When the smoke and the flames faded, we emerged from the rubble. Lonely survivors with seed pouches at our sides, we planted gardens in the ashes. Our work would revive a smoldering civilization; we thought ourselves seed-scattering saviors. We realized too late that we had sown a bed of weeds.
J.A. August writes to explore the world and the people who shape it.
Bears descend from burnt mountains into town. Starving, they only want our garbage.
Men on corners shout: “Garbage now; next our jobs!”
Bears preparing taxes, scanning groceries. Why not?
You befriend two, take them to eat Filet-o-Fish. They lick their enormous claws clean.
Full-bellied, they doze, dream memories of green.
JSP JACOBS is a graduate of the Boise State University creative writing program, and Tin House and Chapman University Workshops. Her work has appeared in publications including Nano Fiction, 100 Word Story, Hawaii Pacific Review, Parent Map, and SmokeLong Quarterly, as well as being nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She has taught fiction writing at Orange Coast College, and now lives and writes between Huntington Beach, California and Boise, Idaho. You can find her at JSPJacobs.com.
The story of the week for September 5 to 9 is…
I’ll need to do some dying before I’m done by Bob Thurber
I don’t know how the dying do it.
I keep a list of my dying friends.
When one speaks I listen.
When one makes some remark about death, I jot it down.
There are far fewer than one might think.
It’s life they talk about. The blessing of each day.
Bob Thurber is the author of six books. Regarded as a master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in Esquire and other magazines, been anthologized 60 times, received a long list of awards, and been utilized in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
At night she dances to their favorite song, imagining his fingers interlocked with hers, his arm sweeping around her waist. Her hips aren’t what they used to be and her movements are slow, but the music guides her sweetly, her memories of him filling in every space between the beats.
Ran Walker is the author of 26 books, the latest of which is Black Marker: A Novel in 100-Word Stories. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University and lives in Virginia with his wife and daughter.
All that remains are the shells, hulls, the crispy carcasses that once contained life, scattered along the basement, where floor meets wall. It is here that they sought escape, only to shrivel and perish.
Indifferent to their suffering, she sweeps them away, discontent in the knowledge that they will return.
Emily Merrell is the author of the children’s book Whirl of a Girl. You can visit her online at ehmerrellwrites.com.
What William heard first from grandmother was that in every woman’s heart there exists “the one that got away.”
What he heard next from grandfather was that in every man’s head there exists “the one they should have run from sooner.”
What William later heard was a big grandparent fight.
Kent Oswald teaches at CUNY and tweets at @oswalke.
Our lives are largely guided
by what cabinets and bureaus have decided.
Rulings from the bench, it seems
can banish hopes, puncture dreams.
Motions to the chair from the floor
have often led to civil war.
And who has such bold conceit
to ignore the power of his county seat?
Gene Newman is a retired old guy (90 yrs) and former New Jersey journalist and columnist. Read more at GeneNewmanImagineThat.com.
Cigar store statue frozen in time. War bonnet on head. Painted face unmoved. Stilted stance.
Surviving the laughter from the crowd. First Tribe. First Nations. First people known as humans.
Shopkeepers think their ways have won. Whispering winds crossing the grassy plains say they have not.
Goodness has survived time.
Cynthia Cozette is a writer, poet and contemporary classical music composer. Her recently published book is title The Forgotten Schoolhouse: Original Poems and Stories on Faith, Love, Nature and Wonder. See more at cynthiacozettelee.com.
It doesn’t matter if I win or lose a match anymore. It’s the sprint from the back of the court to the net, tracking down the drop shot, then smashing it crosscourt for a winner. The roar of the crowd. Fist in the air. Chills. That’s what keeps me going.
Charles is originally from New York and is now retired and resides in Texas with his wife. He likes playing chess and writing flash fiction. He has stories published at 101 Words, Microfiction Monday, Friday Flash Fiction, 50-Word Stories, The Dribble Drabble Review.