At each corner, she read the street sign. She studied the shops and houses, examined the faces of passersby, searching for someone or something that looked familiar. She squeezed her brother’s hand. He was too young to remember anything except their mother. Maybe the next one, she said each time.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble.” His first novel, “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel,” was recently rereleased. Visit BobThurber.net.
Seventy-five-year-old Pete waved his gun, shouting, “He stole my shoes!”
Vera told the police he was wearing the “stolen” shoes. They talked Pete into turning over the gun and leaving with them.
Vera twisted the engagement ring she’d worn for 20 years as she waited for his wife to die.
Diane de Anda, a retired UCLA professor and third-generation Latina, has edited four books and published numerous articles in scholarly journals, short stories, poetry, and essays in Rosebud, Straylight, Storyteller, Pacific Review, Frogpond, Modern Haiku, Bottle Rockets, Presence, and others, eight children’s books, satires in Humor Times, and a collection of 40 flash fiction stories.
The train station convenience store cashier in the Austrian podunk where I’m homeless spices things up with foreign phrases. He might greet a customer with “Bonjour” or “Master Commander.”
As he hands me my change, I whisper, “Danke.”
He replies, “You are welcome,” and I fantasise that I finally am.
Angela Brett is a mathematician and linguist by training, programmer by trade, and writer by neglecting everything else. She is a New Zealander living in Austria and writing at angelastic.com
Crosswords, cappuccinos, and Classic FM: I basked in the gentle cadence of Sundays until I was caught depositing company profits into my account. Now, Sundays are indistinguishable from every other day: anaemic coffee, bartering jam for marmalade, and the sonorous symphony of my cellmate making a different kind of deposit.
Fee Johnstone is a managing editor of a medical journal who lives in Scotland and favours cats, craft beer, and cheese over most other things.
It was one of our last meals together. She’d fixed pork chops the way I liked: plain, fried, with onions, in an old iron skillet.
How could I tell her I’d miss her? “Whenever I see a pork chop, I’ll think of you.”
Once again, she gave me that look.
Norman Gin is a novice at writing and this is his very first attempt at a 50-word story.
I wake to familiar tapping on my fingers.
I live with my family of five and seven others. Among the seven are a young girl and a grumpy old man. He says he belongs. She looks for her mum.
No cupboards flapping; it’s not your cliché haunting. This isn’t Hollywood.
Michelle is a freelance writer who writes both fiction and non-fiction. She is a regular contributor to the Briar Crier Magazine and has had her work featured recently in the Voice of the Farmer newspaper and the Focus 50+ newspaper. In April 2016 she was shortlisted as a finalist at the Ontario Writers Conference Story Starters Contest.
I’m always skeptical when my boyfriend says he’s a lumberjack.
There’s something about the way he cuts his hair every winter, how his checked flannel shirt hangs loose around his trunk and his thorny beard scratches my cheeks when we kiss—but I wouldn’t put roots down with anybody else.
Guy branched out into story writing to compensate for his wooden personality. This is his seventeenth 50-word story.
The story of the week for February 13 to 17 is…
The Bells by Hannah Froggatt
Oneiric by Pontius Paiva
Great artistry and imagination from both authors. We had a very strong week and now and then I’m forced to expand my rule-set a little!
Red roses are cliché.
Daisies’ friendly faces look pitifully eager.
Orchids make you work too much for their beauty.
Lilies’ quiet elegance masks a faint bridal whiff.
Tulips: unassuming and perfect.
Later, I offer her the painstakingly-selected bouquet. “No!” she yelps, slamming the door. “I’m allergic to those!”
Nina Sudhakar is a writer, photographer, lawyer and wanderer. She writes about travel and culture on her website
“Dad, you can’t keep appearing in my bedroom as and when you want. Please respect my privacy.”
Dad just sits there on the end of my bed, nods, and leaves the room. The room suddenly becomes very cold.
Dad passed away over a year ago now. Still seems like yesterday.
Chris is a Network Manager involved in many aspects of IT. He loves writing short stories and technical articles, photography, and playing the guitar. He is from Dudley in the Black Country. He is also a member of The Oldbury Writing Group.