'Only Children' by Rachel Burrows

“They belonged to your father.”

Delusion… or dementia now? I was unborn when he joined up — five when we met. But there had been twins in that time. I have whisps of a memory now, whispers of two. Two whisps. Gone. And tears.

 

“They belonged to your father!”

'My Love is Lost on the High Wind' by Jac Morris

Dandelion seeds scatter. My love makes a wish. Too late I kiss her silent - by summer she’s gone on the high wind, giddy for adventure. In autumn men come with words that spiral me. She is lost all the bone-cold winter. Come spring, I make a wish. Dandelion seeds scatter.

'Playing Hooky' by Melissa Flores Anderson

Charles offers to pay even though I invited him out for a drink this afternoon to celebrate his promotion. We waited weeks to do this, too busy with the end of the semester to find a time that worked for us. I thought Charles might cancel on me when I saw his schedule change, but instead he texted me from his office down the hall from mine and said he could meet me after a doctor’s appointment. I thought he might invite other co-workers to meet us and that would have been totally fine.

When he texted me that he’d finished up early, I snuck out the door without telling any of my colleagues I was leaving. Felt like a kid playing hooky. Felt giddy like a teenager with a first crush. Felt flattered he wanted to see me instead of coming back to work. I had questions to ask, to get to know him better, but we talk about work until our first drink was done. I knew if I had a second one, I wouldn’t be able to drive.

“You probably need to get home and catch up on work, right?”

He nods, but I want him to say, “No, I’ve got nothing else I need to do.”

But he reaches for his wallet, and I tell him no, I’ve got it. I invited him.

“Next time, it’s my treat.”

And I walk to my car thinking about next time.

At home, my husband asks why I was late.

“A retirement party. So many retirements,” I say.

'The Yard Sale' by Angela James

Everything must go. Neighbours pick through our memories. Bargaining too because what we had was not actually priceless. I send the items out into the world, carefully wrapped and bagged, ready for their second or third or fourth chances to bring happiness to someone else somewhere else. Everything must go.

'The Way Around Him' by Melissa Flores Anderson

• Mute the notifications on your phone
• Actually, mute him so you don’t have to see what he’s liking or not liking (he’s not liking you anymore)
• Delete the playlist he made for you
• Delete the playlist you made for him
• Turn the radio up and listen to angry girl music
• Turn left instead of right out of the driveway, to avoid the park where you sat in your car when he called you for the first time
• Turn left again, to avoid that parking lot where you first met in person.
• Turn left again, to avoid the street where he told you he couldn’t do this anymore, that it wasn’t in his nature
• Turn left again, to be back in the place you started
• Turn right out of your driveway, drive by the park, the parking lot, the street
• Get on 101 South for 20 miles
• Take 156 east for 5 miles, slowing to 50 miles an hour behind a tractor
• Take 1 South for 10 miles
• Exit Reservation Road and drive around the road barricade to park in the lot that overlooks the Marina Dunes
• Stare at the ocean for 20 minutes
• Remember, it is vast and wild, and unpredictable, like love
• Get back in your car and drive up the road five more minutes, where there is someone new who laughs with you every day

'We All Want Things We Cannot Have' by Laura Cooney

Wanted: Baby bootees and overripe plums, not necessarily in that order. Will Pay.

'Don't Trust Your Sat Nav. Better ask Google!' by Val Harris

Has it got a postcode?

A bit too early for that?

Let’s just put in The Pyramids.

Go.

Proceed to route guidance.
Take the first star on the right and straight on until morning.

We look at each other. Frown.

Isn’t that the way to Neverland?

I roll my eyes and nod.
Yep, this Sat Nav drives me crazy! It always takes the longest route it can find!

Better ask Google!

'Still Beautiful Even When It's Over' by Val Harris

Summer lies, smouldering in October’s hearth. We rake it in, piling the worst of it, the regrets, losses onto the pyre. Set to flames the past; the unwanted dreams, truth and questions. Fallen leaves. They vanish in the smoke. What remains? The ashes of summer lies, smouldering in October’s hearth.

'Make Your Move' by Allison Renner

Open the App Store and download Luv+. Type in the coupon code your mother gave you for Valentine’s day.

Enter the dating pool and swipe right when you see someone you like. You may also follow this direction when you get tired of swiping left.

Open the chats and bypass a dozen variations of “hey” and “sup” until you see “wyd.” Click the message above this line.

Read the sentence and note the ending punctuation, which is enough to make you tap “Reply.”

After crafting a message no less than thrice, press send and immediately notice a typo. Close the app in frustration and let your thumb press it down until you see the option to uninstall.

'Paralysis' by Jennifer Mungham

“That tickles!” Molly shrieked happily.

Snatching back her hand with pouting lips. She had shrieked louder when the lorry plowed into her side of the car. Huge, slow falling tears reflected doctors assessing her paralysed legs. Each surgery a lesson in disappointment. One last chance.

“That tickles!” Molly shrieked happily.

'3 Sons' by Scott MacLeod

“Happy Father’s Day, Dad.”

“Thanks son, same to you. Have you heard from your boy?"

“Not yet.” 

“I bet you hear from him by the end of the day.”

“Hold on I’ve got another call coming in. Hello?”

“Hi. I need bail. Oh yeah, almost forgot, Happy Father’s Day, Dad." 

'Heat Island' by Melissa Flores Anderson

The backyard thermometer creeps up past a hundred. The weather app said it would be 95 today, but it’s always 10 to 15 degrees off. Not a margin of error, but something more sinister. This spot used to be hilly grasslands, used for cattle grazing, covered in native oak trees. The trees were razed, the hills flattened, clusters of houses built two stories high. Native plants went into the front yards, drought tolerant for the warming California weather. The replacement trees haven’t grown into a leafy canopy yet and no shade is cast in our neighborhood.

We tried to fill the backyard with green, climbing clematis and tomato vines, jasmine, tomato plants and basil. But the neighbors put in hardscape, hot cement that super charges the summers.

The mercury bobs up again, the needle creeping to 120. I text a picture to a coworker who sends back an emoji expressing shock. He texts back: 134 is the highest temperature ever recorded, how can it be so hot?

We live in a heat island, I text back. I miss the coast, 35 miles away, where the weather is foggy and moist, and 45 degrees cooler.

'Social prescribing from my sister (via text)' by Rachel Canwell

Sis, just take the usual cure – new shoes, white silence and midnight ice-cream. 

'All the Things That Didn’t Happen on the Day of Our First Date' by Debbi Voisey

You didn’t wear the suit I imagined. I’d spotted you buying it a few days ago, and I remember thinking: ”I bet that’s for our date.”

You didn’t bring me flowers, which isn’t a bad thing because I would feel irritated by that. I don’t want to carry a bunch of flowers around with me to a pub and a restaurant when I don’t have a vase. And then when I get home I have to find a vase, but the only vessels I have are wine and vodka bottles.

You didn’t compliment me on my dress, which I took ages to pick out. It didn’t help that my best friend Marie was with me when I tried it on, and she’d look good in a sack whereas I always look like I’m wearing a sack, which is different.

You didn’t open doors for me or pull out my chair. My mum always says that’s the measure of a man, and I should never put up with less than I deserve. You didn’t order my food for me, which is good, because I’d hate that.

 

You didn’t order the cheapest wine, or the most expensive. You didn’t even order one in between. Wine is tricky.

I’d like a wine right now, but I don’t have any left.

You didn’t tell me all about your life or ask about mine. I probably wouldn’t tell you the truth anyway.

You didn’t walk me home and kiss me on my doorstep, where my dad wouldn’t be twitching the curtains or giving you threatening stares and telling you to ‘make sure you don’t hurt my daughter’. 

On the day of our first date, you didn’t turn up, and I suppose it was for the best, because everything about my life is best avoided.

'Amateur Gardening' by Laura Cooney

Vanessa didn't let people walk over her. The mud and blood circling the drain bore witness.

“No more trouble from Linda,” she confidently told the drainer, now adorned with rings. The drying pink plastic tulips were salvageable, a pity about the vase. Inevitable. Vanessa didn't let people walk over her.

'At last, he’ll get it' by Slawka G. Scarso

Packed suitcases on the landing. The door lock shining new. Music blasting inside.

'We will always have to eat things with hearts' by Christina Tudor

The sun should have set already but at midnight it hung in a blood-red sky like a harvest moon. All down the East Coast, people emerged from their homes, paused their everyday lives, and looked up like the horizon line might offer up answers. Are you seeing this? By the fifth day without darkness, people stopped looking up, installed thicker blinds, collectively shrugged their shoulders. 

In California, under a golden-gray sky, another fire trailed after cars on the highway who press the gas like they are trying to outrun the flames, the clouds of smoke—but really the drivers just want to beat the typical five o’clock traffic on their commute, used to the smell of ash lingering on their clothes, in the back of their throat. 

A team of scientists turned spinach leaves into beating human heart cells with pulsing red veins. What will the vegans eat? Podcasters joked when reporting on the phenomenon in a recording studio in New York while wearing matching dark shades. Listeners played the show while on their morning commutes under the perennial sun, resigned to the fact that, in this world, we will always have to eat things with hearts.

'Artificial Competence' by JP Richards

 My lecture hall disgorged philosophy students. They were fleeing for the familiar comforts of beer and weed. It was Friday syndrome, after my brilliant discourse on Artificial Intelligence. I had been my usual erudite self, showcasing my advanced understanding with sparkling prose. My students adored me. 

Clearly a timewaster, one unshaven student lingered, slumping indolently against the lectern. His bearded physog resembled hairy roadkill, framed by an encrusted hoody. He smelled like fried bread and looked clueless. I recoiled from his obvious ignorance.

“Yes?” I asked imperiously, not expecting a coherent response. 

He peered through his hair. “Professor, your search for meaning in an increasingly complex field is fraught with a tendency to idolize technology as your ultimate saviour, or apocalyptic Satan,” he said quietly. “Please choose.”

I had no coherent response. 

‘What’s In A Word?’ by Scaramanga Silk

"It is what it is."

Sue could sense the familiar outcome to this week’s Pub Quiz. 

“Cliff's lot haven’t lost in months! Gits.”

But by my count, we’re a point ahead…

"Final question. What is the SI unit of power?" 

I chuckled whilst feverishly scribbling.

It is 'Watt', it is.

The Feeling You Get When The Person In Front Beats You To It by Jane Claire Jackson

 Queuing. See three last kebabs sold. What now? Butcher disappears. Fetches more.

Relief!