has lately turned his attention to writing fiction, primarily for his husband, Jeff, and their dog, Walter.
The gastroenterologist says flare, hands me a prescription. I say betrayal, a body consuming itself. That afternoon in the pharmacy line, a woman complains about her toddler. “He’s so picky,” she sighs. The line advances, but I’m stuck remembering the last time I had the joy of choosing my meal.
Preeti Talwai writes from California, where she is also a research leader in tech. Her writing appears or is forthcoming in: The New York Times, 100-Word Story, HAD, Prime Number, Cleaver and more. See more at preetitalwai.com.
Endless days of PB&Js on Wonder Bread washed down with sips from the hose. Sticky toes from where the popsicle dripped onto flipflops. And me, flipflopping through the neighborhood on Blue Thunder, a hand-me-down bike I imagined as a black stallion.
serenity—
my thoughts return
to the old days
Jenny Mattern is a poet, a crafter of stories, and a cake-for-breakfast enthusiast who lives with her family in Montana.
The story of the week for August 11 to 15 is…
The Taste of Forgetting by A.J. Joseph
Bottles of Merlot. The steaks Anastasia bought; we planned to cook them for a special dinner.
Anastasia’s lavender blouses, Capris, and sweatpants.
Every invective that rises as I pack her goods into crumbling cardboard boxes.
Yash Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA fiction program. His work has been published in SmokeLong Quarterly, The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, and Ariel Chart, among others.
You have to wonder what was said before she clicked. The toddler, the man, their stances non-contiguous. The first projecting suspicion, the other hostility, to the she who is absent from the scene, the she behind the camera.
The mood of a moment caught for eternity in black and blacker.
Once upon a time, Thomas Malloch thought to try his hand at writing, only to find that writing seemed mostly editing, and then that editing seemed mostly to involve taking an axe to the word count. Consequently his output and remuneration are both low. Good job he already has a pension.
Hole in the left upper, insoles shot, cushioning gone. When I wear them, I find sand between my toes—I haven’t been to Wildwood for fifteen years.
Holding hands, we’d strolled the boardwalk, ferris-wheeled, carrouselled, roller-coastered, oceaned, and beached.
I dangle the sneakers by their laces. They’ve seen better days.
Miriam N. Kotzin writes fiction and poetry. She is the author of five collections of poetry, two collections of short fiction, and two novels—most recently the novel Right This Way (Spuyten Duyvil). Her 50-word stories have been published in 50-Word Stories, 50 Give or Take, and Blink Ink. She teaches literature and creative writing at Drexel University
When the sun set on your soul, the world went dark. We who loved you are left to stumble in darkness—shattered. Dawn will come again, but never the dawn we knew. May we reach into our hearts, where the beauty of you dwells forever, and find solace.
A prolific writer, Carol Huebsch Reeves embraces the freedom and creativity of Flash Fiction. Most of her stories speak to life’s joys and challenges. Her work is found in Flash Fiction Magazine and 50 Word Stories. Carol’s memoir, “All the Little Miracles,” was published in 2022.