Haunted

Megan watched Max watch TV. This went on for days. Max was too sad to do anything else. He'd stopped going to work. He wasn't seeing any friends. He even refused to answer the door. He just binged whatever old sitcom Netflix recommended next.

Max had always been stubborn. He refused to listen when anyone made a suggestion he hadn't thought of first.

But Megan was stubborn too. She'd keep haunting Max as long as it took to get him off the sofa and out of their house. She may be dead, but Max had a life still to lead.

Mel Finishes the Week

His week at the coin-operated laundromat finally over, Mel wished for nothing more, after a meal of mac & cheese, than a night of uninterrupted sleep.

So, now in REM sleep, he was able to dream, to put his Uncle's laundromat behind him.

To recover.

But what the...

It was his Uncle Leo, bursting into Mel's dream of sleeping on laundry. There’s something pleasant about lying on towels and underwear at your work.

“I don't pay you to sleep. Take this mop, Mel.”

All that night he spent mopping.

Mopping and mopping linoleum until the morning, when he awoke exhausted.

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

The March Waters

The stillness of the air weighed heavily on the landscape. The lake, melted during the false summer, was paved over again.

Every kid in the neighborhood was under strict orders to stay off the ice. After the first melt happens, you can't trust its solidity.

The best part about even the mildest of late winter storms is that school shuts down but parents still have to work. By 10AM all the boys, and a few of the girls, had started an epic hockey game.

That night, they all bristled at the injustice of their punishment. After all, they'd been right.

Snitch

Here’s my dilemma.

I’ve learned Roger is having an affair with a woman from work.

What?!

I saw them kissing outside a hotel downtown. I confronted him later and he admitted it, reluctantly.

Should I tell Audrey?

I assume she’ll be upset, though maybe she already suspects his infidelity.

I care about them both, but, as you know, Roger’s been a jerk to me since getting married.

Plus, I’ve had a crush on Audrey since high school.

So, you’re asking if you should snitch on your brother so you can get with your sister-in-law?

I am ... she deserves better!

From Guest Contributor Bob Gielow

A college administrator by day, Bob (he/him) spins tales in formats we all use when communicating with each other: text messages, emails, fictional Wikipedia posts, and diary entries all allow him to be clinical and thorough in describing his characters, their thinking and actions...without diminishing his ability to explore the resulting human emotions.

His Stuff

Junk: garbage to some, treasure to others, clutter at best, navigational obstacle on flooring, the cause of falls and injury…

Antonio learned firsthand. The architect of his own disaster, he sat idly on an easy chair, arm in cast, pondering what to do with all his stuff.

Quite unexpectedly a lightbulb lit up his mind, showing him the way. Creativity reawakened. His heart warmed with new purpose. He sprung to work.

Praises from the artistic community accelerated his mission. Photos of his unique collages went viral. He was crowned ‘artist extraordinaire’.

…all because of the ‘junk’ in his humble abode.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

That Summer Feeling

Stephanie walks from her apartment to the subway every morning on her way to work. During the summer, the sidewalks are crowded with fellow commuters and hawkers and a general hustle and bustle smelling of sweat and petrol.

There's a viral eagerness that has infected the city on these days, and she's one of the few people who's immune. She's turned off by the aggressive friendliness that so easily tips towards hostility. There's too much skin and fake pleasantry.

It makes her wonder why so much of her life's been given over to strangers and people she doesn't care for.

The Boat

Queenie was a friend of mine. I went to visit one weekend. Her husband was there but I didn't get to see him much because he was "busy working on the boat."

He was working in the garden. I went out to say hello but he was silent and went on with the work.

We had a meal, just the two of us. Queenie was used to dining alone.

When we heard that the boat had sunk on its first voyage, there was a certain amount of hilarity. He had escaped with his life. The devil looks after his own.

From Guest Contributor Derek McMillan

Derek is the writer of "Murder from Beyond the Grave" available on eBay.

Limits

This can only last so long. There’s stuff I have to do. I gotta catch up on work and go for a run still today. I have papers due by midnight and I just put a pizza in the oven. I don’t have time for this. My friend keeps texting me “get on the game.” This can only last so long. I’m organizing due dates, scheduling movie nights with friends and stuttering replies to my mother. This can only last so long. My phone lights up with her face again, but like this poem love can only last so long.

From Guest Contributor Anonymous

I’d prefer to remain anonymous however I’d like to say a little about myself. I am not a writer but a teenage kid trying to graduate. I enjoy thinking deeply and taking the chance to put my thoughts on a page in a creative writing class is nice.

The Fortress Of A Man

“How much to bypass this process? Fabricate a report for the court?” Mr. Jacobs asked, frustration evident.

The therapist was dazed. “Pardon?”

“I’m a businessman. Need to get back to work..”

“Even if I accepted, what about your mental health?”

“Beating up that sassy bitch on the plane doesn’t make me mentally unstable.”

“Reacting quickly to provocation is something that should be managed.”

“Just name your price!”

She sighed heavily. “I’ll do it, but won’t take anything.”

He made for the door.

“Whatever belief hinders seeking help, I hope you unlearn it,” she called, urging him to think things over.

From Guest Contributor Seyi Adedayo

Seyi writes fiction and poetry. He writes because every now and again the urge to put pen to paper takes hold of him.

Work

At first, I kept my distance, suspicious of my new colleague. They had replaced my good friend Jen, which had left me bitter. I know that wasn’t his fault, but still.

After they’d been with the company for three months my stance started to soften. He started to sound like the rest of us.

He complained of no autonomy. The cramped working conditions. Management being clueless and disorganized. Finally, he ranted about the microwave smelling and dirty dishes piled high.

Looking back I don't know what all the fuss was about. It turns out the androids are just like us.From Guest Contributor Wendy Cooper

Wendy was born and raised in England but now resides in Vancouver, BC. Wendy is autistic and co-founder of the Autistic Writers' Group. Wendy placed third in the Women on Writing Spring 2023 Flash Fiction competition.