You’re bludgeoned with (arguably) the scariest diagnosis you’ll ever receive. Parts of your body are chopped off, dissected, catalogued, banked. You’re tethered, drips saturating what remains with killer chemicals. You lie bare, pinpointed radiation beams burning tender fresh scars.
Finally to hear: “If you die of something else, this worked.”
Susan Heisner, aka the wyowordslinger, writes for fun and connection.
She used to think magic came from a magician’s wand and the words abracadabra.
Now she knows it comes from different kinds of wands; the sharp needle the eye surgeon pokes in her eye once a month to stop the degeneration, and the white cane she holds in her hand.
Carole Porter writes short fiction from beautiful Vancouver Island.
My hip told a story of abuse.
I tried to forgive as I watched myself deteriorate over the past few years.
Doctor and robot replaced my hip:
Severed the ball,
Scooped out the socket,
Replacing titanium and ceramic for maiming weakness, bitter memories, and pain.
Releasing the trauma,
I’m
Renewed.
Cate Covert has been regaling friends and family with her tall tales since she could talk. She loves engaging with her reading audiences. Her poetry, flash fiction, and humorous stories reside at Cate Covert on Chadashah.org and her Inspirational essays and bible studies at Pastora Cate’s Corner on Substack.
At the eulogy, he spoke of his daughter’s qualities; her patience; honesty; kindness. Easy claims to make, these abstractions.
But towards the end, he became more specific.
In a voice that wavered, he listed her donations; liver; pancreas; both kidneys.
“Generous to the end,” he said.
“And beyond,” say I.
Always a reader, Thomas Malloch took the opportunity of retirement to try his hand at writing and sometimes he even gets published. Examples of his work can be found in “New Writing Scotland,” “the barcelona review,” “Gutter,” “Ringwood Publishing,” “Bath Flash Fiction,” “Reflex Fiction,” “Fairfield Scribes” and, of course, “50-Word Stories.”
Nana had a cure for everything. Arnica for bruises, yarrow for bleeding, comfrey for sprains and broken bones. And she taught me about poisonous plants, what to avoid.
I remember her words as I select fresh leaves and flowers for a salad, broken arm healed but stiff, new bruises aching.
Deborah writes at an old desk surrounded by five hundred pet bugs.
The patient said she was ready. The blue and white pills lay in front of her. The doctor showed her the numbers on each piece of medicine and stressed how she needed to consume them in order.
She took pill seven instead of pill one and laughed when nothing happened.
Rodney E Schmidt is an MFA candidate with the University of California, Riverside’s creative writing program. Past creative pieces have been published in the Pacific Review, The Coyote Chronicle, and High Voltage magazine. Currently, he resides in Loma Linda, California.
You say they’re a beautiful sky blue—
the pills
that may slow your tumors.
You take the sky
into your body
with your morning tea.
I imagine you
in today’s snow, making angels
as we did when small—
____ice-crusted fringe of tree-tops,
____glint of winter sun, the dazzling
____light
____everywhere.
Jennifer L. Freed mostly writes poems, which have appeared in various journals and anthologies. The above was originally published in The Worcester Review (at 57 words), but someone inspired her to see if she could trim it and send it here. The above-mentioned pills worked for about ten months. See more at jfreed.weebly.com.
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.
“Help me, Doctor!” yelled Harry.
“What’s the problem?”
“I can’t write 50-word stories.”
“I’ll check your head bumps. A-hah! Your Inflated Prose, Trivial Detail, and Superfluous Description bumps are too high. I’ll lower them for $300 cash.”
Harry paid.
“Brace yourself. This is going to hurt. Nurse, hand me that sledgehammer.”
Michael A. Kechula’s flash fiction and microfiction has been published in 132 magazines and 42 anthologies. His four books of flash fiction are available from BooksForABuck.com.
“Surely, Doctor, there must be something you can try. Please!”
“I’m afraid all we can do is make you comfortable, my dear. Although…”
“What is it? Tell me!”
“Well, it’s a long shot, but you know what they say about laughter.”
“That it’s the best medicine?”
“Exactly! It’s a punacea!”