Yesterday’s wedding night didn’t go well. I was a miserable boy, trying to be a man. Today I am a miserable man, dreaming to be a boy again.

Marcin Kozak writes from the woods.

They took her mother today. Not because of the cancer but because she wasn’t born here.

E. V. Darke writes to live and lives to write.

His smell was already fading from his shirts. Elsewhere the baby was crying, the phone ringing. She would get up off the floor. In a minute.

Elizabeth Jennings (n.): A San Francisco Bay Area writer of fiction, lover of coffee, and mother of cats.

He crushes another page and throws it in the fire. His son watches then considers his drawing a second time.

Munira Sayyid is grateful.

She left a day early. From the porch, I watched her taillights fade like so many long gone stars. They say it’s like looking into the past.

David Solomon fells trees.

Tim’s black eye pulsed. He wiped blood from his nostril. He felt ambivalent about standing up for himself. He hoped his Dad would be proud.

Michael Sams is a writer of award-winning, internationally-performed short plays.

The reset was scheduled at eleven that morning. Aletta couldn’t make it for one last brunch. Maybe in the next iteration, thought Steve.

Miguel Paolo Reyes is a researcher from the Philippines.

I’m not prepared for this electric heartbreak. I never should’ve let you leave my insides, the whole world a coffin you fit perfectly.

Kate LaDew resides in Graham, NC with her cats, Charlie Chaplin and Janis Joplin.

“I’ve made tea for her,” she says. “She’s such a good girl, never late.”

“I’m here Mum,” I want to say. Instead I say, “I’ll wait with you.”

Liz Cable (@lizcable) likes padlocks probably a bit too much.

“We’d be just two sad, old drunks if we didn’t have each other,” he says.

We clink glasses. The mirror cracks.

Petar Petrov (@pesh0man) likes short stories that linger long.