Stories from
June, 2016

When she couldn’t walk anymore, I sat on her lap and she stroked my ears. She never hit me. Her son thinks he owns me now. He smells bad.

Pat Tompkins writes from California.

I stood beside his casket and told him goodbye with the same indifference he’d said it back when I was nine.

Steven Fischer is a writer living in Southern Wisconsin.

They ambled down the sidewalk, hands clasped, stars above. A penny launched, dropped silently into the fountain of dreams already come true.

Brooke Anderson (@themodernreal) writes, facilitates, and wishes she had more time to investigate caribou.

Here I sit, in a room with children below their own grade level. They think I am the same. I taught myself how to read. We aren’t the same.

Riley Jackson writes short shorts, sci-fi/fantasy stories, and is working on a fantasy novel.

Mom’s laugh dies down as we talk about her “Dory disease,” and she whispers into the phone, “Please don’t ever let me forget I love God.”

Emily Bowers teaches writing, drinks coffee, and occasionally talks to her cat, Russell Crowe. He’s not great at advice.