What if I, after three beers and two whiskeys, could view myself in a mirror and say with a straight face: “Your dreams came true!”

Jason Peck lives in Pittsburgh.

Couldn’t find Dad, so I asked Mom. “Which is better: Love or money?”
She sipped gin, unopened tonic beside her. “Depends on who’s paying.”

Austin Eichelberger just keeps writing.

She turned to me holding her bags. What she said I didn’t hear, but her eyes told me she’d stay another week.

Emma Longmire prefers water over tea.

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.