Before he passed away, my uncle, a physicist, explained to me that when the universe collapses to a singularity in the far distant future, matter and energy and even space will disappear, leaving only empty time. And then and only then will desire and its resultant suffering finally cease forevermore.
Don Nigroni is a retired labor economist.
She found the teacup on a dusty shelf as though it had been waiting. It was the one he’d set down between them that morning, steam unfurling, his face unreadable. The clink was small yet carried the weight of the truth he finally spoke.
Lisa Leinberger is an emerging author who writes under the name of Pippa Alder and focuses on flash fiction and short stories. Born in New Jersey, she now resides in Pennsylvania. When not writing, she enjoys photography, reading, and embroidery.
The DNA testing service put an unknown cousin in touch with me. They asked if I were related to Wilhelmina in some way. “Yeah, she is my aunt on my mom’s side.” Later, I asked my surviving uncle about it. His expression quickly turned hard, “We don’t talk about that.”
After decades of nattering on about moving abroad, Ed Walker finally retired and is currently living in Catalunya, Spain. His work can be found in 50-Word Stories, The Arcanist, Blink-Ink and elsewhere.
The woman in blue flicks the end of the needle, and says “You’re probably not going to even feel it.”
I shut my eyes and breathe.
I squeeze my fist.
I feel it.
“Oops,” she says.
I don’t open my eyes.
It’s not real if you don’t open your eyes.
Ron Fromstein is a largely self-taught writer from Toronto who has also lived in Chicago, New Orleans, Vancouver, and Iceland.
I imagined she’d show up one day. I just didn’t think she’d be wearing a sparkly dress and a silver tiara. She danced in the waves of my sleeping brain, now unbounded by those who’d hurt her on Earth, and reminded me that in the end, your spirit always wins.
Makenzie Matthews-Beard is a second-year college student at The University of North Carolina Wilmington. She loves incorporating nature, nostalgia, and womanhood into mediums like poetry, prose, photography, and music.
It did not dissolve nor fade to black. Instead: cut to a new wife. She harvests from the orchard I tended. Enjoys the eggs from the chicks I nurtured. And sleeps in the bed where we conceived our children. She lives the life we built from scratch. Run the titles.
Cath Swanston lives in Kelowna BC. She is mother to five humans, countless chickens, ducks, turkeys, dogs, and cats. What does a retired ranch manager with degrees in law and film do? Write, write, write.
“When your grandfather and I were kids, we walked barefoot to school, uphill in the snow both ways. The school had one room for everyone, from kindergarteners to Talmudic scholars. But what a delight the snow became when we discovered the downhill routes! This was before the war, of course.”
Seth Rosenman writes, but he doesn’t wrong. His writing has appeared in numerous places, and so has he. He can be found sleeping in your hat when Tom Waits isn’t. His dreams are manifested forever at infiniteseth.blogspot.com.
Layoff notice. Package of unopened underwear. Empty bottles of Jim Beam. Yearbook opened to page where he and his girlfriend were homecoming royalty. Mom calls out, “Keep one collared shirt.” I hang the green one in the closet. Everything else fits into one garbage bag placed outside Mom’s back door.
Jeff Harvey lives in San Diego and edits Gooseberry Pie Lit. He has recent work in trampset and Bending Genres.
The copse of corpses is haunted by centuried ghosts and the ashen remnants of their skeletons. As I travel, they whisper to me in urgent gasps.
To be is to… To be is to…
I allow the whippoorwill’s song to drown out their voices, yet still I walk, pondering pines.
Katelyn Jane Pontzer is an aspiring writer from Georgia. She graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in English and Philosophy.
The consultant had us draw a timeline leading up to the present. People stood and shared project milestones, corporate announcements, promotions.
I only saw doctors’ appointments, diagnosis, prognosis, treatment, rinse, repeat. Those tick marks charted her illness and death.
And he wondered why I didn’t go up to the front.
Norma Gardner retired from the corporate world a few years ago and enjoys spending time with family and friends, travelling, and expressing herself through her writing and sourdough recipes. Growing up in Northern Ontario, her family’s antics and her Italian upbringing supply the inspiration for her writing. She currently lives in Waterdown, Ontario.