Annalise kept reaching out: to old friends, ex-lovers, estranged family. Apologies, affections, invitations. Her arms stretched, elastic, aching; across cities and years. No one reached back. One morning, she couldn’t walk. Her arms had outgrown her legs, dragging behind her like wilted bridges. She whispered, “I’m still here.” No reply. AJ Joseph writes microfiction. She’s been published in VSS365 Anthology (Vol. 1), 50-Word Stories, Paragraph Planet, and 101 Words. She also loves cats, which is legally required for writers of her genre. Follow her feline-approved fiction.

Having a roommate who can move objects with her mind is awesome. No more heavy lifting on grocery day. No argument about who’s turn it is to do the laundry, wash the dishes or scrub the toilet. Until she and her boyfriend fight. Utensils rattle in their drawers, plates chatter in the cupboards, the kettle screams on the burner. And the knives slide out of the block one by one. “Easy,” I say, forcing a smile. “None of your business. Get out!” she yells, popping the lightbulbs. Although I know she will clean up, at that moment, I hate her. Wai Mei Wong is an author who lives in Toronto. She likes to write stories that weave elements of paranormal, urban legend, and mysteries of human nature.

Her heels, impossibly thin and impractically tall just like her, sound like wealth echoing off the windows. “Do you know who I am,” she slurs, “The mayor will hear about this. You’re nothing in this town.” I nod and the alcohol conspires with me to pull her from the ballroom, where I catch the eye of the bouncer who gently steers her away. I smooth my rented designer dress and adjust my headset before returning to the room. Discreetly, I let the celebrity host know that all was taken care of. She compliments first my efficiency, then my chunky, practical heels. When I tell her they were from a second-hand shop, she insists I take her there one day. Sarah Jean Benvenuti is a writer, musician, professor, and creative entrepreneur. She is the Founder and CEO of Benvenuti Arts; an adjunct professor for Master of Arts Management Programs at Carnegie Mellon University and the Università di Bologna; and a cofounder of the roving artists colony, the Wandering Theatre Collective. Her arts management writing can be …

I’m sitting in a healing circle with a dozen like-minded souls trying to save the world with our positive energy. We’re supposed to focus our third eye internally on golden light that swells our hearts with love, but I’m staring at a little dog snoring on an old lady’s lap across from me. Everyone else has their eyes squeezed shut, hands cradling an imaginary earth. Their bliss is palpable, but I’m stressed. My earth is weighted down by chaos. But then I sync my breathing with the puppy’s and a smile teases my lips. I feel safe with like-minded souls. Marc Littman, a former award-winning journalist, now writes micro fiction, novels, plays and film scripts inspired by everyday life and keen observation.

The first showers of the season beat down, churning the sea, nurturing the earth, intoxicating the air. You watch the boy and girl on the beach. Drenched and delirious, they dance like waves, laugh like flowing water. First love, like the first rain, swells their senses. Tears will pour later. Selina Sheth is a writer and Hatha Yoga therapist currently based in Mumbai, India. See more on her site.

My naked is so naked next to your naked, together for the first time in the naked darkness. Sarah Flick, retired from the US Forest Service, lives and writes in Colorado. She has published essays in the New York Times, The Free Press, and High Country News. She’s also written numerous micro fiction stories, and essays for literary journals including: 101 Words, 50-Word Stories, McSweeneys Internet Tendency, 5-minute Lit, and Does It Have Pockets.

The officers are gone, leaving only a folded flag and his Purple Heart. She rocks, fingering her thin gold band. Salt stings her lips. The hollow in her stomach deepens when the baby kicks. His tour is over. Hers is just beginning. Kevin Webster is a business intelligence analyst based in central Tennessee. He uses his MBA and BA in psychology to research and write about AI in the workplace.

Andrew drops a blunt in the dark. Can’t find it. I walk up. See something in the dark. Pick it up. Hand it to Andrew. He goes to light it. Turns out it is a big grasshopper. Marty Johnson is a writer from Independence, Kentucky, whose stories explore grief, absurdity, faith, and the strange beauty of everyday life. His work ranges from speculative fiction to reflective essays, often anchored by cats who believe they are firmly in charge. He is currently working on two novels: Commander Needles and the Blender of Fate and The Adventures of Smokey the Cat, Werewolf Hunter. When he’s not writing, he can usually be found reading, listening to music, drinking coffee and sometimes bourbon, or negotiating with the cats who run his household. He has been a member of the Kenton County Writer’s Group since September 2025.

My friends, who are engineers and doctors, work so hard they have no time to spend what they make and they’re envious of how I work just enough to afford life but spend most of my days doing what I love but, sometimes, I’m disgusted by myself because who am I to think I’m better than the thousands of capable authors who’ve failed and to work nights (so I can write during the day) and miss birthdays and Mets games and trips my service job can’t afford and meeting the next love of my life (because I’m too in love with imaginary characters) but, sometimes, my self-disgust disgusts me because what’s the point of all this if I don’t believe in myself; and at least my friends, who are consultants and managers, are unhappy and rich while I’m unhappy and poor and, maybe, the moral of this breakdown is that everyone’s unhappy or, maybe, it’s that I should stop thinking so much about being a writer and start writing. Bela Seitz is a graduate of …

Sam and I rush through the morning. He pours the coffee while I heat the pan. “Did you sleep well?” he asks. I slice the bread. “Lovely day,” he says, glancing outside. In the knife’s blade, I catch my reflection. My face looks older, unfamiliar – like a stranger looking back. Izabela Ilowska holds a PhD in English Literature and Creative Writing from the University of Glasgow. She teaches at Jagiellonian University in Kraków, Poland. Her flash fiction has been published in various literary magazines.

Oh, the branches I’ve cut. Kelli Dianne Rule is an author of dark fiction who claims roots in the backwoods of Florida. Writings may be found in Heavy Feather Review, Whale Road Review, JMWW, Luna Station Quarterly and Gutter Mag, among others. She is a 2025 Pushcart Prize and Best Microfiction nominee. Follow her here.

Cindy counted backwards from ten. This one’s a jerk; never looks at me. She opened her purse and removed a five dollar bill, slipping it under her coffee cup. “I have to go to the bathroom.” She stood and hesitated for an instant, considering telling him she wouldn’t be back. Jeez, didn’t his mother tell him that you shouldn’t talk and chew at the same time! Good thing I’ll only meet web dates at restaurants with a parking lot in back. She walked straight through, passed the bathrooms, and exited to the lot where her car was waiting. Kenneth M. Kapp lives with his wife in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, writing late at night in his man-cave. He enjoys chamber music and mysteries. He has been nominated for the Pushcart Price. His stories have appeared in more than ninety publications worldwide including the Saturday Evening Post, October Hill Magazine, EgoPHobia in Romania, Lothlorien Poetry Journal in Ireland, and The Wise Owl in India. Find more of his stories at his site.

I lay roses on her name. My sheer sleeves cling to me like a second skin; sweat trickles down my forehead. A single petal falls from the redbud. It is soft to the touch, like her skin was. A rush of summer heat makes me woozy. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the pain only builds. And then I hear it: Someone singing, just as gentle rain begins to fall. Erin Jamieson’s writing has been published in over one hundred literary magazines, including two Pushcart Prize nominations and two Best of Net nominations. She is the author of four poetry chapbooks, including Fairytales (Bottle Cap Press) and a forthcoming poetry collection. Her debut novel Sky of Ashes, Land of Dreams was published by Type Eighteen Books. X: @erin_simmer

She says a bury of conies is a group of rabbits. Once, ‘cony’ meant the mammal, ‘rabbit’ the young. Like babies to us. But mouths lulled, forgot. I ask why they use the word bury and she pretends she doesn’t hear me. How sweet the slight of her cheek. Later I whisper that rabbits are born blind. Not true, she says. I hum like she reminded me of something I forgot to grieve. The Bible says conies make homes in rock—feeble creatures, safe in hard places. She dreams of burying me, she says. I lie awake in cobalt, breath shallow, her body soft as cement. Olivia Wieland is a writer based in Brooklyn, NY. Her work has been published in Verdant Journal and 805Lit. She has a chapbook available with Bottlecap Press.

I remained perfectly still as the ladybug crawled up my arm, weaving around tiny hairs as if they were pylons. I’d been stuck on the wooden deck chair for an hour now, too ill to get up and go back inside Mom and Dad’s house, where I’d been staying since the E.R. visit a month ago. “What’s your name, kiddo?” I whispered, mostly to myself, but still somehow hoping it could answer. “Whatever it is, how ’bout if I call you ‘Chester’?” It flitted to my neck, near the scar but not on it. I took that as a “yes”. Litsa Dremousis is the author of Altitude Sickness (Future Tense Books). Seattle Metropolitan Magazine named it one of the all-time “20 Books Every Seattleite Must Read”. Her essay “After the Fire” was selected as one of the “Most Notable Essays 2011” by Best American Essays, and The Seattle Weekly named her one of “50 Women Who Rock Seattle”. She recently left the Washington Post, where she’d been an essayist who wrote extensively about Myalgic Encephalomyelitis. …

“How much is your happiness worth?” they didn’t say. “We’ll pay more for your time than your wife or kids would,” was the subtext. “Our dream is more important,” explained the fine print. “The job does look great,” I agreed. Robert Bruce writes from Northern Rivers, in Australia. He claims to have many reasons for writing, but the simplest truth is that he cannot stop. His stories have appeared in Flash: The International Short-Short Story Magazine and Defenestration magazine.

The moon opens and all the creatures from your wildest subconscious descend to Earth. Your daydreams and nightmares. Dragons, griffins, the monster under your bed…your deceased first-grade teacher. You turn slowly, looking at me with horror marring your face. “You said you’d unlock my dreams.” “You never specified which ones.” Katie Hemmerlin lives on a farm in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey. Lately, she and her husband have been making new trails through an old forest and exploring the creative side of writing.

Tabitha has landed, albeit late to a special family gathering and by gosh doesn’t she know it. Outside the door heated arguments prick the air angrily. Uncle Jerry’s shouting, “I’m taking this!” While Aunt May exclaimed, “No, it was promised to me!” Tabitha’s knock unanswered, yet every face in the room turned towards her when she let herself in. The room grew silent—not even a whisper is heard. Clutched in her hand an official document, a last will and testament. Undeniable proof, that from beyond the grave a dear deceased Aunt Sally, decides who gets what! Diane Bright attended The Ramsey School. She enjoyed physics, history, art and English, where she was particularly adept at writing poems. Her early life centered around her family, where she inherited her mother’s love for animals and her father’s interest in period furniture and antiques. Eventually, she moved to a rural setting and settling there. After a period of ill-health, she was inspired to devote her time to her passion—writing.

We cast our lines. Brad asks if Terri and I have to marry now. “Her Dad’s got an itchy trigger finger,” he says. Our red bobbers drift, Brad’s disappears. The graphite rod arches, he pulls, reels until it slacks. I imagine what it’s like, breathing down there in the dark. Guy Cramer is a writer from east Texas whose work has appeared in Dipity Literary Magazine, Paragraph Planet and Vestal Review (forthcoming). He has two self published chapbooks of poetry and is currently working on a collection of flash fiction. He can be found on Instagram @guy.cramer

I would love to drop anchor somewhere in Uruguay. Rocha province? The town of Punta del Diablo. Don’t be frightened. Less than a thousand people, including women. A resort place with an ocean at your doorstep. No one will ever find you there, and they won’t even look for you. Valery Rubin was born in 1941. Worked as a journalist in print and online publications in Russia, Israel, Canada. Author of books of poetry and prose with KDP, Smashwords, and Lulu. Nominee for the National Writer of the Year Award, Russia, Short Story Anthology, Microcontos-22, Brazil, Russian Prose Anthology-2022/23. Member of the International Union of Jerusalem Writers. Lives in Toronto, Canada.

A neighbor drilled a hole in my bedroom wall. I think to sneak peaks at me. What an idiot; there’s something called windows. He could have just looked in one of those. But he actually drilled a hole. He could have gotten electrocuted. Maybe that was the goal. Ron Riekki has been awarded a 2014 Michigan Notable Book, 2015 The Best Small Fictions, 2016 Shenandoah Fiction Prize, 2016 IPPY Award, 2019 Red Rock Film Fest Award, 2019 Best of the Net finalist, 2020 Dracula Film Festival Vladutz Trophy, 2019 Très Court International Film Festival Audience Award and Grand Prix, 2020 Rhysling Anthology inclusion, and 2022 Pushcart Prize. Right now, Riekki’s listening to El-P’s “Deep Space 9mm.”

I been the low man on so many totem poles I got dirt in my hair. Being ignorant and stupid didn’t matter much in high school. I was a big, fast football star, and all the girls loved me. Now, most are unwed single mothers, and I’m making license plates. Tony Tinsley is an author and editor whose micro fiction has appeared in 50 Give Or Take, 10 By 10 Flash Fiction, and Bright Flash Literary Review. When he is not at sea, he divides his time between the Pacific Northwest and the heartland of the United States.

The guttural arrogggh that accompanies efforts to lift heavy weights became the back-of-the-throat snuffle of a 350-pound boar. Frantic, I clawed upward. Gradually, the midnight black faded to murky grey-green as the misty dreamland dissipated. I awoke, gasping for oxygen, as my lungs and collapsed trachea fought a life-or-death battle. Tony Tinsley is an author and editor whose micro fiction has appeared in 50 Give Or Take, 10 By 10 Flash Fiction, and Bright Flash Literary Review. When he is not at sea, he divides his time between the Pacific Northwest and the heartland of the United States.

A dog, tail between her legs and ears folded back, wades on a beach shrouded in mist. No place for a stray dog, everyone thinks. Her black fur shrugs as she picks up a crab’s corpse and disappears into the forest behind her. No prints are left in the sand. Ellie Stewart is an emerging author from Utah. She writes short stories and poetry and is currently working on her first novel.