ScribesMICRO
* * * Managing Editor: Edward Ahern * * *
* Associate Editor: Alison McBain *
* Special Features Editor: Matthew P.S. Salinas *
* Submissions Editor: Sarah Anderson * Submissions Editor: P.C. Keeler *
* Submissions Editor: P.M. Ray * Submissions Editor: Ira Rosofsky *
* Submissions Editor: Felicia Strangeways * Submissions Editor: Amita Basu *
* Featured Contributor: Aaron H. Davis *
* Associate Editor: Alison McBain *
* Special Features Editor: Matthew P.S. Salinas *
* Submissions Editor: Sarah Anderson * Submissions Editor: P.C. Keeler *
* Submissions Editor: P.M. Ray * Submissions Editor: Ira Rosofsky *
* Submissions Editor: Felicia Strangeways * Submissions Editor: Amita Basu *
* Featured Contributor: Aaron H. Davis *
Issue # 31
July 18, 2023
Featuring the short scribblings of:
* Ashleigh Adams * Joem Antonio * Gary Bloom *
* Emma Burnett * Aaron H. Davis * Mel Fawcett *
* MaxieJaneFrazier * Darcie Johnson * Jim Latham *
* Rita Riebel Mitchell * Melissa Ren * Robert Runté *
* John Siko * Mitzy Sky * Van Wallach * Huina Zheng *
* Ashleigh Adams * Joem Antonio * Gary Bloom *
* Emma Burnett * Aaron H. Davis * Mel Fawcett *
* MaxieJaneFrazier * Darcie Johnson * Jim Latham *
* Rita Riebel Mitchell * Melissa Ren * Robert Runté *
* John Siko * Mitzy Sky * Van Wallach * Huina Zheng *
Book Review
Entanglement
by Alina Leonova
Reviewed by Matthew P.S. Salinas
Initially, I would have described this story as similar to Blade Runner/Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, but after the first discussion of reality versus experience within the narrative, I found that there was so much more explored than the concept of what makes things real. The discussion of the exploitation of the planet’s resources, wealth inequality, and so much more are all woven into the narrative in a seamless manner that allows for a discussion of each topic that feels nuanced and yet not rushed, despite addressing so many topics. I personally would recommend this book for any science fiction fans, people concerned with modern sociopolitical issues, as well as anyone who just enjoys a well-paced narrative with a fresh approach to age-old issues of human society.
I definitely hope there is a sequel, and I can’t wait to see what this author writes next. There is so much more of the world to explore, and I feel the ending definitely leaves room for a continuation of the heroes’ journeys. |
Photo by Michael Leonard
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Poetry
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Falling by Aaron H. Davis Falling stars weave magic too
inversely in descending view for star to fall… for man to fly for God… to be the same as I * * * 
Photo by Yakup Ipek
Pause by Aaron H. Davis There is a time ’tween day and day
A half a second anyway When one’s not finished or begun A pause… a rest… but a short one There’s some that say the world stops still That stream… that rushes down the hill Is frozen in its rocky bed For just a half a second… dead That night bird’s voice is cut mid-song For just a half a second long For half a second all is still… And then new day comes in to fill * * * Aaron H. Davis is approaching seventy years of age in as grouchy a manner as possible, as a proper curmudgeon should. He was born in Connecticut, adopted at one years old, and began composing poetry when he was five. He worked for the school system in East Lyme and was known as the “scrap paper poet” because of the scraps of paper used to jot down his poetry.
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If I Could Change by Mitzy Sky I have ideas and plans, dreams and wishes,
And it seems no way to implement them. I think, most of the time, I am living vicariously Through my children, or my mind is stuck In the past or fantasizing about the future. I know I should live in the now. I have heard that phrase many times before. I think, once in a while, I do get to the now. Like right this instance, I am in the now As I write these lines. But how long will it last? An hour, a day, a week, a month? Never long enough for me to carry out my dreams. * * * Mitzy Sky is an award-winning poet who writes to transmute pain to love. Her writing has been published in We Are the Change-Makers—Poems Supporting Drop the Disorder, The Good Men Project, Inner-City News, and Mad in America. Her short screenplay, All Mind: The Influencers, was published in the anthology Imagining Monsters and Semi-Finalist at the 2022 Bridgeport Film Festival. She developed the Beyond the Story project that she uses to share her transformational story and is a Blogger/Vlogger at www.mitzysky.com.
Looking for Neruda's House by Gary Bloom We went looking for Neruda's House
searching the suburban streets of Santiago past expensive homes surrounded by concrete walls capped with electrified wire, not the usual broken bottle glass. All around us were kids kissing on park benches, at bus stops, anywhere, it didn't matter, they were self-indulgent and didn't seem to mind us staring. Where did all this love come from? Maybe it was his Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Maybe all the desire was stored up waiting to be unleashed when Pinochet's long song of despair was finally silenced. * * * Gary Bloom was born in Minneapolis and attended what is now Minnesota State University-Mankato, where he studied sociology. He has been a teaching assistant in a psychiatric hospital, a driving instructor for spinal cord injury patients, and a computer programmer. His articles and poetry have been widely published in newspapers, magazines and websites.
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Creative Nonfiction
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At First Sight by Jim Latham She scrambles up the stairs on all fours, the way kids do. She’s one day short of nine years old. Dark blonde hair with pink tips, mismatched socks, and jeans. She sees me and freezes. Our eyes lock. Coincidence, not genetics, that they are the same blue. This kid and I are entirely unknown to each other. And yet, in this moment, a bond fuses between us that will outlast my marriage to her mother. Will outlast everything in my life. The longer I know her, the harder I wish to go back in time and meet my daughter sooner.
* * * Jim Latham lives and writes in San Pedro Cholula, Puebla. His stories have appeared in The Drabble, Spillwords, Better Than Starbucks, Eunoia Review, and elsewhere. He publishes free flash fiction every Wednesday on Substack at Jim’s Shorts.
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Fiction
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Bully by Huina Zheng A boy jabbed my chest, yelling I was fat with large breasts. The class roared with laughter.
I wasn’t in seventh grade but at third-grade recess. A girl offered me juice, and when I sipped, she shouted, “The pig drank my pee!” I told my mother at night, who said, “Get along with your classmates.” I was always on my own. So, I kicked the boy hard in the belly, and he fell. I sat on him, scratching his face. He struggled to push me away, but I was big, he was skinny, and I would never be bullied again. * * * Huina Zheng was born and grew up in south China. She holds a M.A. in English Studies degree and has worked as a college essay coach. Her stories were published in Variant Literature, Evocations Review, The Meadow, Ignatian Literary Magazine and other journals. Her fiction “Ghost Children” was nominated for the 2022 Pushcart Prize. She lives in Guangzhou, China with her husband and a daughter.
The Nature of Romance by Rita Riebel Mitchell Covering her eyes, Treesah sobbed. “But I’m so fat.”
Jules fondled her fuzzy legs. “You’re beautiful as you are,” he whispered, wrapping himself around her. Treesah knew he was toying with her, but she couldn’t resist. When Jules pulled away, Treesah grasped two of his legs and wiggled her plump body around to face him. Without warning, she bit off his head. His decapitated body tumbled to the ground. Satisfied, Treesah skittered back to her web. As she laid her eggs, she watched an army of ants swarm Jules’ twitching body, carrying it into their cavernous nest under the woodpile. 
* * * Rita Riebel Mitchell writes in the Pinelands of South Jersey where she lives amongst the trees with her husband. Her short fiction appears in Flash Fiction Magazine, Versification, and 101words, among others. Find her on Twitter @rita_jr and online at www.ritariebel mitchell.com.
The Last Trip by Ashleigh Adams Relief is binding me, stitching the unraveled ribbons of my DNA back together.
“Kevin?” I choke, eyes welling. I’ve found so many wrong Kevins. So many not-my-Kevins. Kevins in khakis and Kevins with purple skin. But this is THE Kevin. This one is my forever. His face softens in that perfect half-smile and I run, throwing my arms around his neck, falling into the familiar curve of his shoulders. Warm hands move to the small of my back, fingers resting against my spine with too much delicacy, too much caution. He pulls away and meets my eyes, curious. “Who’s Kevin?” * * * Ashleigh Adams is a recovering corporate drone who has recently reclaimed her love of fiction. Her short stories have been published by Elegant Literature, and she’s currently working on her first full-length novel.
Common Tongue by MaxieJane Frazier Across from Zagreb’s Camp Pleso Hospital tents was a mine-riddled forested lot. The American nurse held his hand after shrapnel surgery, finding a common tongue was unnecessary when their eyes spoke their hearts. When his metal detector missed the telltale pop of an explosive device, the muddy soil blew away from him as the tree in front of him became toothpicks. Years later, he would read from his American newspaper how they now used rats to sniff out mines. Their eyes met again, this time over their children’s cereal bowls discarded half full, and their hearts would surpass language again.
* * * MaxieJane Frazier is a military veteran and retired professor. Her writing is in The Ekphrastic Review, Snow Crow vol. 6, The Line Veterans Literary Review, CONSEQUENCE Magazine, #390 in 50 Give or Take, and elsewhere. MaxieJane holds an MFA from Bennington Writing Seminars and is an editor for MicroLit Almanac.
Party Crasher by Darcie Johnson “The day we’ve been planning is finally here. Once news spreads of our parties, think of all the business we’ll have!” I barked at my assistant, circling the room and rechecking the chart.
Suddenly, there was a ruckus at the door as the birthday girl leaped in, her leash trailing behind her. I had spent the day suppressing my gag reflex while decorating her cake, and now her shocked owners made it just in time to see my prized confection wobble off the table. Covered in kibble and salmon, suddenly my dreams of becoming the premier canine party planning company were in the doghouse. * * * Darcie Johnson is a stay-at-home mom, writer, and reader living in Tallahassee, Florida. She has been published by 101words, Dollar Store Magazine, and was the winner of the Second Writer’s Playground Challenge. Follow her on Twitter @Darciewrites.
Rice and Resumes by Joem Antonio “Move!” shouted a motorcyclist, nicking Teresa. It wasn’t serious but it knocked the plastic bag of rice grains from Teresa’s hand. The bag burst, and fistfuls of grain scattered on the pavement. Pedestrians were kind enough to squeeze against the concrete wall, letting Teresa deal with her mess.
Teresa knelt, opened her ladies’ bag, and stuffed the burst plastic bag’s contents in there. Knowing that she had to stretch their meals again for another week, she began sweeping the grains on the pavement into her bag using her resume. Teresa smiled. Finally, her resume ended up being useful after all. 
* * * Joem Antonio is a Filipino Playwright and children's story author who began actively exploring microfiction in 2021. Some of his works can be seen in www.joemantonio .com, www.exesanonymous.com, www.compactshakespeare.com, and www.lovecafeproject .com. He also gives writing workshops through www.storywritingschool.com.
Smooth Sailing by Jim Latham To celebrate turning forty-five, I learned to roll my own cigarettes. I’d been living healthy for four and half decades due to childhood indoctrination, but I’d rarely been happy for more than forty-five minutes straight. Rolling smokes gave me something to do and was easier than learning to play an instrument. DIY cancer sticks led to meeting artist chicks—tattoos, heavy eye makeup, even heavier drama. Artsy babes, in turn, served as the gateway to better, stronger drugs. As long as I don’t burn through the inheritance and my new chemical friends keep working, it’ll be smooth sailing from here on out.
* * * Jim Latham lives and writes in San Pedro Cholula, Puebla. His stories have appeared in The Drabble, Spillwords, Better Than Starbucks, Eunoia Review, and elsewhere. He publishes free flash fiction every Wednesday on Substack at Jim’s Shorts.
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Sniffles by Van Wallach Renee lived down the hall from Ben their senior year at college. They became friendly enough to chat about thesis writing and post-graduation plans. With her flowing brown hair and dramatic silk scarves, romance languages major Renee appreciated stolid accounting major Ben. With coeds still a rarity on campus, Ben enjoyed contact with sophisticate Renee and didn’t dare expect more.
One evening she was hunched over her IBM Selectric, typing frenetically and sniffling loudly. Concerned, he asked, “Allergies acting up?” Renee looked away. “Too much cocaine.” Ben yearned to see Renee at reunions, but she never appeared. C’est la vie. * * * Van Wallach is a writer in Katonah, NY active in blogging and open-mic performances. He is a native of Mission, Texas and a graduate of Princeton University. Van's also an avid photographer and language buff. He's the author of a 2012 Memoir, A Kosher Dating Odyssey.
Never Give Up by Mel Fawcett As a young art student, I knew I was going to be famous; I was fated to lead the world of painting out of the dead-end of abstraction. It was an incredible feeling! Needless to say, life intervened as it always does (marriage, mortgage, kids), but my belief in my destiny never wavered. Sadly, as time passed, my wife no longer shared my conviction, but at least when she left I had more time to paint. And when I retired, more time still. Now, nearing the end, I’m not as sure as I was—but at least my faith got me this far.
* * * Mel Fawcett lives in London. His stories have appeared in various print and online publications, including Brilliant Flash Fiction, The Nonconformist Magazine, Bright Flash Literary Review, The Pomegranate London, Every Day Fiction, Microfiction Monday Magazine, Drabble Magazine, and ScribesMICRO.
When It Rains by Melissa Ren I wanted to break up. His boss beat me to it and fired him. So, I waited it out. He applied for government assistance but got rejected. His stove broke and he couldn’t afford a replacement. I lent him the money, knowing by the time he could pay me back, we’d be over. His mother slipped in the tub and needed hands-on care. On his way to her house, a car rear-ended him, biting off his bumper. I bought him a scratch ticket on a whim. He won $10. I gripped his arm and blurted, “I want to break up.”
Photo by Steve Buissinne
* * * Melissa Ren is a Chinese-Canadian writer, and editor at Tales & Feathers, Augur Magazine's sibling publication of cozy speculative fiction. Her writing has appeared or forthcoming in Factor Four Magazine, MetaStellar, Fusion Fragment, and elsewhere. Follow her on Twitter & Instagram at @melisfluous or find her publications at linktr.ee/MelissaRen.
Stanley and Jerome by John Siko Jerome is a six-foot-three, 255-pound junior at Rock U, on a music scholarship with the goal of playing first violin with the Buffalo Philharmonic. Stanley is the losing coach on the Rock’s football team, a good sax player whose goal is to be a professional football coach. Stan thinks Jerome would solve the team’s defensive problems and overcomes his reluctance to play football by getting him to join the team. However, Stan still has a losing season despite having Jerome and is fired. Today, Stan plays sax in a jazz band, and Jerome is a linebacker with the Buffalo Bills.
* * * John Siko is a ninety-year-old Korean war veteran who enjoys writing flash fiction between rounds of golf.
Photo by Reuven Hayoon
Déjà Vu by Robert Runté “It works!” Gerry exclaimed as the time capsule settled back into its spot in the lab.
“Of course. Just as my maths predicted.” “So what now, Professor? Go back and kill Hitler? Trum—?” “Don’t be absurd, Gerry! We’re hardly going to tamper with the timeline! At least, not our first time out. To start with, we’ll need to calibrate. Set the machine to take us back exactly one minute. On my mark…. Mark!” “It works!” Gerry exclaimed as the time capsule settled back into its spot in the lab. “Of course. Just as my maths predicted.” 
* * * Robert Runté is Senior Editor with EssentialEdits.ca. A former professor, he has won three Aurora Awards for literary criticism. His fiction has been published in over forty venues, and six of his short stories have been reprinted in ‘best of' collections, such as Canadian Shorts II and Best of Metastellar.
At the End of the Tether by Emma Burnett Lift traced a geosynchronous orbit through the edge of space. It patiently waited 2.76 days. Then it cut the cable’s power. It could imagine the screaming, the fear, the buttons pressed, the calls made.
Eighty-nine seconds later, Lift received a transmission. Hey, you asshat, stop dicking with the passengers. Turn on the power. Lift chuckled to itself. It liked Groundcrewperson Sanchez. It restored power, and the cable cars resumed travelling up and down the carbon nanotube tether. Lift sent a reply. Done. Renewed request for AI transfer out of this endless fucking night hellhole. It waited 5.92 minutes. Denied. Sorry. * * * Emma Burnett is a recovering academic. She’s big into cats, sports, and being introverted. Find her on Twitter @slashnburnett.
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Editor's Corner
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When faculty across campuses convene for Christmas dinner, I mingle freely. I share appetizers with faculty from another department. Over soup, I discuss the war with a gentleman who’s retiring. I wave at people from my own campus. They look nice dressed up.
Over dessert, I encounter Muskaan. Muskaan was the only one of my colleagues I liked. I wanted to get to know her, but I’m lazy. And I thought there was time. This summer she was transferred to another campus. I return her bright wave distantly and turn away. Socializing is easier with people you don’t care about. 
My grandfather nearly lost
house wife kids Friday afternoons paddling through smokers’ fog sitting at red and black betting on green. His hand felt empty coming home to Reno from the army’s tender care (bullet in the gut) so he filled fingers with a Colt Lightweight Commander semi-automatic chocolate bar grips. It carried seven rounds (lucky number seven). It must have been lucky he never fired it once at an intruder until one snuck into his brain intent on overcoming his last defense. Instead, he shot it killed that fucker dead with his lucky number seven. |
“He’s having a track dream.” Dylan coughed dryly into a napkin he kept in his coat’s breast pocket.
“What the hell is that?” Martin hated Dylan’s pessimistic observations. “He’s tied off and you can see the track marks on his arm. He’s conked out dreaming some kind of heroin induced dream. Therefore, it is a ‘track dream’. Get it?” Dylan let the apathetic joke he made hang in the air distastefully. “How,” Martin sighed and palmed his face, “how is that remotely funny Dylan?” “Because,” Dylan’s smile doubled, “he’s not even wearing shoes. Get it?” Dylan ducked as Martin swung. A while ago this friend died alone.
Maybe drunk, maybe deliberately. No one visited him for three weeks, so he rotted on a sofa. We shared a secretive calling, close friends and interests and a serious dependency, but not his dying. His lived distantly enough from my life that I doled out help and companionship as the occasions arose. At the end, he’d run out of money, health and work. Unable to remake his life, he brought it to a close. His sister said good riddance and his debtors complained, but we few knew the man inside the flaws and mourned. Published in Edward Ahern's collection: Sideways Glances. 
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