A husband clings to a final journey to the place that once made them feel alive, while his wife quietly begins to imagine the world after him.
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A young man heads to the pub planning to ask a girl out, only to discover that moving on is more complicated — and more tender — than he thought.
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“If you can hear my voice, you’re part of tonight’s audience.” What begins like a late-night opening monologue turns into a brutal broadcast from the middle of planetary occupation.
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When Bobby Jackson dies, the village takes him out to the pylons. In a landscape without power, infrastructure survives only as ritual, and pity has become just another empty speech.
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“I awoke dead.” From there, Cervical unfolds into a compact nightmare of bodily estrangement, luxury death, and a future where even dying has terms and conditions.
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After New Year’s Eve, a husband and wife move into separate rooms. What follows is a precise, unsettling story about emotional hunger, self-deception, and the domestic objects that absorb both.
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A daughter tends to her mother on a weather-beaten coast, where memory falters but old phrases remain. A restrained, devastating flash about care, inheritance, and the strange intimacy of letting ...
A practical guide to literary magazine submissions in the UK: what editors look for, how to prepare your draft, and the mistakes that get good stories rejected too early.
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Pablo Baler on the visual echo that sparked “Pearl Hunter,” how dream-logic becomes structure, and why the story closes like a joke- with craft takeaways for flash writers.
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A woman removes obsolete roadside call boxes for the state. But inside the metal shells, people have left what they couldn’t say out loud — and one small object turns ...
It usually took an hour to get to her office so that was annoying in itself. I’ve reached the point where a 20-minute drive makes me start looking for a ...
“But I am not hungry; I just ate.”
“So sorry, but that’s the policy. You want to use our restroom, no problem. But you must be a customer first and ...
My hair twists into knots of clouds and my brother frees them his fingers a silver comb. May Day 1969 by Roberta Beary
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It is a pleasure to announce Litro’s nominations for the annual Best Small Fictions anthology. Congratulations to this year’s nominees.
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You can have anything you want, Honey, says Grandma, don’t mind your mother, who picks up her coffee and drinks it like she’s stopping a scream.
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Dive into a summer of innocence and intrigue as an American girl visits, weaving a tale of secrets, tragedy, and warnings.
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A man sets out to discover the large granite egg that bears his soul.
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Wharton could see the cemetery from her window as she wrote (every day until at least 11, lying in bed), surrounded by her living dogs and gazing out at her dead. ...
