He wraps the pillow around is head, diving deep beneath the covers.
The yelling always keeps him awake. Mother checks he is asleep.
His door closes softly, then a loud pop comes from downstairs.
Mother checks on him again. The yelling has finally stopped.
He drifts off to sleep.
Kristyn Mass lives in Iowa with her husband and three cats. She is a professional voice actor and aspiring writer.
Moments wasted in anger:
55 hours arguing over finances,
6 months “discussing” our exes,
8 weeks agreeing to disagree,
18 frosty Sunday breakfasts after you came in late,
3 weeks not speaking over small things,
1 year, 7 months detesting your illness.
Moments missing you:
24 hours, 7 days, always.
Jo Withers needs to remember to make every moment matter. She spends them writing shorts, poetry, and flash fiction from her home in South Australia. She is also author of the middle-grade adventure 5 Simple Steps to Saving Planet Earth. You can follow Jo on Twitter.
My life depends on the drugs, the research, the doctors. There are no miracles, only love of family. The IV drip is like the beat of a second heart pulsing its cancer-burning flames through my body. It keeps this fire raging in my eyes that both consumes and saves me.
Jim Doss lives in Sykesville, Maryland, and earns his living as a software engineer. He has previously published two books of poems: Learning to Talk Again and What Remains. In partnership with Werner Schmitt, he also published a book of German translations entitled The Last Gold of Expired Stars: The Complete Poems of Georg Trakl 1908 – 1914. In his spare time, he is an editor for the Loch Raven Review.
The corridors were dark. It felt like his lungs would burst out of his chest, but he couldn’t stop running.
He couldn’t stop now, not after everything, not with everything ahead of him.
He couldn’t stop, not even for the sword pointed at him. Still, it felt good to rest.
She could feel it at the very edges of her fingertips. If she reached a little more, just a little, she could grab it. She summoned the last of her strength and energy.
But it was gone.
Her doctor explained to her husband that Alzheimers is a slow degenerative disease.
The scout was young, only fourteen, and he was one of the best.
Countless times he’d saved his people from both ambush and defeat, but when the arrow took him, their fate, like his own, was sealed.
The enemy scout lowered his bow. He was young, only thirteen, but better.
Chris Redfern is new to the world of flash fiction and enjoying it immensely. Follow his adventures at www.aatwatchtower.com.