by Justin Alcalá There’s something about a train that calms me even on this glum Halloween night. I remember when my childhood revolved around the holiday. Unspoken magic once wove its way into creating costumes and decorating. But the wonder is gone, pilfered by adult obligations. Today, when I feel all alone on this train, […]
by Michael Shawyer The underground train rocked and my cello case toppled towards Lonely Lennie from Leamington Spa. “If that hits me I’ll sue for PTSV.” PTSV? What was he? Special forces? I’d never met Lonely Lennie before and profoundly hoped this would be the only time. I needed a cushion. Not to sit on.
by Mark Kline She leaves the front door wide open. The snow cover is thin and patchy, her slippered feet seek grass. The corner streetlight is pitifully weak, yet she squints and turns away from its needle-like violet aura – how will she ever find Billy out here? He’ll freeze, and her dear children, and
by Bett Butler The young girl’s sandals slap the buckled sidewalks of Wesley Street. She feels silly and conspicuous in her grandmother’s sun hat, the sweatband stained blue-black by hair dye and perspiration. Stiff from decades of blackland prairie summers, the straw crown swallows her head like an overturned bowl, hot and heavy on her
by Janet Goldberg We’d been playing for two hours. Texas Hold ’Em. Five Card Draw. Seven Card Stud. Chicago. From my childhood, I knew the names well enough, my father a long-time gambler, but I was hardly an expert. All I really knew was that it was a loser’s game, my father ending up in
by Craig Borri The first thing Manuel noticed was the lack of pain. This pleasantly surprised him. The next thing he noticed was he was walking. This was also a surprise, since he hadn’t been able to do that for nearly a year. Then another surprise, he realized he was wearing his old SEAL uniform
by Robert Runté So, Mr. Shakey came over the intercom saying it was 2:03 and would all the teachers stop whatever they were doing and please water the plants? As Mrs. Harness went for the door, Bethany-Anne reached over from her desk and peeked out under the shutters. Mr. Shakey? Oh, sorry. Mr. Sheckley, the
by Joe Michael Feist Jack McCarthy would have crushed the alarm clock had he not moved it just out of reach the night before, knowing himself as he did. He threw one leg off the bed, then the other. That’s all I need today, he thought, as he twisted to massage a stiff neck
by George Yatchisin Is there any bigger ask than the exact?I hope to live in approximation nation,my days a seesaw with a burly boyso often at the far end of the board.Even the French suggest comme cicomme ça, their words singinga sense that things could swing inany direction, that results awaita mere vowel away from
To everyone who had the courage to submit to Twin Flame Literary: we applaud you! Thank you to everyone who supported Twin Flame Literary in its inaugural edition – we’re so proud to finally bring you the finished product. After meticulously going through over 700 submissions from 44 different countries, we’ve curated 23 pieces that
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