The exhausted hero stumbled into the village square, dragging a monstrous, gruesome trophy behind him.
Onlookers gasped as he pulled the creature’s head from the stained sack. Its green eyes glimmered in the sunlight as he tossed it aloft.
It hit the ground with a wet thud.
The proletariat cheered.
Daniels is a writer of horror and weird fiction. His short stories have been featured in Corner Bar Magazine, Helix Magazine, and various anthologies. He lives in New England with his wife, kids, and a couple of devious cats. Find out more at bldaniels.wordpress.com
My grandma has forgotten the word for Mahjongg. She keeps asking to play yoga.
I think about what that might mean.
She’d be teacher. Her poses would have names like desserts: the rugelach, the macaroon. I’d contort myself, wobble, fall. We’d both laugh.
From the closet, I get the tiles.
Brooke Randel is a writer and copywriter in Chicago, IL. Her fiction has been published in Ropes, Two Cities Review, Punchnel’s and Beecher’s Magazine. She’s currently co-writing a memoir with her grandma.
The clock strikes twelve. Glasses clink, the shiny ball drops, cheers all around.
In the midst of the confetti, I stand alone, champagne in hand… waiting.
Waiting for you, my love. Waiting for your kiss to signal another New Year.
My mind knows you’ve gone, but my heart still waits.
Susan Lozano wrote this story.
One of the brakes on my bike is broken. It doesn’t matter. It’s flat here.
Smiling white folks wave at me from golf carts. The weather is always warm. I married up.
I wonder if I’m as good as they are. Or as bad. Maybe I’m both. But hopefully neither.
Sarah Hausman likes to keep her bio shorter than her stories. Links and updates can be found at Facebook.com/sarahhausmanwrites
Clouds bulge grey and spit fat drops into my river, slate-grey in reflection. I relish their wanton lack of care, their wild abandon, their unthinking fall and splash.
Then come the bereft, sad, homeless seeking shelter under my bridge.
I welcome them, my teeth razors, my mouth waiting underwater.
Aisling Green wrote this story.
I sit in the family room wearing a hat, surrounded by memories.
Dad was a collector. It started small, with pencils.
One day he came home with beer cans. A new collection was born.
I think he loved his hat collection best.
He died last year, leaving me his treasures.
Candace Kubinec wrote this story.
Happy New Year!
Another resolution to make; another resolution to break…
Perhaps this year will be different?
Yet, as 2017 rolls into 2018, I am mostly happy.
Never the same, one day to the next.
Everyone has bad days…
Wandering off the path, hoping it always leads back.
Michelle is a contributing author in the most recent Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Spirit of Canad
a. Her writing has won several awards, and appeared in The Globe and Mail
and a number of local magazines and newspapers in Alliston and Barrie. She has a monthly series in the Focus 50 + Newspaper based on her short story “Lightning Strikers.” You can find her online at michelledinnick.com
The Story of the Month is chosen from the Story of the Week winners announced from the past month.
The finalists for December were:
Never Grow Up by Ksenia Bezvikonnaya
New Beginnings by Joey To
Hopeful by Maura Yzmore
The Cruelest Part by Dave Novak
Happy New Year by Mary Steer
They Only Ask, What’s Next? by Kara Johnson-Martinez
The winner of the December 2017 Story of the Month, and the $10 prize, is…
They Only Ask, What’s Next?
The story explored a thematic space that is a little less common among the submissions I see, but is obviously a very important moment in life for many people. The use of “show, don’t tell” is excellent, and I also appreciate the technical skill Kara demonstrated by using the title to enhance the story in a powerful, yet subtle way.
The story of the week for January 1 to 5 is…
Roommate From Hell by Sarah Krenicki
In college I had a roommate who kept “borrowing” my clothes.
I made a salt perimeter around my closet door as a passive-aggressive joke, but when it worked too well I tested it out on the refrigerator.
I reimbursed her for the week of take-out and we called it even.
Sarah Krenicki is 90% sure all her non-feline roommates have been human.