Five pieces by Suzanne Cottrell
Striving for completeness,
Vanessa sauntered along
paths of concentric circles
struggling to lose herself,
so she could find her true self.
How many more times?
An eerie silence before
the floor shifted
beneath their feet.
clinging to each other.
Dishes rattled, fell, shattered.
Prayers to be spared silenced.
Turquoise and Caicos
Couple’s needed escape to tropical island paradise
Tepid, turquoise, shimmering waters
Exhilarating horseback ride through surf,
an attempt to splash life
into their mundane relationship
Pump the Jam
Rock’n roll groupies
orbit their planetary rock star
around the United States,
experience concert euphoria,
hoard musician’s paraphernalia,
long to attend a private jam session.
Sunday night dilemma,
school lunches, what to pack?
Each child’s food preferences,
limited grocery options,
peanut butter and jelly,
apple, juice box again!
Suzanne Cottrell, an Ohio buckeye by birth, lives with her husband and three rescue dogs in rural Piedmont North Carolina. An outdoor enthusiast and retired teacher, she enjoys hiking, biking, gardening, and Pilates. Her flash fiction has appeared in Dragon Poet Review, The Pop Machine (Inwood Indiana Press), and Nailpolish Stories, A Tiny and Colorful Literary Journal.
Six pieces by Clarissa McFairy
I eyed him over the rim of my Watermelon Martini, as from the gods, (theatrically) or balcony in Romeo and Juliet. He’d be a pushover.
Between the Sheets
Between the sheets, I find paradise. Each sunlit sheet, crisp and clean, yielding to my words. Penned in my new 50-page pad, exclusively for poetry.
Her glass stilettos clink as they tap the tiles of the Trattoria. Tall champagne glasses, toasting each step towards her new prey. Spouse number six.
Vont to Bite my Neck
Vot keeps you so young? Me: Vampire! See my butt, no flab. Svetlana turns green … then bear-hugs me, growling, Vont to bite my neck?
She spun words, nibbling them before spitting them onto the page. Then she polished each one until it shone. She went for wildshine, never matt.
Satin sisters into which I slip my morning feet. Soft, fluffy fairies, ferrying me to Jasmine tea. And the steamy kiss of hot buttered toast.
Clarissa McFairy lives in Cape Town, South Africa. She writes short stories and poetry for anthologies, at home and abroad. Her poem, La Mia Musa was a vox poetica 2012 Best of the Net nominee. Her poetry book, Strange Bedfellows, published in the USA (Red Dashboard LLC Publishing) is available at Amazon.com. Clarissa says she writes as the muse grabs her and whirls her around the dance floor of life.
Blood Red by Candy Chilton
Crimson blade, scarlett line. Running rivulets from wrist to fingertips. Red blood congealing on her nails, dripping globules to the floor like spilled nail polish.
Candy Chilton lives, loves and laughs in Belgium.
Pink in the Park by Rebecca Field
She had a fetish for getting naked in public spaces, which he was happy to oblige, until she threw his trousers into the boating lake.
Rebecca Field juggles writing with caring for two young children and working in a demanding healthcare role. She has been published at Literally Stories, Short Fiction Break, 101 Words and Flash Fiction magazine. Forthcoming at Spelk.
Blue Mosaic by Joanna Weston
An indigo sky. Black water. Her surprised blue eyes. Bright turquoise swimsuit.
My wife with a million bucks in the bank: definitely worth one bullet.
Joanna M. Weston. Married; has two cats, multiple spiders,
a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader,
‘Frame and The McGuire’, published by Tradewind Books; and poetry,
‘A Bedroom of Searchlights’, published by Inanna Publications.
Her eBooks found at her blog: http://www.1960willowtree.wordpress.com/
A Bedroom of Searchlights – poetry
published by Inanna Publications
Quantum Nailpolish by Colin W. Campbell
Clever scientists said that nailpolish can be any color at all until someone looks at it. But how many girls do their nails without looking?
Colin W. Campbell writes short fiction and poetry in Sarawak on the green tropical island of Borneo and faraway in Yunnan in Southwest China. http://www.colincampbell.org
Five pieces by Jose Ramirez
“There’s nothing else I can do, I’m sorry,” he insisted. “Medicine is not magic.”
Years later, I attended his funeral: inoperable multiple meningiomas they said.
A Love Story
I had a dream once, where I was falling — in love, into a hole, into a rut, into pain, derision. And then I woke up.
The Future is Now
I met a robot on the street. My hate welled up when he said, “Hello.”
“Freak,” I snapped. “Go back to where you came from.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” my sister Cora whispered, weeping over a picture of Mama — so young, beautiful, and serene.
“I know,” I lamented.
Mrs. Aguilar loved birds to death. She kept a cemetery in her backyard, each with little names, with little crosses, and little rosaries for forgiveness.
Jose Ramirez is a lover of very short stories — flash fiction, micro fiction — because they help him concentrate the meaning of ideas. A graduate of San Francisco State University, he majored in Creative Writing and minored in Journalism. Born in Texas, he now lives in San Diego.
Three pieces by Olivia Taylor
Super Star Status
I met him five years later on the red carpet, radiant. He, the star, was starstruck by the formerly invisible fan of his scraping beginnings.
A glowing rainbow mess stuck to the sidewalk at Disney World, proving that even the garbage was magical. Inside, the candy store smelled like hope.
Red My Mind
Clark was quiet and gentle until someone was in trouble. Then he abandoned Plato to defend a justice that the ancient Greek would not understand.
Olivia Taylor loves to experiment with numerous genres of writing, including poetry, short stories, novels, and screenwriting.
Six pieces by Tyrean Martinson
Espresso Your Style
Hipsters drink cold brew
Teens giggle over mochas
The moms sip non-fat single lattes
Hot single men caress double macchiatos
And I drink honeyed tea.
Sashay My Way
A soft scent of cologne earns my glance. His suit fits tight.
The elevator dings. It’s my floor.
I exit, breathe out, let him go.
The canvas looms. She grips the dripping brush.
He touches her.
She jerks away, spatters crimson across white.
He knows she will create his masterpiece.
Dating a Royal
Boring, but her mother insisted.
After an endlessly formal dinner,
she dove back into the sea,
hid her crown,
and raced manta rays with friends.
I’m Not Really a Waitress
I pack heat.
I wear pink lip gloss.
I smack my gum.
Remember the first one before you order anything off Billy Bag’s special menu.
Breakfast in Red
She ordered stewed tomatoes.
Her fingers were red, not the nails, but the skin.
I didn’t ask. I just served.
One never questioned the queen.
Tyrean Martinson is a writer, teacher, daydreamer, and believer who lives on the Peninsula in Washington State. She is the author of speculative and non-fiction books, as well as over 100 published short works of poetry and short stories. Find her at: http://tyreanswritingspot.blogspot.com
Powder Room by Erin Adams
She shimmers like she’s never felt pain.
I avoid the mirror.
She slams into a stall, pukes her gorgeous face off.
Erin Adams is the author of the novel, Wait for the Light, and she works as a freelance copywriter when she’s not being lazy. Her brilliant husband, talented writer-friends, and her ill-behaved dogs are her greatest inspirations. You can find out more about Erin at http://www.erin-adams.com