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Unplanned B

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UNPLANNED B by Gary L. Dozier      She lays in bed by the phone waiting for Nate's call.  He never calls. She takes a warm bubble bath with a glass of wine and candles waiting  for Nate's text.  He never texts.  She blows the candles out.  Drinks the  last swig of wine.  Exits the tub.  The doorbell rings.  She answers the  door dripping wet in her bath towel.  To her surprise it's Jonathan with a  bottle of wine and massage oil, ready to supply her demand.

Everyday Fiction

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I can recommend Everyday Fiction as a place to submit your work. They also pay you three Canadian dollars! https://everydayfiction.com/the-ira-gunman-by-derek-mcmillan/

Fisherman’s Shanty

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Fisherman’s Shanty Fog swirled around Dorian’s feet as he walked the length of the pier, posts and boardwalk disappearing behind him as those ahead revealed themselves. Yellow up ahead—must be Robert. The older man sat on a bench, his yellow cap muted in the mists, his fishing pole dangling in the water. Blue smoke curled from the joint in his hands, the floral bright in the otherwise damp air. “ He’s gone,” Robert said, his face red and crumpled. Dorian rested a hand on Robert’s leg, staring out into the fog. “Tell me stories, then. Let him live just a bit longer.” Bio: K. Andrew Turner is a queer m/m writer with hEDS and AuDHD. He writes contemporary and speculative poetry and prose exploring connection, complexity, and what it means to be human. His work delves into self-reflection, mental illness, and the messy intricacies of relationships—from the mundane to the fantastical. His published work includes The Heretic and the Broken Man (Lazuli Press), Heart, Mind, Blood, ...

Father and Son

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Father and Son  Trevor built a large house, maybe the best in town. He meant it for his son Tom and the family Tom would have. Then Tom went away for college and decided he wouldn’t come back. Trevor lives in the house still but lets it go to shambles, unlike a home meant to last.

Fail-Safe Menu

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Fail-Safe Menu (Word count: 100) by Marcelo Medone Flaunting my status as a refined and solvent man, I invited a gorgeous woman to the most expensive and exclusive restaurant in town. “I suggest an aphrodisiac menu,” I said, winking at her. I recited the options: roast sirloin with figs, honey and cinnamon, clams with red asparagus and black caviar, prawns marinated in olive oil, mustard and mango, black truffles with blueberries, and Egyptian dates stuffed with blue cheese and grapes. All washed down with a well-chilled late-harvest rosé wine. “At your age, I suggest a little blue pill for dessert,” she said, laughing. I think she meant it. BRIEF BIO Marcelo Medone (Buenos Aires, Argentina) is a Pushcart Prize and Best Small Fictions nominee fiction writer, poet, essayist and screenwriter. He received numerous awards and was published in more than 50 countries, including the US. He currently lives in Montevideo, Uruguay.

The Talk

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THE TALK By Linda S. Gunther Theresa and I saw politics the same way. We shared our views every month when I had my hair done at her salon. “How much shall we cut today?” “An inch?” Theresa nodded. “Guess where I’m going next week?” She grinned. “Trip to Europe?” “No. To Washington DC, just before the 250th anniversary. Can’t wait.” Silence. “You don’t think I should?” “I love D.C. but I would not choose to head there in this political climate at this particular time.” “Well…where would you live if not the U.S.?” Her tone, confrontational. “I didn’t say that I don’t love my country.” Author Bio Linda S. Gunther is the author of six published suspense novels: Ten Steps from the Hotel Inglaterra, Endangered Witness, Lost in the Wake, Finding Sandy Stonemeyer, Dream Beach, and Death is a Great Disguiser. Her memoir titled A Bronx Girl (growing up in the Bronx in the 1970’s) was released in 2024. Her short stories and book reviews have been published in a variety of literary journals acr...

Three stories from Lavinia Blossom

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Bum Luck Lavina Blossom lavinadblossom@gmail.com He swivels the rearview mirror to see his cowlick, palms it down, feels the bump. A squirrel? A cat? Soon the tire starts to limp. Maybe a nail in a chunk of wood. He curses, already late. If he gets there before the tire goes flat, he can change it at her place, show he is a handy guy. When he arrives, she's waiting outside and goes over for a closer look. "You have a damaged rim," she says. "You had better get it towed before garages close." She smiles, turns away, mumbles "dim wit." Phantom  Lavina Blossom lavinadblossom@gmail.com   She puts the romance novel she just finished into the box to trade with her neighbor, although she is nearly ready to quit. So little actual romance in them now, although a lot of sex. The back of her wrist tickles as from a light touch, and she recalls that this was the very place her late husband, moving to kiss the back of her hand, pretended to miss. His mouth pr...