The story of the week for June 15 to 19 is…
The Book that Blinked First by Saanvi Thakur
The story of the week for June 15 to 19 is…
The Book that Blinked First by Saanvi Thakur
All beginning so tiny, so sweet. Then growing and playing, running Mom off her feet. Boys being boys, learn and explore. The world beckons, and they are gone. A blink of the eye, and boys became men, then fathers themselves. Now Mom’s greatest pride: sons watching their own children grow.
Eileen Mardres feels that one of life’s most wonderful experiences is seeing your kids grow up to be amazing parents.
We’re sixteen, and aware of the possibilities of the universe. Cryptids, candy-colored UFOs.
We brought an old tent and all the snacks we could afford.
Maybe he passed by while our lips touched. You swore you heard something.
You kissed me again anyway. It was more important.
Something to keep.
Brooksie C. Fontaine is a Wigleaf-nominated author with MFA degrees in English and Illustration. Her work has appeared in over thirty literary journals and anthologies, including trampset, Bending Genres, Fahmidan Journal, Ghost Parachute, Anti-Heroin Chic, and The Wild Umbrella.
“Well, it’s still fun to look, Grandma!” I reassure her.
Our evening beach hike was turning up no coveted yooperlites. Searching for Lake Superior’s glowing rocks is her favorite pastime.
“Fluorescent sodalite makes them light up!” Grandma raves, spellbound. We stroll. I smile.
I’ve already found what shines brightest here.
Sara Kate Egan finds inspiration in a diverse natural world surrounding her in the Upper Midwest, be it wild woodlands, Great Lakes, colorful prairies, or curious critters within such special places. Writing locally flavored microfiction is her favorite thing, although sometimes a nice enough poem will strike. Watch out, world!
It began on the solstice, after yoga, eating Chinese food.
The night braided with contractions and wonder.
Twenty-six tiresome hours passed before the weary nurse declared: “This baby comes on my shift!”
A breath, a push, my blue-quiet-daughter arrives. On my chest, she takes her first life-giving breath. “Hello there.”
Beth Kerr lives and writes in Massachusetts and New Hampshire. She’s chipping away at her memoir “Beyond Her: a journey surviving to thriving.”
The new house smelt of dust, plastic and lemon detergent. Walls bare, furniture wrapped, they unpacked boxes, mopped floors, hoovered carpets and cleaned cupboards, but an odour still lingered of damp, bones and blood. Two grey eyes watched them.
They wouldn’t erase her scent. She would make sure of it.
Ellen Townsend is an art teacher and writer. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Flash Fiction Magazine, Fairfield Scribes, 50-Word Stories and others.
Every slinky dreams of a staircase like this. But for Bobby, the dream was about to become real. It hadn’t come easy. Escalator camps. Winters at Mount Niesen. He looked down at the stairs and up to the fluttering banner: THE M. C. ESCHER INVITATIONAL. He began to fall. Forever.
Simon Buckley is a contemporary visual artist based in Glasgow, Scotland. His interdisciplinary practice explores language, rurality and non-human intelligence. He is currently a co-director of the Action Research group Durty Beanz. His work is exhibited and published by galleries, museums and biennales across the world.
The library breathes at dawn.
A girl opens a forbidden book; ink rearranges the future.
Footsteps chase her between shelves.
She chooses courage, not prophecy.
Outside, sunlight waits.
The book closes itself, satisfied.
Some stories escape pages.
Some choose their reader.
Today, both do.
Magic smiles, pleased with its consequences.
Saanvi Thakur is a writer who lives for quiet tension and loud emotions. She has already written two books, Whispers Between Worlds and Threads of Silence, both exploring hidden truths, fragile choices, and the power of what goes unsaid. When she isn’t writing, she’s usually lost in books, plotting new stories, or convincing herself she doesn’t need one more notebook.
the sunset burns orange, deep pink, soft lilac,
and your skin is rough against my fingers
where I cradle what remains of you, sand eater,
and breathe in this rich salt air–
the thought comes to me quiet, impulsive but certain:
i promise, i’ll take good care of your bones.
Maria Cargille wrote this story.
Lili grips the piano, coughing. Bloody notes splatter her half-composed score.
She must finish. Barely twenty-four, her life a semi-quaver in history’s melody, but her music will live forever.
Breathless, she plays.
Death hesitates, his skeletal hand on her shoulder, ivory fingers tapping along, obsessed with knowing how it ends.
Lucy Mac writes short stories, flash fiction, and microfiction. She won the New Writers 100-word competition 2025 and has been longlisted for New York Midnight, Bath Flash Fiction, Yeovil Literary Prize, and Not Quite Write. Find her on Instagram/Bluesky at @lucymacwrites.