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Expressions of Grief by Karen Southall Watts “Let’s start with a moment of silent reflection.”
Dan looked around the room at the group and realized he’d never seen most of them without a mask until tonight. He was starting again in a room full of strangers. Everyone looked older than he expected. A blessed return to normal didn’t seem to have lessened anyone’s suffering. Now their pain was visible, making them all more vulnerable. “Does anyone want to share?” A woman began tearfully retelling the story of losing her husband twice—first to dementia and then to COVID. Frowns. Yawns. Knowing smiles. Dan realized he wouldn’t be coming back again after tonight. He couldn’t face them. * * * When she's not writing, Karen Southall Watts teaches Humanities in the Pacific Northwest. Her work has been featured at 101 Words, Fairfield Scribes, and Free Flash Fiction. She also writes on business and management topics. Find her at @askkaren on Twitter.
Shopping with Grandma Starrett
by Jon Fain Whenever Janet and her brother Bobby stayed with Grandma Starrett, she brought them to the department store, bought them each a toy, and took them to the restaurant on the top floor.
As Grandma stirred the Sweet’N Low to dissolve it in her coffee, Janet kicked Bobby back under the table. As they had gone up, he had run ahead to the next escalator. He waited until she and Grandma could see him before jumping on, sticking out his tongue. Janet watched Grandma’s spoon going around, wondered if she was going to bother to say it. That their mother was gone again. * * * Jon Fain’s micro fiction has been published in Molecule, Star 82 Review, The Daily Drunk, The Dribble Drabble Review, The Drabble, Scribes Micro Fiction, Six Sentences, and Blink-Ink. He lives in Massachusetts.
Sandwich Man by Gary Thomson The advert was explicit: Sandwich man eats free. When has he last eaten free? Or tasty? Or healthy? Tent city fare scrapes a man’s spirit: dry bread, soggy noodles, street dust.
Once his trading gains overarched all his competitors’. “Full company partner soon, Tibbett. Economy predicted to skyrocket.” But markets and fireworks fizzle. Today, also on offer: discourtesies (“Get a real job, dude.”) and challenges (“Mister, you seen my lost pup?”). Achy and windblown, he sheds his signboard—Sal’s Deli. Inside, his employer builds him a Workingman’s Wonder: layered pastrami, smoked ham, melted cheddar, tomato, lettuce on rye. Bounty draws a slender tear. * * * Gary Thomson resides in Ontario where in his rec moments he blows Beatles and blues on his Hohner harmonica. His short fiction has appeared in fiftywordstories.com [4], Wellington Street Review, AgnesandTrue, among other.
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One-Pot Meal by Parzival Sattva “I’m Julie, and this is Cooking With Julie, answering all your cooking quandaries. Hello, who’s on the line?”
“Hi there, Julie. Because of my busy life, I cook one-pot meals.” “Wonderful! How can I contribute to your culinary creations?” “What seasoning would you use on a serving of modified shepherd’s pie?” “And how did you modify it, caller?” “There’s graham cracker on the bottom, then potato, seasoned meat, salad makings, cheese cake filling, then a la mode.” “You didn’t include soup? Scandalous!” “Soup! Cream of mushroom will work well. Thank you, Julie!” “Caller, that was a joke. Caller? Hello? Hello?” * * * Parzival Sattva has written more than 1,000 one-hundred-word stories. Read them on Blogger, watch him read them on YouTube, and/or join a (budding) community on Discord.
The Much-Married Man by Shoshauna Shy Her husband Gordon claimed he could not move to Boston that summer for Anice’s career. His son was about to start kindergarten, and finally learning how to share. He needed his dad to be an integral part of his life. Something Gordon never had as a boy himself.
Anice overheard Gordon on the phone with the boy’s mother, the ex who left him after the birth and not remarried. His voice softened to just-above-a-whisper, then rose into a peal of laughter that bounced to the rafters and showered down. Showered like sleet around Anice’s shoulders. Another reason her husband wanted to stay. * * * Author of five collections of poetry, one of Shoshauna Shy's flash fiction stories was nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and then won a page in the forthcoming Best Microfiction 2021 series by Pelekinesis Press. She was also one of the seven finalists for the 2021 Fish Flash Fiction Prize out of County Cork, Ireland.
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Not an Emergency by Monica McHenney There was a fight about money after my father's funeral, though money played no part. The details don't matter. Only proximity. Same car, same hotel, same any space, and we erupt.
My sister pushed a finger at my chest. Ghosts burned through me. We scrambled over sharp-edged furniture, bloodied the carpet, dying like King Lear’s daughters, poisoning Dad’s memory. No one called an ambulance. The argument was predictable, something to schedule for a convenient time. A time free of hot flashes and cold stares. After forty years of not settling things, the outburst was expected, even anticipated. Not an emergency. * * * Monica McHenney has done everything from waiting tables to working with delinquent teenagers. This was before she settled down to raise her own children who were only occasionally delinquent. She has published short stories, read flash fiction in San Jose, and writes one drabble per week which appears at https://monicaflash.com.
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Not My Cup of Tea by Gabi Coatsworth We British don’t consider it polite to share our true feelings. So I could use a set of mugs that would express what’s really on my mind.
One which, instead of “I love your garden, dress, figure, baking,” told people Why do you have to be so bloody perfect all the time? Another would say, I am so bloody bored of this conversation, rather than, “Gosh, look at the time…” And one would convert “They’re predicting a spot of trouble with North Korea” into The bloody apocalypse is coming! If you don’t get understand this, I say, “I’m frightfully sorry.” My mug says: Screw you. * * * Gabi Coatsworth is an award-winning British-born writer and blogger. Her essays, short fiction, and poetry have been published in anthologies and literary journals, both in print and online. She enjoys encouraging other writers, long walks, and drinking endless cups of very strong English Breakfast tea.
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New Orleans the Next and the Next by R.M. Garabedian Doomed?
New Orleans is home. It’s all right, darlin’, we stride through the risin’ mud on stilts. Yeah, we might soon sink and never rise up, But we’ll do it to a joyous trombone flare. Come squish with us. Swat those giant bugs. Eat shrimp gumbo that’ll jolt your meltin’ body. Stroll alleys of cobblin’ stone. Tiptoe and crouch to peek through iron-leaved gates: Glimpse buzzing gardens tropical, Spy garment-shedding liaisons not typical. The throb of it returns after jazz-backgrounded, crazy onslaughts. Tell me to scram? You’re tellin’ me to leave my succor. City gonna drown? Maybe. But not ’til long after we breathe a final time. * * * R.M. Garabedian is writing a literary fiction novel series, the first volume of which is entitled Walking on the Quieter Streets. His short story "The Breath of A River" is here.
Our Relationship
by Karen Southall Watts He texted me at two-thirty a.m.
“Are you okay?” A trip to the bathroom, another ice pack for my hot flashes, I was up anyway. “Yes, I’m fine.” A phantom phone call, Sounds carried over from a vivid dream to reality, A frightening premonition, a feeling of creeping doom, These are my dominion, not his. Words of assurance and calm, And then I slide back into sleep, hot and alone, Clutching the phone, Just in case. He visits from time to time, And the company is pleasant, the sex sublime, Then he’s gone again. Overt worry, sensual delight, These are the gifts he gives me. This is love, right? * * * When she's not writing, Karen Southall Watts teaches Humanities in the Pacific Northwest. Her work has been featured at 101 Words, Fairfield Scribes, and Free Flash Fiction. She also writes on business and management topics. Find her at @askkaren on Twitter.
City Night Summer
by John Grey Dogs bark
and the words come out louder and coarser, deep into the shallow night, when flowers know when to shut it up but people never do. Fireworks have this thing for noise, same as guns, and the faceless law wants no more martyrs, and it’s easy to feel why no one lives forever. It’s summer and the dog has fleas, the streets, traffic, and the lawns, brownout, though there’s a spur-of-the-moment celebration for some returning soldier with rust around the eyes, as the parents claim first dance, and others sit in bare light with the patience of scattered stones. * * * John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Penumbra, Poetry Salzburg Review and Hollins Critic. Latest books, Leaves On Pages and Memory Outside The Head are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Lana Turner and Held.
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The Poets' Salon If you're looking for more poetry, including a place to read your work, receive critiques, and explore poetic forms, check out The Poets' Salon. Two editors of Scribes*MICRO*Fiction, Edward Ahern and Alison McBain, run this free poetry workshop.
Meetings take place on the second Saturday of every month from 10 a.m. to noon EST via Zoom. More info, including how to sign up for the poetry workshop, can be found on The Poets' Salon website or via Meetup. |