April, 2016

Four pieces by Kelsey Dean

 

Velvet Voyage

She definitely picked the right dress. Crushed velvet, rusty red. His hands fluttered like moths drawn to light, catching on her every dip and swell.

Licorice

Anas, that Egyptian boy at school, reminded her of anise, the flavor of her mother’s Christmas cookies. He lingered in her head, cocoa-eyed and sugarplum-sweet.

Chills & Thrills

They met on the ski lift.

During the ride up, they determined that their mouths were very compatible—and those certainly weren’t frostbites on their necks. 

Devil’s Advocate

Stray strands tucked and pinned, pearls placed carefully along collarbones.

Shirt buttoned and tucked.

Fitted skirt. Straight back.

Another long day of defending the guilty.    

Kelsey Dean is essentially Pippi Longstocking, although her hair is not red.  She tries out different careers by day and writes by night.  She also paints.  You may see some of her work on this page: http://kelseypaints.tumblr.com/. Kelsey is from Ann Arbor, Michigan, but is currently living in Istanbul, where she hopes to become a mermaid in the Bosporus.

 

Three pieces by Phoebe Lyons

Black-Out

Guitar fingers. One soggy bruise. Two thumbs up, given to him in three breaths. Four Loko. That night he made fifteen minutes feel like five.

 

Cherry Pop

You’re shaking, he tells me, but I can’t feel it. I’m a paper swan, folding myself around him. This is his pond. I’m tastefully drowning.

 

Curtain Call

I’m memorizing the picture of JFK on the wall as he tactfully gropes his way across my thighs. He could be my Lee Harvey Oswald.

 

Phoebe Lyons is currently studying Bilingual Childhood Education and Creative Writing at SUNY Brockport in Western New York. She loves to write, sing, and play guitar. She went to Space Camp when she was nine, which was very cool. You can find more of her work in Germ Magazine and Words Dance.

 

Three pieces by Joanna Weston

 

Tangerine

she smells like Christmas
feels soft and just ripe
needs to be peeled
flesh exposed to my gaze
touched with gentle fingers
and eaten
whole

Coffee Bean

he’s a might-have-been man
a gleam in the eye dude

a last-seen getting off the bus
an almost-made it boyfriend
certainly a lean mean has-been

Cotton Candy

spinning on the carousel
sweet as summer honey
all pink, lilac, pale yellow

young voice singing out
she’s one cute candy kid
my small granddaughter

Joanna M. Weston. Married; has two cats, multiple spiders, a herd of deer,
and two derelict hen-houses. Has a middle-reader, ‘Frame and The McGuire’,
published by Tradewind Books; and poetry, ‘A Summer Father’, published by
Frontenac House of Calgary. Her eBooks found at her blog:
http://www.1960willowtree.wordpress.com/

 

Four pieces by  Krystyna Fedosejevs

 

Yukon Gold

Family stories of a rush for vanity abound. His uncle panhandled waters for Yukon gold. All he can afford are potatoes of the same name.

Spray Paint the Town

She carried her winter blues into spring. Let them go when crocuses and tulips sprung color to gardens and her paintings suited the clientele landscape.

Bronzed to Perfection

Liz had her athletic achievements showcased for all to see. Bronze medals at best. What weren’t displayed were the photos of her first class boyfriends.

Plenty of Fish in the Sea

No luck. Sea was too big. I changed my line of thinking. Cast my vision into a stream and pulled out a man I kept.

 

Krystyna Fedosejevs writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published online and in a number of magazines, including:  Nailpolish Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.

 

Five pieces by Tyrean Martinson

 

Wicked

Dark purple ice cream with chocolate streaks beckoned her spoons, her lips, her tongue, and she ate until the carton emptied, but she wasn’t satisfied.

 

French Affair

I tucked his yellow fleur-de-lis in my hair, and gave him a rose leaf. He dropped it, a missed message in the language of flowers.

 

Hopelessly in Love

After, I stood at the window, wagging my tail. She never returned to fill my food dish again. My dog heart broke, but loved on.

 

Need Sunglasses?

Promenade vendors pushed dark, plastic lenses. I chose a ladybug pair, covered my eyes, and waited for the end flash, a future that blinded us.

 

Ahead of the Game

The clock ticked. I ran down the hall, contract in hand. I won the raise. But, the competition dogged me, plotting to drag me down.

 

 

 

Tyrean Martinson, everyday writer, has three story collections out, some experimental fiction, and three novels. She’s a believer and a daydreamer. Find her online at http://tyreanswritingspot.blogspot.com/

 

 

 

 

Two pieces by Evert Asberg

Dream Catcher

My wife evaporates healing scents, prepares healthy food, gives me a loving massage. The next day I feel better. Back to work. Love ruins everything.

 

Priti

When the loyal employee subjected his wife to a customer satisfaction survey, she appeared to have left without a trace. He ticked the appropriate box.

@EvertAsberg looks into his notebook to see what stories came bursting out of him that night.

 

Pep Plum by Shermie Rayne

I’d already lost my soul to Queen Reina. So when my precious prince held my plum-colored heart out for the court to judge, I capitulated.

Shermie Rayne likes to use written words to ponder, push against, or relish in this journey of life. She’s finding that micro/flash fiction is an excellent medium to do just that.http://shermierayne.wordpress.com/

 

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