The café is crowded. Elise huddles in a corner, the other chairs from her table are gone: stolen away by predatory teenagers. Elise barely noticed.
Author: Every Writer
Richard Edwards has a BFA in Creative Writing and Journalism from Bowling Green State University and an M.S. in Education from the University of Akron. Managing editor of Drunk Duck, poetry editor for Prairie Margins, reporter for Miscellany, Akron Journal, Lorain Journal, and The BG News. He has also worked as a professional writer and editor in the medical publishing industry for several years. For the last 15 years Richard has also taught literature and writing at the secondary and post-secondary levels. He works much of the time with at-risk students.
Dusk By Chris Galford
Dusk. I can hear them in the walls. The chitter of their legs rattles plaster.
Trick or Treat by K. A. Hardway
She had finally done it. She had become a cantankerous old lady.
Finality by Alex Schumacher
She lay on the bed crying, the tears wouldn’t cease. The world was so god-damn unfair. She had gone to bed two hours earlier in an attempt to escape the memories and find some much needed rest.
The Last Great Request by Lee Harrison
“We think the chance of change is good but so far we haven’t recorded anything concrete.”
The Quail by Sozou-Kyrkou Konstantina
Sophia immerses the podgy quail into a pot of hot water and then starts plucking them. Tufts of brown feathers blanket the water. She then cuts their heads
The Noise by Timothy Mowers
He could hear it. Slowly, cautiously advancing .Building up pressure slowly increasing ever slightly. And then all at once exploding like a cyclone, vibrating,
Winter Break by Nana K. Adjei-Brenyah
I was home on break. Freezing rain came and went. The cold, however, crossed its arms and chained itself to everything.
Coming Home at Midnight to the Farm by Donal Mahoney
Driving down the hill I see the same bend in the road the school bus took me around for years. I can see in the headlights the wildflowers ringing the curve like a necklace
The Delivery by Loretta Martin
“A boy–good job, Mom!”
My doctor’s baritone penetrates the delivery room’s soundscape: sighing vacuum pumps, a chorus of medspeak, beeping monitors, all punctuated by
Missing the Messiah by Paul Finnigan
Paul Finnigan is a short story writer from Ottawa, Canada. He has a collection of short fiction that has been published in both Canada and the United States
The Pickle Rabbi by Emile Barrios
I need to know if Di Fara has the best pizza in New York.
In the Rain by Sara Marchant
That day when we first kissed was a rainy Tuesday. We met for an innocent coffee while dark clouds built over the city. We talked about everything,
Spirit in the Sky by Linda Casper
The mourners dispersed from the graveside in groups of twos and threes. They paused to pay their condolences to the family, some shaking hands
A Picture of Home by Miranda Angelski
It is louder than a train passing only inches from our faces. It splashes in our ears, surrounding our eardrums. Its continuous roar is like nothing else