A barren and merciless landscape stretched out ahead, as we kept trudging on until our mouths were parched.
We had to find water, and fast, or we wouldn’t make it out of there alive.
“Why don’t we buy water in that shop”, somebody begged, but we didn’t have any money.
Connell wrote this to comment on something or other, but lost the plot along the way… Or maybe, just maybe, he found it.
Injected by an alien
We’re the fallacies
I breathed within
My pulse slower
The mixed up order
Most fit within
Shades of grey
No birds sing
Can I inject you?
Patrick got lost for a while.
The story of the week for May 16 to 20 is…
Encroachment by Daniel Slaten
The story does a great job of immersing the reader in metaphor just in time to plunk them smack dab into something very real with non-metaphorical implications. Very clever pacing and structure.
Joey and Mauler held the handkerchiefs to their faces as the smell of burning flesh seeped into their souls. They chanted the malediction they’d learned from the warlock with muffled voices, hoping they’d remembered it correctly.
That evening, the beast came and corrected them. It breathed in their scent, hungrily.
James Kowalczyk was born and raised in Brooklyn. He now lives in Northern California with his wife, two daughters, and four cats. His work has been published in numerous publications both online and in print. He teaches English at the high school and college level.
Todd’s been in the neighborhood from its earliest days. He’s seen the trees grow beyond the arbitrary boundaries of backyard fences and spread their limbs and roots into adjoining yards.
Time has a way of blurring man-made borders like that, he thinks as he wakes up beside his neighbor’s wife.
Daniel Slaten writes short stories and poetry in small notebooks and on sticky notes.
The blind date was at a charming French restaurant. They had a wonderful dinner: foie gras, lobster, and crème brülée, while they drank a bottle of Château Lafite 1787, everything requested by him to celebrate that magic moment.
Afterwards, he asked her to pay the bill; he’d forgotten his wallet.
Claudia Ramalho is Brazilian and is in the upper intermediate English level (B2).
“The tree with the single piece of fruit at the top.”
“And you heard that where, exactly?”
“At a meeting of Seraphim and Cherubim.”
“You say it’s supposed to have magic powers?”
“That’s what He said.”
“Nobody can climb that tree.”
“The snake could. You could persuade him,” he winked.
Reynold Junker’s writing credits include, among others, Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Narrative, America, and The Bookends Review. His U.S. Catholic story, “Dancing With The Jesuits,” was awarded first place in the Catholic Press Association’s Best Short Story category for 2008. His story, “The Accordionist and the Sparrow,” was awarded first place in the Marin California Writers Group’s fiction competition for 2012. Subway Music, his memoir about growing up Italian and Catholic in Brooklyn, New York, was awarded first prize in the Life Stories category of the 16th Annual Writer’s Digest International Self-Published Book Awards competition.
I don’t remember anymore.
I have a disease, but I can’t remember what it is called.
I can remember things, but they seem so long ago. From when I was younger.
Someone helps me, and I think she is special to me.
Fog rolls over me, and she is gone.
Gordon Lysen resides in Manitoba, Canada and spends his time between the city of Winnipeg and his true home at Sugar Point on Lake Manitoba. Retired from police work after some 27 years, Gordon co-authored the novel “A Deadly Blend of Souls” with his wife, Lisa. Writing and painting are Gordon’s relaxation methods when retirement becomes too stressful.
Rain spat sideways while Mother tugged our hands until we were jogging.
Dad was drunk again, and he’d hit her this time. The bruises glistened like purple glass.
At a diner, Mother used the restroom.
My brother asked what I knew.
I told him, “Love isn’t supposed to be cruel.”
Len Kuntz is a writer from Washington State, an editor at the online magazine Literary Orphans, and the author of I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE AND NEITHER ARE YOU, out now from Unknown Press. You can also find him at lenkuntz.blogspot.com.
Years had passed since the war, but guerrillas still controlled the city. I snuck through the ruins, hid in long shadows cast by a shy moon.
I heard rubble shift behind me, a gun muzzle pressed at my back.
“Stop,” he said. A child’s voice. Tearful. “Tell me a story.”
The closest Guy has ever been to a war zone was working in a bar on a Saturday night. This is his eleventh 50-word story.