A warm summer’s evening:
A light breeze.
Green trees,
with an orange sunset.
And where:
The birds chirped.
The cat purred.
The dog barked.
The parents yelled—
and the baby cried:
Being cradled gently and carried away
by an elderly woman,
with a somber face and badge on her hip.
Pratt Institute attendee, Connor Williams started learning to write about what mattered after fleeing Brooklyn in the wake of Covid-19.
I rowed the boat whose motion made me feel like a god
seated on a water-throne.
I steered fate with a pair of rods,
breathing equanimity
into treetops,
in an animistic temple
where beauty is worshiped
and though we exchanged few words,
the conversation
was between my eyes
and water-drops.
Susie Gharib is a graduate of the University of Strathclyde with a Ph.D. on the work of D.H. Lawrence. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in multiple venues including Down in the Dirt, Three Drops from a Cauldron, Impspired Magazine, The Opiate, Mad Swirl, Leaves of Ink, The Poetry Village, A New Ulster, Adelaide Literary Magazine, The Ink Pantry, the Pennsylvania Literary Journal, the Penwood Review, and Crossways.
She was alone in the wilderness of the coronavirus. Telecommuting to work, texting friends, waving to neighbors from a distance.
She took a long drive. At a quiet intersection, she stopped briefly at the red light, then accelerated.
The police car behind her turned on its siren.
Finally, a conversation.
C.G. Thompson’s stories most recently have appeared in FlashBack Fiction, Brilliant Flash Fiction, and Flash Frontier. In December, one of her stories was read in Hong Kong. Her work has also previously appeared in 50-Word Stories.
A bedside bouquet blooms fresh, red and yellow, only for you.
Ignore the square machines humming under sterile plastic sheeting. Consider every brilliant petal a perfumed watchman, the spirit of those that yearn to hold you and bolster your withering hope.
The flowers plead, “Fight! You’re needed here with us.”
Andrew Bridgeman wrote this story. See more at andrewbridgeman.com.
“If you don’t break me out, I’ll do it myself,” the text said. Two infections in her nursing home; more to come.
I used to be a light sleeper. Now I can’t remember how I used to manage without the rhythmic, labored sounds of her apnea machine lulling me comatose.
Jane Danforth is a student who suddenly has a lot of time on her hands. She is a senior attending Zoom University.
The story of the week for April 13 to 17 is…
Beautiful Things by Jennifer L. Freed
and
Kith by Maria Cargille
She entered the hospital room where her husband lay, his eyes bandaged from his accident at work. As she sat beside his bed, he took her hand in his. “Well!” she thought, pleasantly surprised. “He hasn’t been this affectionate in years!” She began talking.
Then he exclaimed, “Oh, it’s you!”
Thomas A. North avoids marital troubles the easy way: by remaining a bachelor. This story has appeared at itrhymesattimes.wordpress.com.
“Grandad,” I said one evening, sat across from him in front of the fire. “Could you tell us a war story?”
“No,” he replied without a moment’s thought. He then turned away from me and stared into the flames, looking for something like an answer, or maybe for a face.
Harris Coverley has fiction published or forthcoming in Curiosities, Planet Scumm, and The J.J. Outre Review. He is also a Rhysling-nominated poet, with verse in Star*Line, New Reader Magazine, Better Than Starbucks, and many others.
A man walks into a bar. The bartender says, “Is this a joke?” The man replies, “No, it’s purely an imaginary situation because we are currently under strict orders to stay at home as much as possible and practise social distancing in order to prevent the spread of the coronavirus.”
Daniel Rogers hopes everyone is safe and keeping boredom at bay.
My roomie’s rules while isolating:
W̶a̶s̶h̶ h̶a̶n̶d̶s̶ a̶f̶t̶e̶r̶ t̶o̶u̶c̶h̶i̶n̶g̶. Don’t touch.
Keep your distance.
Stock up on essentials (food, milk, etc.).
Get plenty of rest.
Just as I think I have it all down, I violate rule one, nursing my hand.
Her only defense was a slow and calculated “meoooww”.
Lisa Chambers is a Texas girl whose cats thankfully aren’t like the one in this story.