Messenger Balloons
by Audrey-Anna Gamache @ScoutyLynch
I do not understand the use of writing messages on balloons. Nevertheless, I held the string so tightly, I can feel the impression left behind on my fingertips. My brother asks, “Does it reach him?” I lie and tell him, “Yes.” Because I want to believe it too.
Audrey-Anna Gamache is a writer and filmmaker that can be found on X and Instagram @ScoutyLynch.
The Fleece Romper She Wore The Day I Kicked Out Her Father
by Elise Scott @EliseScottWrites
She deserved a father. But not him. He said: the secret to lying is convincing yourself first. No means yes. Bruises heal.
I say: Earth’s not flat. There’s no up or down. Only in, toward the molten core, or out, toward the infinite. The rest is just going in circles.
Elise is a writer, disabled solo parent, and incompetent magician. https://elise-scott.comhttps://x.com/buttonjar1
https://bsky.app/profile/elisescott.bsky.social
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorEliseScott
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/58697146.Kit_Gray
florida pastoral
by Mary Petralia
a pasture
a pocket knife
to the left cheek
if i miss the eyeball
a glitter claw
made of disgust
it’s fall
like being in prison
set martha free
so did what you did
to me though
sometimes
when the sun
shines i can’t make hay
the hay is unmade
Mary Petralia has poems in Gone Lawn, Shooter Literary Magazine, Roi Fainéant Press (Best of the Net nom), and other publications; she lives in Florida, where her first collection exploring nontypical connections is in the works. Bluesky: @marypetralia.bsky.social
Nestlings
by Melissa Flores Anderson
The grasses are drier and flatter than last month, newly plucked and picked to form a bed, a home, a sanctuary. My son peers into the empty nest. Four and three days old, the baby birds did not fly and never will. I hold his hand as he points to a downy feather left behind, a reminder of what could have been and never will be.
Melissa Flores Anderson is the EIC of Broken Heart Gallery Literary and a reader/editor at Roi Fainéant Press. http://www.melissafloresandersonwrites.com
Time
by Rommy Nelson
You left us in August. Closed your eyes and didn’t wake up. When you left, you took your laughter, your jokes, your voice. You left us the life lessons, the memories, your maternal love. You did so much with your borrowed time. But it was never, ever, enough.
R.S. Nelson is a multi-genre Latina writer whose work has appeared in over twenty publications, including Flash Fiction Magazine, Fictive Dream, SciFiSat, and the podcast “Tales to Terrify.” Website: rsnelsonwriter.wordpress.com Bluesky: rsnelsonwriter.bsky.social
Knit Two Together
By Emily Hall @shared_yarns
To process the loss of her sister, Mom-Mom taught me to knit. Yarn looped around our needles. Balm spread across her heart.
After Mom-Mom died, I laid my own needles down for seven years. Only later did I realize that whatever I made was proof that she remained right here.
Emily Hall’s flash prose appears in places such as Passages North, 100 Word Story, The Disappointed Housewife, Cherry Tree, and Gooseberry Pie Lit. Bluesky: @emhall47
Waiting
by Chris Lihou
She’d been waiting patiently for nearly eighteen months. Not that she wished for a short wait. He had every reason to enjoy time without her, having put his life on hold to be her full-time caregiver. The plot next to hers was reserved for when he was ready.
Chris Lihou has an addiction to writing very short stories, three collections of which are now available via Amazon.
A Little Light at Christmas
by Sarah Brent
Thanks, tarted up. No expectations. A light in the darkness because you seemed sad. You took it and ran. Turned it into a blaze. When I said wait—feelings. No surprises. Wife. Plastered ‘Fond Memories’ across a ghost story. Left me stuck in the ice.
Sarah is a trainee teacher who writes stories from the comfort of her basement.
Writers Support Group
by T.L. Tomljanovic @Wilovic
A dog in a chicken suit. That’s all it took. Called it AI slop. Right vs. wrong. Shots fired across messenger: tone policing, pearl clutching, misogyny, racism. A left, then B, then C… A conversation thread spooling back years holding the weight of a confessional cut like a loose thread.
T.L. Tomljanovic is a several times nominated, but zero times winning flash fiction writer toiling away in obscurity. @tomljanovic.bsky.social @TLTomljanovic (Twitter)
Heartsick
by Madeleine Armstrong @madeleine_write
They said they could fix your leaky valves. But it was too late. I watched you wither in a hospital bed, holding a beaker for the man who could no longer hold it himself. The man who used to throw me into the air and always, always catch me.
Madeleine Armstrong lives in London and has her heart broken on an almost daily basis by abandoned baby garments and fox-mauled soft toys. Twitter/X: @madeleine_write; Bluesky: @madeleinewrite.bsky.social
Nothing Left
by Sam Calhoun @weatherman_sam
We emptied your bowl
to entice the mice
elsewhere—
The feeding tray stands
like eyes above
every toy—
It was dark when I found
the mouse trapped,
hungry—
It was light
when you
left me—
Sam Calhoun is the author of six chapbooks, and lives in Elkmont, Alabama.
Adam, Remember Fashion Class?
by Jay Honstetter @friendstergram
It’s the mid 90s. Laughing at the noise on our faces, flannels draping our bones.
It’s the 2000s. We’re at Cavestomp! Fred Perry-clad. We prefer The High Numbers to The Who.
We’re at Wowsville, Generation, 99X, San Loco. NYC.
2026. We’re in Pennsylvania.
Then we’re not.
What were you thinking?
Jay Honstetter is a writer, former music snob, and year-round cold brew connoisseur. Bluesky: @jayhonstetter.bsky.social
Peacock Sighting
by Beth Sherman @bsherm36
We watched the bird rattle his blue green, eye-spotted train. The mating season was over and tail feathers dropped to the grass – useless beauty. You saw a souvenir of our London trip. I saw a quilled pen, symbol of creativity, little guessing I’d wind up writing about love’s end.
Beth Sherman is the author of How to Get There from Here, a novella-in-flash published by Ad Hoc Fiction in July. Twitter/Bluesky @bsherm36
Take me away, Ambulance
by Shawn Scott Smith @luckycreature
On the drive home, I see the ambulance at the nursing home,
lights twirling in a dance of death and hope.
I arrive home and you quickly go to bed, avoiding me.
It’s too hard to tell you, to say the words,
that someone might be dying up the road.
I write short things and play pinball. @luckycreature on Bluesky/X
Puppy Love
by Steven Lemprière @stevenlempriere
A dog has entered my life; they’re a rescue and, like me, someone dumped them. She’s a bitch, and calling your name — another commonality — will see her bound in my direction. Nowadays, I’m easily amused. Another upside: Ellie’s house trained, and unlike you, she hasn’t shat on me.
Steven, a man of few words, often fifty, jumbles letters and life. X: @StevenLempriere, Bluesky: @stevenlempriere.bsky.social
Overthinker
by G. Lynn Brown @micromancemagazine
She thought. Too much. About everything. Mostly about him. His blue eyes, his crooked smile. One day, she told him her thoughts. About how much she loved him. And when he told her what he thought, that she shouldn’t think of him anymore, her thoughts dripped from her eyelashes.
G. Lynn Brown is a 2x Pushcart Prize nominee, writer, poet, editor, and a hopelessly hopeful romantic with a permanently cracked heart. X: @gail_lynn_eic
First
by Lisa Thornton @thorntonforreal
I climbed out my window to you and the rest of my life. Left the Social Distortion tapes and pink bedspread behind. You taught my heart how to hurt. We walked on the moonlit sidewalk holding sweaty hands until you chose her instead, in the middle of another starry night.
Lisa Thornton lives in Illinois near the tornado siren and the park with the baseball diamond.
@thorntonforreal.bluesky.social
Art Lit Club
by Melissa Flores Anderson @theirishmonths
A last-minute invite from the club pres, and I didn’t realize you would be there, too, in the backseat of her mom’s car, smelling of CK One. We sat in darkness, enveloped in plush red seats. You watching, listening, eating Red Vines. Me, breathless and too young for you.
Melissa Flores Anderson edits the Broken Hearts Literary Gallery and collaborates with Roi Fainéant Press. X and Bluesky: melissacuisine
For Better or Worse
by Tracie Adams @tracieadams1966
A beaded dress that weighed more than me, Great Danes in our bed, Sunday afternoon barbeques, chicken skin sizzling with chimichurri, positive pregnancy test, keyboard on the kitchen table, singing off pitch, unanswered calls, sleepless nights, lies, custody papers, moving boxes. It’s the dogs, your sisters, your mother I miss.
Tracie Adams, a retired educator and playwright, is the author of two memoirs, Our Lives in Pieces and Not Finished Yet, and the mom to four kids, six grands, and more animals than she can count. Bluesky @tracieadams X @1funnyfarmAdams Substack @tracieadams
Maybe You’re There, Hidden in the Pink House
by Johannah Simon
Ask her about the drawing. Force a smile when she explains it’s daddy. Ask where mommy is. Choke down your tears when she tells you mommy isn’t in the picture because she’s always at work. Hope one day she’ll understand the sacrifices you made for her.
Johannah Simon is a corporate schemer and professional dreamer. X @JohannahWrites Bsky @Johannah IG @JohannahCanWrite
Broken Hearts Gallery Literary 