You Hear a Noise

By John L. Malone

You hear a noise. It’s past midnight.
So what do you do?
You hop up, turn on a few lights, tramp down the passageway. open and close cupboards, bang doors, make a lot of noise.
Then you stop and listen.
There it is again.
Those bloody mice, you say, though you’ve seen no evidence of any.
It’s nothing, you decide, nothing. House noises.
You head back to the bedroom, turn off the lights.
Someone taps you on the shoulder.

           
John is a South Australian writer of poetry, flash fiction and the occasional short story.

Suddenly

By Dianne Moritz

One August day
they drive out
to the country.
The wind rustles
her hair up, softly
slapping her face.
She laughs, pins
it back with both hands,
warm air tickling her arms.
He drives on – silent.

Suddenly …
she sees a couple
Running hand-in-hand
through a distant field,
and, like an eager puppy,
her mind races after them.

           
“I write to capture indelible moments in time.” – the writer

The Lighthouse

By Shaily Agrawal

I love this lighthouse! The view from the top is breathtaking, specially on calm starry nights, when stars light in the ocean and sky alike and you float in the middle like outer space.

But people avoid this place. They call it haunted!

Earlier, I tried to talk to the few people who came here, probably on a dare. I assured them there is nobody here but me. I should know—I’ve lived here for more than a thousand years.

But they ran away! What Ninnies! Well, nobody can say I didn’t try.

           
“So many stories are waiting to be told. So I hold my pen and let the stories write themselves.” – the writer

Writer’s Block

By Bruce Levine

I haven’t written anything yet today. Is something wrong? Do I have writer’s block? Heaven forbid! I’m not even sure what writer’s block is. Is it an excuse for not writing or is there an actual manifestation of impotence?

Whatever the reality I’m determined not to have it.

There! Now that I’ve said it and I’ve written it down it becomes its own oxymoron.

Why isn’t it self-evident to everyone then? Am I the only one who sees that I can’t have writer’s block if I’m writing this?

Oh, well … I’ll leave it to the shrinks to figure it out.

           
Bruce Levine is a 2019 Pushcart Prize Poetry Nominee. He writes “because he MUST.” His work is dedicated to the loving memory of his late wife, Lydia Franklin.

Among the Remnants of a Future

By Andrew Reynolds

A highschool year book
The picture from the prom
A bridal magazine
The real estate brochure
Those harsh words
That last letter

All in a box, in the shed.
What could have been,
what should have been.

           
“I write because I have stories to tell.” – the writer

Better Than a Vintage Marshall

By Jeff

Mom’s basement, dusty amps, half-assembled Rolands — Matt had it all, including the social anxiety. “I’d rather fix this Pioneer,” he’d say instead of going out. “Or jam.”

But after years of subterranean dwelling, Matt’s mom gave him a present. Matt was skeptical, but the puppy wasn’t scared of the darkness, which wasn’t unlike the shelter.

And when Matt shredded it loved to howl along.

Over time, walks to the park became trips to the beach and mountains. So the plan worked, and in the end Matt hadn’t needed new drivers or tweeters.

Rather, he’d just required a single sub-woofer.

           
“I write short fiction so that I can write longer fiction.” – the writer

The Road

By Shaily Agrawal

She was always old.

Every day while returning from the school in my village, I saw her sitting out in the winter sun or just inside the door during summers—knitting, darning or stitching—always watching the road.

“She awaits her husband,” mother told me, “who went to work in a big city. He hasn’t returned in 40 years. She has a houseful of grandchildren but she watches the road for him like a deer caught in a mirage of water in the desert.”

The day she died, they say, they found her eyes open, still watching the road.

           
“So many stories are waiting to be told. So I hold my pen and let the stories write themselves.” – the writer