Theodore Cray said they called to him from the sky. He painted their portraits at night. We laughed at him.
“They’re lonely,” he said, hiding the canvases.
We scoured his house and burned the paintings in his kitchen. “It’s over,” we said. “No more.”
And then Theodore Cray was gone.
Amanda E. Phillips writes unsettling stories from Sacramento, California. See more at amandaephillips.net.
Eons ago, through binary fission and/or mitosis, we evolved into multicellular life forms, waiting for that perfect jiff, like ice floes coalescing into icebergs over time.
Perhaps we’d been destined for each other ever since that first moment I caught a glimpse of you, chasing your umbrella in the wind.
Andrea Damic (Sydney, Australia) writes when everyone is asleep. When she lacks words to express herself, she uses photography to do it for her. You can find her at damicandrea.wordpress.com.
An urgent phone call, a high-speed drive to Harbor View Hospital, an interminable wait, a brief conversation with a physician, a moment in a bathroom for a quick cry, a cautious step into Intensive Care, an embrace of a sleeping child, a vigil for the girl with the bandaged wrists.
Susan Knox’s stories and essays have appeared in Blue Lyra Review, CALYX, Cleaver, The Forge, The MacGuffin, Sequestrum, Zone 3, and elsewhere. Her book, “Financial Basics, A Money Management Guide for Students” 2nd edition was published by The Ohio State University Press. She has been nominated for a Pushcart and Best of the Net awards. She and her husband live in Seattle, near Pike Place Market where she shops most days for the evening meal.
The story of the week for May 1 to 5 is…
Pink Horizons by Andrew Nosti
Dear Love
It’s been a week. Seven days.
I miss your quiet breath, your constant steady being.
The cat misses you too.
I still lay two plates.
We haven’t dusted.
Because what if those feathery motes that dance in the sunlight are the final pieces of you?
Love Me x
Rachel Canwell is a writer and teacher living in Cumbria. Her debut flash collection ‘Oh I do like to be’ was published by Alien Buddha in July 2022. Her short fiction has been published in Sledgehammer Lit, Pigeon Review, Reflex Press, Selcouth Station and The Birdseed amongst others. She is currently working on her first novel.
When talons scratch the aluminum light pole, a clot of alarmed mallards skitters across the nearby pond. But Hawk focuses on the mammoth housing development blocking the skyline. Earth machines are stripping his meadow, releasing a feast of rodents and hares. No thanks. There’s already a lump in his throat.
Karin has published on thewritelaunch.com, fiftywordstories.com, and in The Antigonish Review. One of her short stories and a stage play were quarter-finalists in ScreenCraft’s 2023 international competitions. Born on a small Canadian island, Karin has lived/worked or travelled on every continent.
I thought they’d never find me below this soaring cliff, broken rope coiling over my orange climbing shoes. I shouted, but the wilderness swallowed my voice and nobody heard – until the dog, whose barking brought rescuers at last.
My bones were gathered, zipped away. Now I can finally move on.
Deborah writes at an old desk surrounded by five hundred pet bugs.
Remember that beach at night, phosphorescent waves murmuring, us seated on the cool damp sand, arms around each other, my head resting on your shoulder? The sea spray in our hair, on our sunburned skin, too tired, too content to return to the hotel?
Gulls called overhead.
Do you remember?
Verity Duncan (she/her) works in quality control, gets distracted by stories, and drinks flat whites.
Our department is full of doors and people knock on them when they need something. It’s how the score gets decided. The more people need your things, the more you get points. I take pills so I don’t know I’m losing. When I take them, the score looks more even.
Robert Hoekman Jr is an anti-writer of inexplicable texts.
She queues to jump in the swimming hole, swing out on a rope and let go.
She climbs the ladder, preparing to release the miracle in herself for the judgment of her peers.
She’s hormone bravado, lightning in a jar.
Jumping is the heart of everything. Splash is the applause.
Mike’s work has appeared in Mud Season Review, The London Reader, Amsterdam Quarterly, and other magazines, and in Mike’s book, Arranging Deck Chairs on the Titanic, (Rabbit House Press, 2020), political poetry for a post-truth world.