Your mom said you suffered, but smiled through the end. They buried you by the treeline, just over the hill from our first kiss, in the woods, hiding from the rest. I’ll remember you from then, uniform of Batman tee, Chuck Taylors, a crooked grin. Seventeen forever, in my mind.
Eve Cook lives in Atlanta, where she often uses writing to cope with ‘the horrors,’ et al.
His wife had gone, he had stayed, neither by choice.
I watched him walk toward a place only he could see, more distant each day.
Photos fade before dimming eyes, music falls flat to distant ears. Further he walked.
Today he followed as she took his hand across the horizon.
Mike Keyser writes microfiction while working on his novel.
Your absence claims your place on the couch across from me. It reads quietly for hours, just as you used to do before you left. And just like you, it peeks over its shoulder from time to time to make sure I’m still here and haven’t decided to join you.
Kip Knott is a writer, photographer, and part-time art dealer living in Ohio. His writing has recently appeared in Best Microfiction 2024 and The Wigleaf Top 50. His new book of stories, Family Haunts, is available from Louisiana Literature Press.
The photobooth strip clung to the wall.
We giggled as our sparkly dresses reflected in the camera.
The tape’s grip loosened.
We danced all night, dodging our dates’ glares.
You touched our matching bracelets: best friends forever.
It fell.
Yet, now, I sit alone.
at the
back of your funeral.
Yuvna enjoys writing flash fiction and personal essays. She also enjoys reading, hiking, and trying out different cuisines.
It was a kind funeral. Black cloth and sweet rolls.
They sang your song and recycled old stories anew.
They spoke well-wishes, treated me as if I was still whole.
They saw your empty body laid to rest then scattered like crows.
We buried two that day, you and I.
Bryson Mooso is still searching for that perfect sentence. He’s resigned to writing millions of them to find it.
One evening at the Westend Grill, Reid looked up from his chili to see his dead uncle sitting across the table.
Uncle Kirby sported his usual half-smile and red-checkered shirt. He nodded at the bowl.
“I liked lots of crackers in mine, too,” he said.
Reid crumbled in another saltine.
Jim Anderson is a retired college teacher who lives and writes in south-eastern Michigan.
My cat sat on the corner of my desk and watched me type. Every day for twelve years. Sometimes she’d tap my keyboard to correct my spelling. Today she wasn’t there. So I put a picture of her there instead. But the picture doesn’t spell any better than I do.
Michaele Jordan is the author of Mirror Maze. See more at michaelejordan.com.
Thoughts of his mother flooded his mind: two years gone, today. It seemed so much longer. Outside, no jacket, he never minded freezing air that stung his face. Turning southwest, away from the full moon, Jerry looked skyward. He imagined he could see her ship, hurtling toward a distant world.
John Singh is a long-time publicity and communications executive in the entertainment industry, working for such companies as Disney, DreamWorks and Lucasfilm Ltd. He has lately turned his attention to writing fiction, primarily for his husband, Jeff, and their dog, Walter.
When the sun set on your soul, the world went dark. We who loved you are left to stumble in darkness—shattered. Dawn will come again, but never the dawn we knew. May we reach into our hearts, where the beauty of you dwells forever, and find solace.
A prolific writer, Carol Huebsch Reeves embraces the freedom and creativity of Flash Fiction. Most of her stories speak to life’s joys and challenges. Her work is found in Flash Fiction Magazine and 50 Word Stories. Carol’s memoir, “All the Little Miracles,” was published in 2022.
It was always our thing — searching for familiar shapes in the inky black. Even in Dad’s hospital room, his tired eyes watching and monitors softly beeping, I found Polaris through the telescope. Something to guide me.
Now, in the silence, all I can see is the dark between the stars.
Stephanie Hurley is a writer and English teacher based in Manawatū, New Zealand. She is passionate about all things creative; in particular, using writing to examine the world around her. Her work has been published in Tarot and Mote.