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abandonment

Bitterness

Tracy Lord·September 16, 2025

Bitterness written by: Tracy Lord When I was young you took my mum Stop hurting me, When...

English Poetry

·1 min read

Looking Back

Dianne Moritz·September 12, 2025

Looking Back written by: Dianne Moritz - It’s October, 1968. I fly to San Francisco for the weekend to rendez-vous with my college boyfriend...

Literature English

·4 mins read

Existential

Anthony John Ward·August 28, 2025

Existential written by: Anthony John Ward Where did they all go, I wonder, As I wander this...

Love Story

Humairah Siddique·July 30, 2025

Love Story written by: Humairah Siddique I witnessed love today, I saw vagrant wind wandering around Then...

Poetry English

·1 min read

I Scrape Grief Out with My Thumbnail

Sreeja Naskar·July 29, 2025

I Scrape Grief Out with My Thumbnail written by: Sreeja Naskar grief settled in the brown ring...

Poetry English

·1 min read

She was Six

Michael L. Utley·July 24, 2025

She was Six written by: Michael L. Utley she was six and on the wrong side of...

English Poetry

·1 min read

Hydrogen

Jim Bates·July 1, 2025

Hydrogen written by: Jim Bates - I remember hearing the song by Three Dog Night, “One Is the Loneliest Number,” and thinking...

Literature English

·3 mins read

After a long career tinkering in telecommunications, Jim Bartlett switched to tinkering with writing fiction, both requiring a stretch of the imagination. In the course of putting his fingers to the keyboard, he's been fortunate to have quite a number of his stories featured both in print and online in several wonderful publications, including a story selected for "The Best of Fiction on the Web, 1996 – 2017" anthology. While mentally he strolls along a warm California beach with his wife and golden retriever (shhh, she doesn't know she's a dog), physically they reside on a special little island in the Pacific Northwest.

Reaper by Sharon Frame Gay

As an orphaned son of an orphan, I always see the glass as half empty. I picture the water murky and lukewarm, a waterline etched below the rim. Maybe with an ash or two floating at the bottom, because that’s what I do for a living. I deal with ashes. The remains of the deceased. No matter how those who pass away see their glass, meager or full, they eventually end up in a satchel carried on my shoulder.
My business card reads “Morton Stark Transport.” I’m called upon to disperse the ashes of the dearly departed and honor their final wishes. People hire me to escort the remains throughout the world ...

Features

Barney and His Angel

To Grandmother’s House

The Visit

Interviews

Spotlight On Writers – Maliya Denise Wilmore

Spotlight On Writers – John Neff

Interview Q&A With P.A. O’Neil

Barney and His Angel

The Longest Night

Psycho at The Northern Lights

A Sudden Rupture

And So Did I

To Be Seen

The Watch

Rescued

abandonment

Bitterness

Looking Back

Existential

Love Story

I Scrape Grief Out with My Thumbnail

She was Six

Hydrogen

Hymn Of The Eternal Feast

AAEVEYN ULLOVTO’s Scrabbled Psyche

To Grandmother’s House

Breakfast on the Beach

The Visit

The Christmas Figure is Unmoved

A Strange Place

A Bead of Ice

Sygnatariusze Listów do Gwiazd

Success Despite Childhood Trauma

2AM Thoughts

A Silent Existence