Smoke Signals

July 2023 | fiction

Whenever Steve smoked on the patio, his son Robin would sit on the back doorstep and talk. The cutest Pokémon, the weirdest YouTuber, how he’d like to fly south for the winter like a bird, how he liked art but was rubbish at it. Robin’s thoughts chugged out of him every day. Steve scratched his long beard and listened, not expecting to respond.

Robin had started joining Steve for his smokes since Helen had left them for Spain with Dave from her office. She’d told Robin she would come back for him. Steve knew she wouldn’t. He didn’t know how he felt about that. Parenting Robin hadn’t produced the Hallmark card bond he’d anticipated. It was busier and louder, and Robin didn’t always seem to hear him. His teacher had mentioned some red flags to Helen, but Steve didn’t remember the terminology and acronyms, and the teacher had avoided Steve since Helen had left.

Steve soon realised he hadn’t emptied the ashtray in months, but there were no butts. Polishing his glasses on the bottom of his shirt, he wondered whether birds had eaten them, but Google said birds didn’t eat fag ends. Then he noticed the smell in Robin’s room. Steve planned what he would say. I’m not angry you smoked, just disappointed. It’s bad for your health. I’ve not set a good example. I’ll quit.

Steve sat on Robin’s bed, the mattress chirruping as Robin bounced. After Steve had said his piece, Robin reached under his bed. Stuck to a sheet of A3 card was Pikachu, butts cut to points for ears. YouTube was spelled out in yellowed ends. White shreds of cigarette paper were torn into feathery wings, a fresh orange butt for a beak.

‘All the things you love,’ Steve said.

In the corner, he spotted a man’s face drawn in biro, large specs around bulbous eyes. Ashy tips formed his long beard around an open smile.

Rebecca Klassen

Rebecca Klassen is an editor from the Cotswolds. Her work has been featured in publications including Mslexia Best Short Fiction, The Phare, Popshot, Superlative, and The Wild Word. She has won the London Independent Story Prize for flash and was shortlisted for the Oxford Flash Fiction Prize. Rebecca has performed her work at Stroud Book Festival and Cheltenham Literature Festival.

Pockets Full

July 2023 | fiction

Her wish came true.

From then on, she always had in her pocket the exact amount of money she wanted. She bought a house, an SUV, thousands of computers for underprivileged girls, a guided tour around the world, a private jet, a horse, alexandrite.

Until that fateful day. Her dress had no pockets.

Kaisha A. Girard

Kaisha A. Girard is a graduate of Saint Leo University pursuing her Master’s in English & Creative Writing through SNHU. Her publication credits include, among others, Sandhill Review, Dots Publications, and Ember Chasm Review where her work was nominated for 2021 Best of the Net. A native Rhode Islander and proofreader for Wild Roof Journal, Kaisha hopes that her love of editing the world will someday blossom into a proofreading career.

When the Butterflies Dance

July 2023 | fiction

“Momma, where’s Mamaw?”

“I think she’s out in the yard somewhere.”

Regina Woody opened the back screen door and called out, “Mamaw!  Mamaw are you out here?  Then she spotted the old lady down along the fence standing very quiet and still.  She was watching something.  Regina Woody walked down past the peach trees to where her grandmother stood.  “What you doing?” she whispered.

“Look Honey,” said the old lady.

“What?”

“It’s the Little Yellows.  See?  The Little Yellows are out.”  She pointed to the honeysuckle growing along the fence.  There were eight or ten small yellow butterflies fluttering above the green leaves in the morning sun.  See how the dance,” said the old lady, “Like darting yellow petals.  They are another of the Lords simple gifts.”

The small yellow insects flittered like tiny dancing marionettes in the bright sunshine.  It was as if they moved in time to some sweet melody that only they could hear.  But the old lady must have heard it too.

“They’re beautiful,” said Regina Woody standing very still beside of her grandmother.

“When I was a little girl just about your age my momma made me a Sunday dress out of material with Little Yellows on it.  Oh, how I loved that dress.  Momma told me that they were a reminder of God’s love for us.  They’re only here a short time.  Then they’re gone again for another year.”

As Regina Woody watched the tiny butterflies it seemed to her that the world opened up around her, the clear blue sky, the distant green hills and the sweet smell of the honeysuckle there before her.  It felt as if she and her grandmother were standing at the very center of the universe with the colors and shapes spinning slowly around them.  Is that the gift of God, she wondered?  Is that why the butterflies dance?”

James William Gardner

Author of, “DEEP AUGUST: Short Stories from the American South,” and “THE HEALING GROUND,” James William Gardner writes extensively about the contemporary southland. The writer explores aspects of southern culture often overlooked: the downtrodden, the impoverished and those marginalized by society. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net.  Gardner is a graduate of Virginia Commonwealth University and lives in Roanoke, Virginia. His work has appeared in numerous publications including Deep South Magazine, Newfound Journal and The Virginia Literary Journal.