Fireflies

In the distance, flashes of light blinked in and out through the trees. Like lightning just before the storm. And getting closer.

"What are those?"

"They're just fireflies. They can't hurt you."

"Mommy, I'm scared."

Gina held her son tightly. "Hush baby. They can't hurt you."

They huddled together among the trees and watched the lights. She sang to him his favorite lullaby. The same lullaby her Mother had sung to her on the hot summer nights before they came to America.

"Hush baby. No one's going to hurt you."

When the bombs finally reached them, everything was over quickly.

A Family Affair

I couldn’t help but keep my hand on my stomach as the baby kicked inside. “Jace, you can’t tell Jeffrey the baby is yours. It would destroy him, our marriage.”

He took a gulp of water. “He needs to know. If you don’t tell him, I will.”

I grabbed him by the shirt. “Please, Jace, don’t tell your brother.”

He pushed me away; I lost my balance and fell. I hit my head hard and blacked out.

When I awakened, Jeffrey was by my side in the hospital.

I knew from the tears in his eyes the baby was gone.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Smalltown

The thing about small towns is everyone knows everyone.

There's no secrets. Even people who think they're good at keeping secrets don't have any secrets.

Everyone knows who's cheating on who. Everyone knows who's sick and who's pretending. Everyone knows who's got money problems and who's being stingy out of spite. Everyone knows who's going away for a 'medical procedure' and who's secretly having a baby.

Everyone knows who's blood tastes the best and who's likely to put up the most resistance and therefore isn't worth the effort.

The thing about small towns is everyone knows who the vampires are.

Oh Baby

He's seeking to please, down on his knees, when everything freezes.

He's holding his breath, scared half to death, then everything stops.

She's the love of his life, one day his wife, when everything freezes, his heart starts and drops.

There's not enough time, it's all a true crime. Some kind of conspiracy, no true north polarity.

His thoughts have a meter, his words want to rhyme. His raison d'etre stutters sublime.

Now it's all over, she's lost in the past. A mysterious end that happened too fast.

It just goes to show: nothing truly matters, when nothing ever lasts.

Pizza

Bill picked mushroom slices off the boxed pizza, grimacing, stacking them.

Sadie watched. “What’s wrong, Honeybun?”

“Mushrooms. They don’t belong on pizza. My ex-wife knew that. They’re like human ears.” Bill shuddered.

“Sorry!” Sadie sniffled, blue eyes pooling on her freckled face.

“Don’t be a baby.”

She was 20. Their infant son lay in the bedroom, drooling on Bill’s pillow, fitful with eczema. His ex Patsy, thinner now, lived in her own divorce trailer, screwing her burly handyman. Grown kids, not speaking to Bill. Everyone, broken. Bill sighed at the pile of ears. “Growing you up, it takes time, Sadie.”

From Guest Contributor Nicole Brogdon

Nicole is a trauma therapist in Austin TX, interested in strugglers and stories everywhere. Her flash fiction appears in Flash Frontier, Bending Genres, 101Words, Bright Flash, Dribble Drabble Review, Centifictionist, and elsewhere.

Not Hurt

At 11:30 p.m., Mother woke and found her son Bin wasn’t in bed. She scurried into the living room and found the siblings watching cartoons.

“I was so worried, my baby. Go to bed with Mom,” Mother said to Bin gently. She then glared at Lan, “Don’t be a bad influence on your brother!”

“But Mom, it is Bin who wanted to watch cartoons. He begged me to stay with him,” Lan tried to explain.

Mother shouted, “You are the elder sister. You are supposed to take good care your brother. Never do it again!”

Lan pretended she wasn’t hurt.

From Guest Contributor Huina Zheng

Huina either coaches her students to write at work or write stories for fun after work.

The Stalker Inside Me

I’ve been watching them. Her and her baby. I know she'll leave the baby alone in a minute for what she thinks is only seconds. But precious seconds for me.

She turns and enters a walk-in closet.

I move closer.

The aroma of milk on its breath sends me over the edge.

I jump.

I'm grabbed by the back of my neck while still in flight and hauled against the wall. I didn't know she was a ninja.

He storms into the room.

"Why did you do that to Churchill?"

"Keep your freaking cat away from my baby."

Divorce follows.

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes

E has works in The Purple Pen, The Haven, Spillwords, Centina Pentina, Entropy, NanoNightmares and a collection of the works, Flash Crazy, was published in 2021 and is available on Amazon.

August Drops

It's not fall yet. It's still light ‘til eight and the kids want to stay out past that on the trampoline that squeaks now with every bounce, its round net keeping out the cucumber-loving mosquitoes, the raspberry-loving bees, the cool night-loving spiders. The sky goes sherbet and then gray and raindrops fall but stop just before you get them to come in and then the sky is bright on one side, and the baby is jumping and pointing: light! (spin) dark! (spin) light! (spin) pink! And it's time to do pajamas and kitchen and bills but you don't.

You jump.

From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat

Brook is the author of Only Flying, a Pushcart-nominated collection of surreal poetry and flash fiction on paradox, rebellion, transformation, and enlightenment from Unsolicited Press. Her work has won contests at Loud Coffee Press and A Story in 100 Words, and it has appeared in Monkeybicycle, Empty Mirror, Soundings East, The Alien Buddha Goes Pop, Anthem: A Tribute to Leonard Cohen, and other journals and anthologies. She is a founding editor of Blue Planet Journal and a professor of creative writing. Read her work and learn more about Only Flying at https://brook-bhagat.com/.

Officer Down

The bullet tore through flesh and bone. The arm fell limp, and Officer Brady drew his weapon with his non-shooting hand. Their assailant continued to fire from outside the passenger window of the cruiser as his partner slumped unconscious and bleeding in the front seat. Her baby was born in spring. She returned to duty last week.

Placing his front sight on center mass, Brady squeezed the trigger and watched the attacker drop to the pavement. After screaming “officer down” into the microphone, he smashed his foot down on the accelerator, racing the mother of his child to New York-Presbyterian.

From Guest Contributor B.G. Smith

B.G. Smith enjoys writing flash fiction and drinking Kentucky straight bourbon, usually at the same time. B.G. is a married father of four boys and a lifelong fan of Philadelphia professional sports teams, which explains the affinity for bourbon. His stories have appeared in Pocket Fiction, Microfiction Monday Magazine, The Drabble, and Scribes*MICRO*Fiction.

He’s Not Coming Back

“He’s not coming back, honey.”

“Don’t say that Daddy.”

“Baby, maybe it’s for the best.”

With that, Charlotte wailed and ran out of the living room crying. “You always hated him, didn’t you?”

Robert followed his only daughter into the kitchen. “I hated how he treated you. But he’s your husband.”

“He’s always come back.”

“You mean after he puts you in the ER?

“Not helpful.”

"Perhaps you’re right, he’ll come back. I need to go for a drive and give you some space.” Robert thought it best he get rid of the shovel from the back of his truck.

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin