by Paul Lewthwaite

I taught mathematics, but dabbled with him.
When the affair ended, no formula could encapsulate his rage.
The police were useless.
I withdrew from life; silent anger bubbled in my shell of shame.
A year later, I tracked him down.
Subtracting guilt, an equation arose that I could solve.
Fatally.

* * *

Paul is a retired physician living in Scotland with his wife and a small, but all-powerful cat. Occasionally he writes stories, some even get published. Paul's fledgling (and sadly neglected!) website can be found at When Can I Call Myself a Writer?

by Tim Love

He tried to catch her eye across the room. Maybe he imagined that she smiled back, but it was enough for him to start talking to her.

"Can you still hear me?" he asks forty years later, sitting by the bed. "Smile for me, that's all I need. One smile."

* * *

Tim Love’s publications are a poetry pamphlet “Moving Parts” (HappenStance) and a story collection "By all means" (Nine Arches Press). He lives in Cambridge, UK. His prose has appeared in The Forge, Stand, JMWW, Under the Radar, etc. He blogs at http://litrefs.blogspot.com/

by Marcelo Medone

Flavius hurried towards the two-masted vessel that had just docked.
His friend Titus came down the ramp and they embraced.
“How was the trip? Did you have good weather?” asked Flavius.
“Better than here, for sure,” answered Titus, observing the leaden sky.
That night, burning ashes rained down on Pompeii.

* * *

Marcelo Medone (Buenos Aires, Argentina) is a Pushcart Prize and Best Small Fictions nominee fiction writer, poet, essayist and screenwriter. He received numerous awards and was published in more than 50 countries, including Canada. He currently lives in Montevideo, Uruguay.

by Paul Lewthwaite

She is envious of her shadow.

It flickers in and out of existence, oblivious of bills, bawling kids, screaming husband, and the toothache that’s bothered her for months.

Would she swap? Escape the noise and grind for grey-scale monotony? 
​
Perhaps not, but when life burns too bright, jealousy still lingers.

* * *

Paul is a retired physician living in Scotland with his wife and a small, but all-powerful cat. He’s always surprised when he can write a story. Some appear at Dark Moments, fiftywordstories.com, and 101words.org.

by Natasha Mihell

Wraith; fearless. She inscribes a course over root, under branch, kicking up snow glitter with her leaping. Borne by shadow, she ignites. Relentless. The forest is noiseless no longer; she sings into its maw. It returns the favor. She smiles. She has known loneliness, and hers does not live here.

* * *

Natasha Mihell is an artist-at-heart living amidst the forests and urban decay of Canada’s West Coast. Her writing explores the reclamation of self-love, hope, and power, amidst systems and circumstances that threaten hearts and minds. Connect at natashamihell.com and @natashamihell on Instagram. 

by Louella Lester

The sun’s down and his outstretched hand seems mud-painted midair. He’s on the field side of the road’s marshy ditch. Crickets spitting out confetti streams of babel. Frogs gulping deep. Headlights sweep past, disappearing into their own dust. He only needs one set to slow. To turn. Bring the starlight.

* * *

Louella Lester is a writer/photographer in Winnipeg, Canada, author of Glass Bricks (At Bay Press 2021), contributing editor at New Flash Fiction Review, and is included in Best Microfiction 2024.