Even here in the basement, I still hear the siren wailing in the distance. Mom went with the others to make sure it was safe outside for me.
I’m nine, ten next month, so I wanted to come, but she told me to wait.
That was yesterday.
Where is everyone?
Alexander Scotchfield is a Canadian academic and software developer. He lives in Southern Ontario with his family, including Ulysses, his late night feline writing companion. When he isn’t writing, he can be found writing games, or running in the cool evening hours.
He took her for a drive in the countryside, down a gravel road, past forests of red maples and golden oaks. Fading sunshine cast elongated shadows.
No one spoke.
He stopped the car, got out, and looked into her large, illuminated eyes.
“Still the prettiest coupe I know,” he said.
Krystyna Fedosejevs writes poetry, short stories and Flash Fiction. She has had several poems and flash fiction stories published. She is stationed in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, although she loves to travel around the world.
Hot metal ripped through warm flesh and I shuddered and sank to the ground. Her beautiful steely blue eyes stared mockingly at me.
“That’s your last shot!” I warned.
She smiled and blew me a kiss with those sultry red lips of hers and said, “No sweetie, the last straw.”
Connell Wayne Regner was inspired by Chris Griglack’s “femme fatale” in Love At Last SIght. His other dabblings can be found at paragraphplanet and wtdmagazine.wordpress.com.
Underneath the tall trees.
A cool and soothing summer breeze,
A blanket spread on fresh-cut blades of grass
“Our love is strong and steady
So I suspect you may already
Know exactly what I want to ask?”
Bird songs foreshadow reverie
“My everlasting love, my sweetheart, will you marry me?”
Alexander Key teaches high school whenever the moon and stars are in perfect alignment.
She tossed sleeplessly all night, shooting his skull off. In her head, he was dead thirty times.
The next morning she ran down the road to where their mansion stood. She waited until he showed up at the window.
She huffed back home and pulled out the knife.
Megha Nayar is a 26-year old Communications professional from India, who has forever loved and lived for the written word. She is an independent writer/editor and regularly contributes to contests, anthologies, and literary magazines. She is also currently writing her first collection of short stories.
The cave wall is covered with our story, but the little ones sneak in,
draw, and interfere.
One might think we kill to eat. We tried. Our stomachs revolted.
They just like making blood pictures with that red clay. But clubs
and animal death?
Ack, who will know the difference?
Beth is an estate planning attorney in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. She has an M.A. in English from the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill and spends her spare time writing a blog at sideglimpses.blogspot.com and sorting through her tangible goods for lost earrings.
Olive the Ornithomimosaur was hurt, humiliated! A social outcast! She knew it wasn’t normal. She knew her friends would laugh.
Her mother had forbidden her to touch it. Olive would show her.
Olive stretched her tiny arms to her chin and yanked, and just like that, the feather was gone.
Catherine Sevenhuysen is an aspiring actor from Nanaimo, BC, and a proud Auntie to Calvin and Victor.
One, two, crackle, crack, three, five, ten eggs snap open. Mother Sauropod watches her family emerge from a crevice in cooled molten rock.
They wiggle between ferns, over wooden debris, broken concrete. Past skeletal remains: “Homo sapiens,” the mother states.
Nearby lies a torn book cover, words “global warming” intact.
Krystyna Fedosejevs lives in Edmonton, Alberta. She writes and publishes poetry as well as flash fiction.
“Steef, plead case,” said the judge.
“Girac keep cave security deposit. Me want it back.”
“Girac, what is defense?”
“You honor, he paint buffalo on walls! Look, I paint them to show court.”
“Judge, want add copyright infringement to suit. Girac unlegally reproduce Steef paintings,” added Steef.
“Verdict for defense.”
Craig has previously been published on fiftywordstories.com and in The Labyrinth.
Groog no longer looked at Nugnug the way he used to. Now he watched Lala, who wore short loincloths.
“Nogh Lala!” Nugnug said, feeling frustrated and neglected. Groog ignored her.
“Groog!” She punched him in the arm, but he didn’t even flinch.
We need to talk, she thought.
Alisia sometimes likes to write things and posts them at eurasianflavour.wordpress.com or on twitter.