Flyover State

Sebastian and Miranda scurried out of the shade to their makeshift white board, a section of ground where they'd used branches and whatever detritus was at hand to spell out the word, "HELP!" But the passenger plane was too high and too fast to notice them amid the long expanse of nothingness that constituted their home.

They both sighed and trudged back to their seats. Sebastian took a sip of his coffee while Miranda crunched down on her avocado toast.

"I don't think anyone is coming to save us."

"As long as we have NPR on the radio, we'll survive."

Debunking Resolutions

As the clock ticked towards the ending of a year, Ted was fast asleep.

He got up at noon to have brunch and catch up on emails.

“What are your resolutions for 2025?” asked a friend. Another asked similarly and another…

Ted closed his tablet.

Why should he stress himself about resolutions? Life ought to simply evolve, problems solved along the way.

He got up to make coffee. What, no coffee? Okay, he’ll have some tea. The canister usually filled with various teabags was empty.

Ted decided he would start the next New Year differently, with his kitchen well stocked.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Coffee?

Coffee? I asked.

Totally, you replied.

When I offered an invitation, you always accepted. You never extended one yourself.

Was this friendship a one-way mirror, a one-way road, a one-note song?

Over several years, I pondered what it signified. If a friendship is only one-sided, is it a friendship at all?

I waited. I didn’t hear from you. Months.

Lunch? I asked.

Can’t wait, you answered.

More months later.

Dinner?

Tomorrow? Your text read.

Your company was always innocuous, comforting in a way. Reliably benign.

I never messaged you again. After nineteen years, that was the last time we spoke.

From Guest Contributor Justene Musin

Reflections In The Rain

Amid labyrinthine alleys and neon-lit streets, a small cafe beckons. Inside, a lone figure cradles a lukewarm coffee, eyes weary yet searching. Across, a young couple laughs—a fleeting yet beautiful symphony of joy.

The cafe hums: baristas call orders, chatter blends into a comforting buzz. Inside him, a yearning tide—echoes of a once-ablaze love, now scattered like dead autumn leaves. Rain taps a melancholy rhythm, each drop a plea.

The coffee, bitter; the rain, demanding. He catches someone staring back—unspoken stories, quiet regrets. He reaches to comfort the other, feeling only glass. No one searches but himself.

From Guest Contributor Chinmayi Goyal

Waiting

Everyone but Hampton looked down, eyes locked on tiny screens. Hampton’s expensive artisans of optimistic speculation could no longer sustain nervous conversation.

Hampton mindfully sipped tepid coffee. Ignoring his stomach breakdancing to the beat of butterflies, he savored a donut. He wanted to remember such simple pleasures.

Anticipation clung to them like static ready to spark and ignite...would it be fireworks or a bomb? A knock on the door shattered their reticent silence. A bailiff opened the door.

“The verdict is in. Court resumes in five minutes.”

Certain of nothing but his surreal limbo ending, Hampton stood, then vomited.

From Guest Contributor JD Clapp

Thunderstorm

When I listen to the forecast, the weather calls for abundant sunshine and the day is anything but.

The sky is ominous and roars with thunder and lightning illuminating the yard. The fence is swaying, and I cringe.

My shih-tzu Benny is plopped under the kitchen table whining. I bend and pet his head. “Sorry, buddy. It’s a thunderstorm. Hopefully it’ll end soon.”

My coffee is cold, so I dump it into the sink and make another cup. While it’s percolating Benny comes out, barks, and wags his tail.

The sun has broken through the clouds.

Chemotherapy awaits after all.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Compassion

George staggered into the hallway searching for Cecilia. He didn’t have much time and he needed her to make haste.

“There you are. I signed it.”

She sipped her tepid coffee. “Oh, George, can’t I even take a short break?”

“Just take it. You don’t need to read it.”

“I know, I’m your attorney. I read it already. Are you sure about this?”

George sighed and put the paper in front of her, pushing aside the glazed donut.

It was done.

His estate would go to Myra Ariello, the compassionate nurse who cared for him when no one else would.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Lisa has been writing since 2010 and has had many micro-flash fiction stories published. In 2018 her book Shorts for the Short Story Enthusiasts, was published and The Importance of Being Short, in 2019. Her most recent book In A Flash, was published in the spring of 2022.

She currently resides on Long Island, New York with her husband Richard and dogs Lucy and Breanna.

If The World Stops While Having Coffee

“I felt a lurch.”

“I think it’s stopped.”

“All that spinning. What did it come to?”

“To leave or not, that is the question.”

“What if we need oxygen? Have you any squirreled away?”

“I confess I don’t.”

“What do you think? Should we blow this pop stand?”

“I always loved that expression. Now we’re saying the world is a pop stand.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I’d like to finish my coffee first.”

“Remember loose change? I still have a quarter. How about heads, we leave?”

“Who carries oxygen?”

“Amazon, no doubt.”

“Go ahead. Flip it.”

“Here we go!”

“Maybe!”

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Linda's stories and poems have appeared in BOMBFIRE, The New Verse News, Microfiction Monday, Six Sentences, and others.

Fatigue

The day I wound a rope around my neck and jumped off the washing machine wasn’t even the worst day of that week. It started when I met my best friend Helen at McDonald’s for coffee.

“It’s your Harold,” she said. “He’s having an affair.”

I gotta tell ya, I laughed so hard, coffee came out my nose, and it was hot! “Come on,” I said. Harold doesn’t have the stamina to have an affair."

But he was.

And she was our daughter's college roommate.

And our daughter approved.

And I was too tired to divorce him.

So I left.

From Guest Contributor Pat Tyrer

Pat is a writer who hikes and watches birds when the sun is up and star gazes when it’s not. When not reading or writing, she can be found out walking with her dog Emma. Her work has appeared in Readers’ Digest, Quiet Mountain Essays, Black Fox Literary Magazine, among others. She has published two poetry books: Creative Hearts (Path Publishing) and Western Spaces, Western Places (Local Gems Press).

Shadowfax Marie

Just before he’s seventy, just before seven in the morning he finds Shadowfax Marie at the 6068 Spa, lets her drift him into his morning pages, levitate him, lets him forget everything, dismisses all of his desires--even his morning coffee, even his Beloved (still in bed, dreaming he’s still there, sleeping, beside her).

His wings, though, are only borrowed and insubstantial. Before he can float away, he remembers his flesh, recalls his agenda, and realizes that there’s a day ahead during which Shadowfax Marie will inevitably fade; a day filled with no sound worth hearing, no vision worth sharing.

From Guest Contributor Ron. Lavalette

Ron.’s debut chapbook, Fallen Away (Finishing Line Press) is now available at all standard outlets. Many of his published works can be found at EGGS OVER TOKYO