War

I watched as my buddy exploded into fragments from a grenade. I saw the fear on his face knowing at that moment, he would die. It was chaotic and when I ran for cover, I thought he was behind me, but he stayed to help an injured soldier to safety. Now, both are gone.

I’m in the trench shaken, wishing I were anywhere else but here.

I heard the tanks roaring, and men yelled, guns ready in hand.

My ears rang; head pounded with all sound, until everything became muffled, and my right hand shook uncontrollably.

Then came the explosion.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Pencil

Spine broken. Pages deliver a scrambled story. I have the power to pick up the fragments. Rewrite. Write what others have tried to mute. Seventeen centimeters of lead might not be much, but I’m her voice. I’m sharp. I’m ready, but she turns away from me and picks up her glass of whisky instead.

We’re both small. Lead or crystal? One can save her. One can break her. Who will she choose?

Neither. She adds another plate to her dish-pile. It looks like the Tower of Babel, minus the words.

She turns. She’s getting closer. Closer. Picks me up and—writes.

From Guest Contributor Isabelle B.L

Isabelle is a teacher and translator currently living in New Caledonia. She has published a novel inspired by the life of a New Caledonian politician. Her work can be found in the Birth Lifespan Vol. 1 anthology for Pure Slush Books and Flash Fiction Magazine. Her work is also forthcoming in Growing Up Lifespan Vol. 2 for Pure Slush Books and Drunk Monkeys.

The Homes Of Birds (Nature Contest Winner)

I'm very excited to present the winner of our Nature Flash Fiction Contest, from regular contributor Brook Bhagat. Someone might look at the strange format and say it's more of a poem than a short story, but my favorite poems are the ones that tell a story as well. Plus I liked it so this is the one I'm choosing. Congratulations Brook! And thanks to everyone who participated. A lot of great stories.

I understand the funeral I have the address the dress the time

it begins with smiling cameras and ends with paper tablecloths, cold cuts and deviled eggs downstairs

even worse is the sunshine, all those empty minutes left

I would have lost it

if not

For the hike, still in our black together,you and Ben, the boy,me and my sister arm in armdown the easy path atGarden of the Gods,

lighter than before, noticing the homesof birds in the rocks and rememberingwe are just a moment, fragmentsof a mystery that flies and sings.

From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat

Brook’s poetry, fiction, non-fiction, and humor have appeared in Monkeybicycle, Empty Mirror Magazine, Harbinger Asylum, Little India, Rat's Ass Review, Lotus-Eater Magazine, Anthem: A Tribute to Leonard Cohen, and other journals and anthologies. She and her husband Gaurav created Blue Planet Journal, which she edits and writes for. She holds an MFA from Lindenwood University, teaches creative writing at a community college, and is writing a novel. Her poetry collection, Only Flying, is due out Nov. 16, 2021 from Unsolicited Press. See more at brook-bhagat.com or reach her on Twitter at @BrookBhagat.

Stay tuned for an announcement soon about our next contest!

The Sound Of Silence

I pine for smiling yellow walls, the low murmur of conversation.

Social distancing exiled me.

I try to write among sterile walls. Blank screens taunt.

There’s no favorite table in the corner. This space is devoid of smiling baristas with big glasses. No laughter from large rectangular tables or sizzling coffee. No undergraduates talking of failed chem tests and parties. I can’t inhale fragments of conversation or insert myself into their worlds.

There’s just silence, the occasional clump of feet upstairs.

I play movies, but my companions are always lonely 80s working-class characters or Lifetime psychopaths.

I surrender to silence.

From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, 50 Word Stories, (mac)ro (mic), and Ariel Chart.

Alice Falls For A Killer

She surmises blood stains under everything. His skin is cracked like hard dirt in a barren winter. "You could use baby oil," she says. Later, they share a half-gallon of chocolate chip ice cream, her treat. They always meet by the railroad tracks because of his love of trains and exit signs. He speaks in fragments, and she imagines his past is dammed up, full of unexplained absences. She wants to show him her breasts under the moonlight. She wants to hear him whistle so shrilly it will puncture the dark. Then, the darkness will erase the both of them.

From Guest Contributor Kyle Hemmings

Girl In Nature

I read a story once about a girl in nature. A man was watching her ride her bike through a field of flowers. She was beautiful, so he stopped her. He frightened her, her fear frightened him, he panicked. He raped and killed her, strangling her in perfectly-rendered fragments, snippets of sun-burnished green, pale skin under cobalt sky, a tale of flushed mania and hazy recollections of doomed resistance. A beautiful life snuffed out in beautiful prose.

I don’t ride alone through fields. I’ll never taste the freedom that killed the girl. Another beautiful life snuffed out in beautiful prose.

From Guest Contributor Tara Campbell

Tara is a fiction editor at Barrelhouse and an MFA candidate at American University. Prior publication credits include SmokeLong Quarterly, Masters Review, Jellyfish Review, Booth, and Strange Horizons. Her novel, TreeVolution, was published in 2016, followed in 2018 by Circe's Bicycle. Her third book, a short story collection called Midnight at the Organporium, will be released by Aqueduct Press in 2019.