I should have turned on the porch light, but the bulb is dead, I said, I had to leave her alone in the bathroom so I could stand outside and watch for the ambulance because the porch light is out, I wasn’t certain the EMTs would find the house, but she’s in the bathroom, on the toilet and can’t stand, while I was teaching a class tonight, she phoned the evening coordinator who stood at the classroom door and softly told me she needed me, but I don’t understand why a firetruck is at the … Continue reading Last Words by Caroline Malone→
Once again, we had the opportunity to read a (virtual) stack of flash fiction pieces that have enlarged our worlds—and we are grateful. As usual, we employed the Venn Diagram method of settling on the winners, each listing our own top choices and then selecting from those that overlapped. It’s an interesting way of judging because deeply held favorites may not even ‘medal’. But that pretty much underscores the subjective nature of contests (or, you know, anything.) What speaks to one person might not, another. Which is all to say—that, contests aside, the truly … Continue reading 2024 Flash Fiction Contest by Erika Raskin→
Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that you’re considering getting old. We don’t recommend this course of action, of course, because the risks greatly outweigh the advantages. But if you must age, here are a few tips to help you navigate what can be a fun time in your life, if you take the proper precautions. Keep in mind that the main skill required for this period of your life is that of settling; as in settling for things you had never considered you would need to settle for in the first place. … Continue reading Tips For Aging Women by Christine McDowell Tucker→
What’s happening to me? Downstairs I can hear my wife Ann with our two-year-old Isabella, their sounds bubbling up from the kitchen. The scrape of spoon on bowl. The cooed urgings: Another bite? Zoom zoom! Izzy’s delighted yawp. But for some reason I can’t go down the stairs. Every time I try, lowering my right foot onto the top step, the padded carpet giving way, I start to lose my balance and heave myself back up, almost knocking the wedding photo of my mom and dad off the wall. I feel groggy like I’ve … Continue reading Downstairs by Gary Duehr→
We write for a target audience. Readers differ in their demographics as well as their literary tastes. When my novel, Never, was published, I began meeting with book groups, and they were all baby boomers like me. I realized I’d written a book for my own generation. Never is a coming-of-age story that takes place in the segregated south. Folks my age (I’m turning seventy) can remember Martin Luther King and the turbulent sixties. Southern readers have shared with me their memories of growing up with a Black maid, often articulating a version of the bewildered … Continue reading Writing For A Generation by Joel F. Johnson→
The one and only time I put a knife in my pocket heading out to church was on Sunday, December 13, 1981. My mother, a single parent, was working a night shift, and my job at age eleven, in a true latchkey-kid fashion, was to get myself and my seven-year-old sister to holy mass. That was far from unusual. I was in charge on most Sunday mornings at that age. I’d usually wake up early, turn on channel one (of two), and watch cartoons for a few minutes before anything else. That morning, instead … Continue reading Writing Through Autocracy by Karol Lagodzki→
It was a flat grey stone, the kind you found in tourist shops, with pre-set words. What a strange gift from Andrea, I’d thought, and plunked it into my pocket—carelessly. Only later, I found my hand often curving around it, feeling its weight, its contours. Where was she now? All those nights I found myself awake, throwing on some clothes. Inside my car, I cruised through the dead-quiet night streets. Sometimes, the streetlights, or the cold probing lights left on in closed stores, allowed me a glimpse of a huddled shape under a doorway, or … Continue reading A Stone by Debbie Bennett→
When he woke it was with awareness that it was his birthday and thus with an ebullience lacking on most other days when waking and rising were almost painful, at least relative to the contoured comfort of the womb-like bed that held him gently and all but captive. The hardwood floors were cold in the new apartment, so when he entered the kitchen, bed-headed and still rubbing sleep from his eyes, he was sure to stand in the narrow slats of morning light that shone through the westerly wall’s window. She saw him, smiled … Continue reading Birthday Boys by Will Underland→
It’s hard to know when it started—the hollow feeling when I entered my building. The unease as I unlocked the front door, like I was entering a stranger’s house with my own key, the yellow porchlight turning my fingers into ownerless digits. Always I expected the weight to lift once I’d crossed the threshold, or certainly when I’d walked up two flights of stairs to my condo. But even inside my own space, it was still there. Twenty-some years have passed since I lived on 19th Street in the Dupont Circle neighborhood of D.C., but … Continue reading The Secrets We Kept in Our Condo Association by I. S. Berry→
Kat’s portrait tilted on Wendy’s dresser festooned with effulgent skyscrapers: birds of paradise and stargazers. A spent cork from a New Year’s Eve, a paling Polaroid of the two at the Whitney Biennial laid in front. Some days Wendy endured a seemingly endless passion for Kat. At some point though, exhausted by unquenchable longing, Wendy moved the portrait to the kitchen wall adjacent to the airshaft window, but there it gathered grime and the stray pigeon feather, so she took it down, tissue-wrapped, bubble-wrapped, boxed and labeled it. Like Kat taught her. She leaned … Continue reading Candy Apple Smile by Catherine Chiarella Domonkos→
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