Pecking Order

By Jayne Martin
Our food, untouched and cold, sat forbidden until he had finished his. Tears only brought his fist slamming against the table, upending our dishes, twisting our stomachs into painful knots.

A Blanket Decision

By Elizabeth Zahn
At the Twisted Stitchers meeting, I held up my first, nearly finished, crocheted baby blanket. They oohed and ahhed. “But look,” I said, “There’s a mistake 40 rows back. Should I frog it?”

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust, Clay to Kintsukuroi

By Susan Hatters Friedman
My deep purple vase sat proudly on the dining room table of our tiny home. Black sand from Te Henga was the temper I had worked into the clay.

Closing Time

By Patricia Q. Bidar
Fiona banks her ride in front of Mel’s Hot & Cold Heroes. Her Oldsmobile Cutlass is like a battered lemon shark.

Photo Story: 8. And I Have Never Seen Such Savage Delight Since

By Yunya Yang
1. Long ago, we drove in the woods. 2. It was night. My mother was at the wheel, the headlights conjuring shape-shifting wraiths drifting in the darkness.

Talking Flash with Nancy Stohlman: Exercises in Cross-Pollination

Nancy Stohlman is drawn to the performative in life and fiction, which means her words don't seem to live just on the page. They tend to always be looking for a stage.

Flash Exercise: Cut It In Half

Writers aren’t always sure what is and isn’t necessary in their work, especially since they’ve lovingly crafted every word. Each story will ultimately tell you what it needs, but a great exercise to make that clearer is to cut your story in half.

Chloe

By Eric Wilson
Hi, it’s Arlene Radford down the street. Sorry to be phoning you so late at night, but it’s about our cat, Chloe.

The Path to the Dark Side is Covered in PB&J

By Tonja Matney Reynolds
Sarah’s eight-year-old son is freaking out. His one perfect origami Yoda is missing.

Photo Story: Wait

By Yash Seyedbagheri
Wait your turn, signs proclaim. Wait for Chinese food. Wait to pick up cocktails from the bar, your only Friday night friends now.

Lipstick

By Sarah Freligh
We learned to paint our mouths kissable, but were taught not to. By the parish priest, by our mothers, by Seventeen magazine.

Photo Story: Breaths Caught on His Echoes

By C. B. Stuckey
When he burned, she watched from the window as the casket shifted toward the chamber, as the cardboard lid vibrated ...

Lost Boys

By Stephanie Yu
Years later, we would have mortgages, car payments, and life insurance, but no recollection of when we all dropped acid together in the high desert after graduation.

Domestic

By Frances Gapper
Luke started to howl as Mum click-clicked the washing machine. “He’ll be all nice and fresh!” she cried in her bright and ruthless voice.

Embroidery

By Thaisa Frank
Because I couldn’t find you, I embroidered little houses and visited each one. Some houses floated, tugging on their threads.

Photo Story: The Spoon

By Beth Schmidt
The fork snored lightly, sound asleep and unaware of what tomorrow would bring.

Shrinking

By Barbara Diggs
Nia didn’t mind at first. Being at her kids’ eye-level made life easier. Their odd stories and complaints became miraculously comprehensible.

Uncle John Isn’t Really My Uncle

By Leslie Walker Trahan
He’s just a man who works at the candy company. When he visits, he brings me and Mom bags of malformed candies, the ones that weren’t good enough to package.

Fading

By Sarita Sidhu
My parents are fading. As did theirs. My father’s unyielding certitude has been momentarily displaced by bewilderment, betraying a loss of relevance in a new world order.

Honey

By Bailey Bridgewater
There are bees trapped into the walls of an abandoned home. There are ghosts trapped in the attic, swaying to their hum.