The Mustaches hovered. Khakis and clipboards. Counting down time. Lost production.
He needed the job. Medical benefits. A twice pregnant wife.
Guard bolted back into place. His finger hovered, balked above the start button. The press bucked and settled into a steady metallic heartbeat. A hollow thumping matching his own.
Randy Simons spends his days working the floor of an ammunition factory and his nights at the keyboard. His work can be found in The Los Angeles Review, Whitefish Review, and Memoir, among other places. He lives in Idaho.
Queenie, fifteen, had two teeth, no claws, and had never been outside. Yet daily, on the table by the window, she patiently watched the birds.
One Christmas a startled bird flew in when the door opened, straight at Queenie who was ready and expecting. Christmas dinner and life dream manifested!
Kevin McManus is a wannabe writer and successful daydreamer who doesn’t believe in coincidences but does believe that we create our own reality, just as his old cat Queenie did.
I didn’t believe in time travel until I met myself one rainy Tuesday. Back from a world unknown to me.
Despite the shock, we drank tea and laughed about our mother. For a few moments I was happy with myself.
Until I told me not to look forward to much.
Shark Trager lives in North London and has been writing and blogging 50 Word Stories erratically for five years. He is a novelist in progress as well as a jobbing copywriter and ghostwriter.
I’ve never been one for salvation. And being baptized in a sink in some god-forsaken prison seemed a bit desperate.
The pastor, though, was certain. He had written an essay and sent a check. Now, his paper cross could save us sinners. He would forgive what the dead never could.
J. Ian Manczur wrote this story.
Last week’s winning story is Sitting by Jennifer L Freed!
born a runt, in muck,
wouldn’t last long.
She gave him a cage, gave luck.
He twisted, turned,
head to the sky, bet it burned,
flicked his wings one last time, twitching.
Her tears ran fast; she adjourned.
Painlessness fills eyes
beneath a bed of flowers.
Anoushe Seiff is from Chicago, IL. She writes in her spare time. Anoushe will be attending Drake University in the fall, studying Law/Politics, Psychology, and Arabic. Her hobbies include watching Criminal Minds, playing with her cats, and attending conventions and concerts.
“Think outside the box,” demanded Mr. Big. This company needs innovation.
“Yessir!” answered three voices in harmony.
One suggested a company necktie.
Another, free vending machines.
“Mobile offices?” asked the third.
“Jones. What about you?” questioned Mr. Big
I closed the lid on my box and went back to work.
Jeff Switt is a retired advertising agency guy who loves writing flash fiction, some days to curb his angst, other days to fuel it. His words have been featured online at Dogzplot, Boston Literary Magazine, Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 Word Story, A Story In 100 Words, 101 Word Stories, and Shotgun Honey, and have appeared at lots of places that take whatever you send in.
Secret Ops briefing.
“Our suspect is addicted to tanning salons. His getaway dogsled team was one husky short, so he substituted a gnome.”
“Sir, in mushing, haw is left, right?”
“Right, but the replacement was on the right.”
The sergeant pressed on.
“Welcome to the Hue Man Gee Gnome Project.”
John H. Dromey has had short fiction published in Gumshoe Review
, Plan B Magazine
, Plasma Frequency Magazine
, and elsewhere.
I saw her today and I knew what she was immediately. After some hours of watching her pickpocket unwary airport travelers, I want to meet her and know her.
No one here knows that I’m a predator of a much more dangerous kind, and neither does she as I approach.
is a daydreamer and storyteller. He writes every day, as work and family life allows, of course. He dreams and labors toward the day when he can leave the day job behind and write full time. “Twenty years of schoolin’ and they put ya on the day shift.” It’s true Bob, it’s so true.
The room’s dark. The blue light of the computer screen illuminates his face, its raw desire. He clicks on a name he hasn’t tried before: Double Trouble, a buxom blonde.
The chat room opens to a promising skin show. He is staring into the eyes of his wife, working late.
Indu Pillai writes poetry and fiction when she is not reading poetry and fiction. She delights in all kinds of stories, written and unwritten. During the day, she works in her design studio. Follow her on Twitter.