An office drudge’s gloom always characterized James’s daily commutes.
Today, he smiled as he slid into City Station’s unisex washroom. Jaimie emerged, boarded the train and bypassed his regular stop.
At line’s end, she gazed across the sun-dappled street at New Beginnings’ help-wanted sign. Perfect place to restart my life.
Alan Kemister is a retired scientist experimenting with more fictitious writing. Get the gory details at alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com.
We used to talk for hours about films and art, but now you just deliver monologues about your boring job, your arthritic toe, and the awful weather.
I’m shocked by how quickly you changed closeness into carefully manipulated distance.
Now you’ve unfriended me. I only wish I’d got there first.
Juliet is an adult education tutor, crafter, and conservation volunteer based in Edinburgh, UK. She blogs at craftygreenpoet.blogspot.com and tweets at @craftygreenpoet.
There was something I wanted. The glow of home, or the bittersweet ache of fulfillment. Something not tangible.
The restaurant was crowded; too loud, too bright. I sat by the window, watching flurries dance around the white glowing orbs of streetlights.
A man stood to leave.
“Take me with you.”
Erica Schaef worked as an Operating Room nurse for ten years before becoming a stay-at-home parent. She lives in rural Tennessee with her family.
He killed fifty people in cold blood. Shock. Outrage. Mourning. Tears. Calls for gun control legislation. Seven days of commentary. Change the subject.
He killed twenty-six people in cold blood. Outrage. Analysis. Gun control! Three days of commentary. Change the subject.
He killed nine people. Not again! Change the channel.
Israela Margalit wrote this story. See more at israelamargalit.com.
Cheryl sits on her porch, waiting. She knows that when she sees the first lightning bug, glowing as it rises from the grass, summer will have truly arrived.
Her paranoid neighbor says they won’t come anymore—climate change.
Cheryl isn’t a believer. She shivers in the cold August night, waiting.
Candace Kubinec posts her stories at storydribbles.wordpress.com and her poetry at rhymeswithbug.com.
He flits between branches, his jaunty, upturned tail bobbing. I’ve seen him before, but never this close, and never singing fit to burst his tiny heart.
His head twitches left and right. Perhaps he’s just scared, but I need to believe it’s because he’s caught a sideways glimpse of spring.
Tamsin can’t sing or flit, but she’s definitely on the lookout for the end of winter.
Gentrification marched its silent footsteps to the oak door of Moore’s Tavern.
Old Man Henry smiled and licked his wrinkled lips. If he couldn’t have it, nobody could. He grabbed the gasoline and lighter.
The starry night seemed brighter to him that night.
The stone chimney was all that remained.
Anthony works with numbers by day, and words by night! Happily married in the heart of Kentucky.
I fell in love rapidly,
with a strong, sweet, chivalrous man.
You adored me then…
before the breakdown.
It took you away. I understand.
I’m not the same so you’re not the same man.
I patiently await your return.
I’ll never give up.
Please! We can fall in love again.
April is a hopeless romantic, even in hard times. Life equals love.
She’d never liked fog; it always seemed smothering and inescapable. Like Life. Like Motherhood.
Today, the cool grey mist wrapped around her felt open and somehow freeing.
Her eyes fell to the stone at her feet and she wondered what she could do now that she’d buried her last child.
Melissa is a writer, teacher, and dog lover in the Middle of Nowhere, Michigan.
The love affair was over. More than twenty incredible years of being there for each other gone in the blink of an eye.
“I guess it was inevitable. We’re different people now.”
Kim put the book back on the shelf and wondered when she would find her next favorite author.
Daniel Slaten writes short stories and poetry in small notebooks and on sticky notes.