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	<title>50-Word Stories</title>
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		<title>ATIF NAWAZ: Inheritance</title>
		<link>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/21/atif-nawaz-inheritance/</link>
					<comments>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/21/atif-nawaz-inheritance/#comments</comments>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tim]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Fri, 21 Aug 2026 16:00:07 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Artistic]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Submissions]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Atif Nawaz]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[grief]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[human condition]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[loss]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://fiftywordstories.com/?p=64092</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[After my mother died, everyone speaking her name gained one gram. Doctors blamed faulty scales. Physicists questioned calibration. I whispered her name every morning until climbing stairs became impossible. Grief, I realized, wasn&#8217;t carried inside hearts. It settled quietly into bones, waiting for someone willing enough to bear it. Atif Nawaz is a Pakistani writer &#8230; <a href="http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/21/atif-nawaz-inheritance/" class="more-link">Continue reading <span class="screen-reader-text">ATIF NAWAZ: Inheritance</span> <span class="meta-nav">&#8594;</span></a>]]></description>
										<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>After my mother died, everyone speaking her name gained one gram. Doctors blamed faulty scales. Physicists questioned calibration. I whispered her name every morning until climbing stairs became impossible. Grief, I realized, wasn&#8217;t carried inside hearts. It settled quietly into bones, waiting for someone willing enough to bear it.</p>
<hr />
<p>Atif Nawaz is a Pakistani writer whose fiction has appeared in literary magazines and journals. He writes short fiction exploring memory, identity, and the human condition. He is currently working on new flash fiction and short stories.</p>
]]></content:encoded>
					
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			<slash:comments>4</slash:comments>
		
		
		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">64092</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>CHIDI YOUNG: Phew!</title>
		<link>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/21/chidi-young-phew/</link>
					<comments>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/21/chidi-young-phew/#comments</comments>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tim]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Fri, 21 Aug 2026 10:00:42 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Amusing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Submissions]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Chidi Young]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[possessions]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[pressure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[wealth]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://fiftywordstories.com/?p=64097</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[I knew a beautiful woman like her deserved more. That&#8217;s why my sleeves were always rolled up. She never complained, but I saw it in her eyes, the way she looked into the stores whenever we drove past. Now she&#8217;s with her boss, a richer man. Never felt so relieved. Chidi Young writes from Jos, &#8230; <a href="http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/21/chidi-young-phew/" class="more-link">Continue reading <span class="screen-reader-text">CHIDI YOUNG: Phew!</span> <span class="meta-nav">&#8594;</span></a>]]></description>
										<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>I knew a beautiful woman like her deserved more. That&#8217;s why my sleeves were always rolled up. She never complained, but I saw it in her eyes, the way she looked into the stores whenever we drove past.</p>
<p>Now she&#8217;s with her boss, a richer man.</p>
<p>Never felt so relieved.</p>
<hr />
<p>Chidi Young writes from Jos, Plateau State, Nigeria. He&#8217;s a writer, photographer, graphic designer, and a content creator.</p>
]]></content:encoded>
					
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			<slash:comments>5</slash:comments>
		
		
		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">64097</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>DIVYA KAUSHIK: Too Late</title>
		<link>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/20/divya-kaushik-too-late/</link>
					<comments>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/20/divya-kaushik-too-late/#comments</comments>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tim]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Thu, 20 Aug 2026 16:00:05 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Artistic]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Submissions]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Divya Kaushik]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[human condition]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[loss]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[relativity]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacrifice]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[space travel]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://fiftywordstories.com/?p=64094</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[The astronaut finally reached Earth after eighty years, clutching a letter from his daughter. She had written, “Come home soon, Dad.” Time had betrayed them. Kneeling before her gravestone, he whispered, “I hurried.” The stars applauded his journey; only Earth understood that the greatest distance was never space—it was time. Divya Kaushik is a hardworking &#8230; <a href="http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/20/divya-kaushik-too-late/" class="more-link">Continue reading <span class="screen-reader-text">DIVYA KAUSHIK: Too Late</span> <span class="meta-nav">&#8594;</span></a>]]></description>
										<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>The astronaut finally reached Earth after eighty years, clutching a letter from his daughter. She had written, “Come home soon, Dad.” Time had betrayed them. Kneeling before her gravestone, he whispered, “I hurried.” The stars applauded his journey; only Earth understood that the greatest distance was never space—it was time.</p>
<hr />
<p>Divya Kaushik is a hardworking and determined student with a deep appreciation for creativity and self-expression. An avid canvas painter and aspiring writer, she enjoys exploring emotions, ideas, and perspectives through both art and words. She believes every story has the power to inspire, connect, and spark imagination. Guided by curiosity and perseverance, Divya continuously seeks opportunities to learn, create, and grow while leaving a meaningful impression through her work.</p>
]]></content:encoded>
					
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			<slash:comments>3</slash:comments>
		
		
		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">64094</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>BOB THURBER: Divorce Papers</title>
		<link>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/19/bob-thurber-divorce-papers/</link>
					<comments>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/19/bob-thurber-divorce-papers/#comments</comments>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tim]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Wed, 19 Aug 2026 16:00:01 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Artistic]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Submissions]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Bob Thurber]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[human condition]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[regret]]></category>
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		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://fiftywordstories.com/?p=64082</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[She insisted they both sign tonight. “I’ll deliver them tomorrow,” she said, producing a pen. “They’ll be filed with the court by end of day.” He remembered the pen. A Christmas gift. Not cheap. Years old. He strained to remember the inscription. She snapped her fingers. “Hey. Where’d you go?” Bob Thurber is the author &#8230; <a href="http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/19/bob-thurber-divorce-papers/" class="more-link">Continue reading <span class="screen-reader-text">BOB THURBER: Divorce Papers</span> <span class="meta-nav">&#8594;</span></a>]]></description>
										<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>She insisted they both sign tonight.</p>
<p>“I’ll deliver them tomorrow,” she said, producing a pen.</p>
<p>“They’ll be filed with the court by end of day.”</p>
<p>He remembered the pen. A Christmas gift. Not cheap. Years old.</p>
<p>He strained to remember the inscription.</p>
<p>She snapped her fingers. “Hey. Where’d you go?”</p>
<hr />
<p>Bob Thurber is the author of six books. Regarded as a master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in Esquire and other magazines, been anthologized 60 times, received a long list of awards, and been utilized in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts. Visit his website at <a href="http://bobthurber.net/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">BobThurber.net</a>.</p>
]]></content:encoded>
					
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			<slash:comments>3</slash:comments>
		
		
		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">64082</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>JEFFREY REEVES: App</title>
		<link>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/19/jeffrey-reeves-app/</link>
					<comments>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/19/jeffrey-reeves-app/#comments</comments>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tim]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Wed, 19 Aug 2026 10:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Artistic]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Submissions]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[human condition]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[human connection]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[internet]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Jeffrey Reeves]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[relationships]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://fiftywordstories.com/?p=64090</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[Amy added her middle name to the post and refreshed the page. Maybe this time would be different; maybe the right one would text. She closed her laptop, picked up her phone, and started scrolling. The sounds of the crowded coffee shop fell away. It was almost like being alone. Jeffrey Reeves is a former &#8230; <a href="http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/19/jeffrey-reeves-app/" class="more-link">Continue reading <span class="screen-reader-text">JEFFREY REEVES: App</span> <span class="meta-nav">&#8594;</span></a>]]></description>
										<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Amy added her middle name to the post and refreshed the page.</p>
<p>Maybe this time would be different; maybe the right one would text.</p>
<p>She closed her laptop, picked up her phone, and started scrolling. The sounds of the crowded coffee shop fell away.</p>
<p>It was almost like being alone.</p>
<hr />
<p>Jeffrey Reeves is a former communications director living in Tennessee. He loves books, dogs, and coffee.</p>
]]></content:encoded>
					
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			<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		
		
		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">64090</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>HEGE A JOKOBSEN LEPRI: Compassionate Care Villa</title>
		<link>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/18/hege-a-jokobsen-lepri-compassionate-care-villa/</link>
					<comments>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/18/hege-a-jokobsen-lepri-compassionate-care-villa/#comments</comments>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tim]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Tue, 18 Aug 2026 16:00:19 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Artistic]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Submissions]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[aging]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Hege A. Jakobsen Lepri]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[human condition]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[loss]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://fiftywordstories.com/?p=64087</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[They call him Smith now. Oddly fitting. He can’t move or speak, but propped up, he can spot the pond. The lotuses tight like eye-balls torn out of their sockets. The aspen trees white as bones dissolving in lye. From his care home bed, a slow drip of happy memories. Hege A. Jakobsen Lepri is &#8230; <a href="http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/18/hege-a-jokobsen-lepri-compassionate-care-villa/" class="more-link">Continue reading <span class="screen-reader-text">HEGE A JOKOBSEN LEPRI: Compassionate Care Villa</span> <span class="meta-nav">&#8594;</span></a>]]></description>
										<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>They call him Smith now. Oddly fitting. He can’t move or speak, but propped up, he can spot the pond. The lotuses tight like eye-balls torn out of their sockets. The aspen trees white as bones dissolving in lye. From his care home bed, a slow drip of happy memories.</p>
<hr />
<p>Hege A. Jakobsen Lepri is a Norwegian-Canadian translator and writer (and obsessive haikuist), currently living in Norway. Recent work is featured in St. Katherine Review, Neither Fish nor Foul, The Disappointed Housewife, Fictive Dream, Best Small Fictions, Atticus Review, The New Quarterly, Room Magazine and others. You find her at <a href="http://www.hegeajlepri.ca">www.hegeajlepri.ca</a></p>
]]></content:encoded>
					
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			<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		
		
		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">64087</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>RICHARD R DiPIRRO: The Last Casualty</title>
		<link>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/18/richard-r-dipirro-the-last-casualty/</link>
					<comments>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/18/richard-r-dipirro-the-last-casualty/#comments</comments>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tim]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Tue, 18 Aug 2026 10:00:55 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Artistic]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Submissions]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Richard R. DiPirro]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[tragedy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[violence]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[war]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://fiftywordstories.com/?p=64084</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[At dawn, Private Antonio Felipe became the unluckiest man in the world. Peace was declared ten minutes prior, but no one told the bullet that killed him. The sound of victory traveled triumphantly through the hole in Antonio’s head. The bullet was sorry, but it was only doing its job. Richard R. DiPirro is the &#8230; <a href="http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/18/richard-r-dipirro-the-last-casualty/" class="more-link">Continue reading <span class="screen-reader-text">RICHARD R DiPIRRO: The Last Casualty</span> <span class="meta-nav">&#8594;</span></a>]]></description>
										<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>At dawn, Private Antonio Felipe became the unluckiest man in the world.</p>
<p>Peace was declared ten minutes prior, but no one told the bullet that killed him. The sound of victory traveled triumphantly through the hole in Antonio’s head. The bullet was sorry, but it was only doing its job.</p>
<hr />
<p>Richard R. DiPirro is the author of the psychological sci-fi novel, <em>Eaten by Wolves</em>. His short fiction has appeared in various magazines and anthologies, including <em>Metonym, Tales of the Strange, Carpe Noctem</em> by Tyche Books, and <em>The Lindenwood Review</em>. He is currently seeking representation for his second novel, <em>Black Linen and Biscuits.</em></p>
]]></content:encoded>
					
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			<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		
		
		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">64084</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>MARJIE ALONSO: The Recall</title>
		<link>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/17/marije-alonso-the-recall/</link>
					<comments>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/17/marije-alonso-the-recall/#comments</comments>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tim]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Mon, 17 Aug 2026 16:00:07 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Amusing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Artistic]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Submissions]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[dog]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[funny]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Marjie Alonso]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[obedience]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[pets]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[training]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://fiftywordstories.com/?p=64075</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[She stands at the shoreline, looks out at the bay, then back at me. “Alice, come!” It’s the second time I’ve called. She turns, slowly, like an ocean liner coming about. Her head dips to sniff, and then she approaches. Slowly. The letter, but not the spirit, of the law. Marjie Alonso lives in Provincetown, &#8230; <a href="http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/17/marije-alonso-the-recall/" class="more-link">Continue reading <span class="screen-reader-text">MARJIE ALONSO: The Recall</span> <span class="meta-nav">&#8594;</span></a>]]></description>
										<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>She stands at the shoreline, looks out at the bay, then back at me.</p>
<p>“Alice, come!” It’s the second time I’ve called. She turns, slowly, like an ocean liner coming about. Her head dips to sniff, and then she approaches. Slowly.</p>
<p>The letter, but not the spirit, of the law.</p>
<hr />
<p>Marjie Alonso lives in Provincetown, Massachusetts, where she can be found walking and pleading with her beagle to drop that. Her work has appeared in Brevity, The Huffington Post, Cognoscenti, and elsewhere. Her substack can be found at <a href="https://piecesofstring.substack.com/?utm_campaign=profile_chips" target="_blank" rel="noopener">piecesofstring.substack.com</a>.</p>
]]></content:encoded>
					
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			<slash:comments>4</slash:comments>
		
		
		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">64075</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>STEVEN LEMPRIÈRE: Flatlining</title>
		<link>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/17/steven-lempriere-flatlining/</link>
					<comments>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/17/steven-lempriere-flatlining/#comments</comments>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tim]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Mon, 17 Aug 2026 10:00:44 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Amusing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Artistic]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Submissions]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[bad news]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[dangerous]]></category>
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		<category><![CDATA[Steven Lemprière]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[temptation]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://fiftywordstories.com/?p=64073</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[I’d turned over a new leaf, but then Fern took root on an adjacent barstool. “A whisky sour,” she purred, fronds unfurling in my direction. I sensed trouble, with a capital T, and straightaway knew she’d unplug a life-support machine to charge her phone, but hey, what a last breath. Steven is a man of &#8230; <a href="http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/17/steven-lempriere-flatlining/" class="more-link">Continue reading <span class="screen-reader-text">STEVEN LEMPRIÈRE: Flatlining</span> <span class="meta-nav">&#8594;</span></a>]]></description>
										<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>I’d turned over a new leaf, but then Fern took root on an adjacent barstool.</p>
<p>“A whisky sour,” she purred, fronds unfurling in my direction.</p>
<p>I sensed trouble, with a capital T, and straightaway knew she’d unplug a life-support machine to charge her phone, but hey, what a last breath.</p>
<hr />
<p>Steven is a man of few words.</p>
]]></content:encoded>
					
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			<slash:comments>6</slash:comments>
		
		
		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">64073</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>STORY OF THE WEEK: August 16</title>
		<link>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/16/story-of-the-week-august-16-3/</link>
					<comments>http://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/16/story-of-the-week-august-16-3/#respond</comments>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tim]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Mon, 17 Aug 2026 03:39:22 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[News]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://fiftywordstories.com/?p=64077</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[The story of the week for August 10 to 14 is… The Cache We Carry by Paul D&#8217;Arcy]]></description>
										<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>The story of the week for August 10 to 14 is…</p>
<p><a href="https://fiftywordstories.com/2026/08/14/paul-darcy-the-cache-we-carry/"><b>The Cache We Carry</b></a> by Paul D&#8217;Arcy</p>
]]></content:encoded>
					
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		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">64077</post-id>	</item>
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