Uprooted this odd plant, we did. Brought it back to the lab. It was novel, real wild. Thought it was a newly discovered species. Never seen anything like it, we said. We’ve been searching for another after ours died so quick, looking real hard. Gone from the wild, it was. Nick Bucciarelli is an undergraduate student studying chemistry at Northwestern University ..read more

He set up their anniversary dinner and she thought someone had died. The candles decorating the room came from the dollar store, in the aisle with the stationary cards. Red, for romance. He did not know that in this country, red candles are for mourning. A different kind of love. Kim is an emerging writer based in Montreal, Canada. Her previous work has been published in McGill’s student journal Samizdat, as well as the online magazine RedRoseThorns ..read more

In my dreams, I could fly. A little boy, ignoring the science of gravity. Somewhere along the way, those dreams disappear. “Another beer?” My wife scolds. “Hard day at work,” I reply. She huffs and goes to bed without me, as usual. I drink more beer. She doesn’t understand flying. Del Griffith is a retired math teacher who reads and writes extensively and travels the state, looking for great barbecue and swapping tall tales with all the old men ..read more

It took me a while to believe it when he told me. Eventually I made him walk on water to prove it—took the train to Coney Island and got pretzels on the boardwalk. We talked about our dads for a bit. I thought I’d have more to ask him. Nina Evans is a humble genius with a heart of gold. Besides Bruce Springsteen and Whitney Houston on a technicality, she is New Jersey’s finest export. Currently studying Literature and Music at the New School, Nina expects to work in a wholly unrelated field, probably sending emails ..read more

The day begins the same: a cup of coffee on the swing, watching the old willow tree sway in the wind, branches whipping the ground like forty lashes gnawing away at the life she’s lived. Eleanor glances reflexively at the empty spot next to her. The mornings were always nice. Emily is a new mom, a wife, a cat mom, an editor, a writer, and a singer—words and labels that don’t matter much to anyone, but to her, they are the portrait of a full and growing life. She hopes to expand that life with more words each day ..read more

It has rained today It is raining lightly now Sitting on the front porch I smell sweet wood burning The wind has picked up The drops are falling slanted A driveway puddle is growing I notice it is cooler Covering up with a blanket I listen as my rocker complains Dan Johnson was born in California and grew up in Illinois. Now retired, he spent over twenty years as a high school physics teacher and school administrator who also loved writing poetry ..read more

The morning moon blots against the blue sky like a thumbprint dipped in milk. A strange, off-kilter day. Grandma Lil in her kitchen sipping peyote tea. She still had a stash from that lost year in Mexico. Some bad trips. Numbs her headaches. Visions of Lucy in trouble are clear. Nina Welch’s short stories appear in Literally Stories online anthology in February and March, 2024.  Her poetry appeared in Rats Ass Review, Aaduna Press for National Poetry Month, Girls on Film, Fandango 8 Poetry, and Fandango 8 Poetry and Short Stories. She was awarded first place ..read more

Today is the day of the dead. Not the Dia de los Muertos holiday, but the anniversary of the day I died. See the white cross at the curve up ahead? It’s mine. The faded rainbow of plastic flowers? Mine, too. Wait, there’s something new. A stuffed unicorn! Someone remembered! Rita Riebel Mitchell writes in the Pinelands of South Jersey. Her work appears in Flash Fiction Magazine, Versification, 101 Words, and others. Read more at RitaRiebelMitchell.com ..read more

The story of the week for April 15 to 19 is… Legacy by Cate Covert ..read more

I wish I could explain it; I don’t really understand it. But I know it’s true that it is all my fault. All the trouble I’ve created. I never have understood my own strength. I just can’t stop: it is who I am, what I do. I am truly sorry. Robert Ludemann is happily retired and at his desk writing ..read more