He stands on the corner, holding a sign that reads: Hungry. Please Help.
I reach into my backpack and hand him a turkey sandwich through our car window.
He nods his thanks, lowers on one knee, and feeds it to his dog.
“Don’t worry,” Mom says, “tomorrow we’ll bring two.”
Lisa Reynolds is an internationally published writer, living in Eastern Ontario, Canada. She writes short stories that focus on social justice issues. “Sharing A Meal” was inspired by an act of kindness she witnessed in Toronto, Ontario.
Nahla watched warily as they unpacked her belongings: bowl, leash, collar. Sooner or later, she’d have to move again. It never lasted.
A child scrambled forward, wrapping her in a welcoming hug. Warmth, unlike any other, flooded Nahla’s chest.
How long can I stay? she searched.
Forever, his eyes answered.
Cadence Rage is a musician, animal rights activist, and caffeine-addicted weaver of speculative fiction. She publishes flash fiction and hilarious observations at cadencerage.wordpress.com. Find her on social media @cadencerage.
You cry in a voice that is not your own, act like dead weight, call me horrible names. But sometimes you look me in the eye and smile. Sometimes you remember. I brush your beautiful hair and think, That’s alright my love, I’m also not who I used to be.
Julian Dores lives in Brussels, Belgium. He enjoys writing fiction and taking candid photographs of everyday life on the street. You can read more of his work on his website.
Your heart gave out. Still can’t fully explain it, but my heart stopped working, too. Yours no longer beats; mine can love no other. One of us breathing; one of us not… And yet somehow, the results are the same: two hearts died that day. I remain single, yet taken.
Alyce Clark was so awed and inspired by the stories of others, she decided to write them for herself.
Grandpa picks her up from ballet, lets her sit in the front seat. He has brought three tangerines wrapped in a paper towel (two for her). They eat them in the car. Later, she will forget to remove the peels from the cupholder; even now, his car smells like tangerines.
Julia Jorgensen is a junior at Stanford University studying Symbolic Systems and Creative Writing. She loves short stories, theater, and tangerines; she has definitely eaten at least eight in one sitting before.
He admired her longingly from across the room. Just the two of them. Summoning his nerve, heart pounding, he approached.
His beloved wife… Hair freshly styled, makeup applied just so, hands neatly folded. Those blue eyes that once saw only him, now surveying Heaven’s expanse.
“You’re home, Angel. Rest well.”
Lisa Chambers is a Texas girl who enjoys writing.
Nick feels shame buying TV dinners. Stroganoff. Salisbury steak.
Others buy steaks, corn. Things that connote family. Families who move about, laughing, sharing secrets, brushing past Nick.
He picks up a steak, marvels at its robustness. Drops in the cart.
Nick imagines a wife smiling across a table.
Yash Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. His work has been published or is forthcoming in Literally Stories, 101 Words, (mac)ro (mic), and Ariel Chart.
Poseidon drew the short straw.
Hera sighed. “Yes, they’re irredeemable. But I’ll miss those goofballs. Their bridges, computers, MAS*H… Genius.”
The trident swung. The floodwaters flowed. The underworld gained eight billion souls.
Hephaestus prepared the drafting table. “Okay. Humans 2.0.”
Aphrodite nudged Ares aside. “This time, I’ll lead the design.”
Jen Mierisch draws inspiration from science fiction, ghost stories, and the wacky idiosyncrasies of human nature. She lives, works, and writes just outside Chicago, Illinois.
February 9th, her birthday: deep in Winter’s bitter swell. Sledging with friends, then home to Mum’s hot chocolate and hugs.
Now grandchildren tiptoe to her door with homemade cake, footsteps wary over unforgiving frost. She pulls them indoors, warms small hands in hers.
Over seventy birthdays, she’s never felt cold.
Jo Withers writes short fiction from her home in South Australia where February is anything but cold.
He asked if it was her card, knowing it wasn’t. He’d fumbled the shuffle, and now his hands were shaking even more than before.
But when he met her eyes, she was smirking. “I liked the little spin move at the end.”
An eternity passed. He found himself smirking back.
Anoop Bhat is an aspiring roboticist and a causal parkour artist. One day he hopes to see a robot doing parkour alongside him.