“Again with the sacrificial cults?” the editor shouted, tossing her draft in the trash. “We’re not a tabloid.”
“But people need to know-”
“That you have an axe to grind?” he interrupted. “Bring me a real story, or you’re fired!”
And that’s when she noticed the blood on his shoe.
No animals were harmed in the making of this story. Get the inside scoop on Pontius Paiva and the latest stories at pontiuspaiva.com.
I pondered bony in a shroud,
And gloat and glide o’er graves on hills,
Then all at once, I saw a cloud,
The ghost of Obadiah Mills.
In centuries or maybe more,
I ne’er saw such a spirit soar.
What horrors or internal strife
Saw this man exiled after life?
Jo Withers is a cheery soul who loves writing about death, doom, and dinosaurs. She managed to combine all three topics in her middle-grade novel 5 Simple Steps to Saving Planet Earth.
Everyone lived happily ever after…
That’s what should’ve happened if Jane hadn’t screwed up. Now we’re behind bars and it’s all that idiot’s fault.
But I’m getting ahead of myself, rambling on without introduction. My poor mam’d be rolling in her grave.
Let’s try again. Hi. My name is Jane.
Jenny Han feels older and acts younger than her age.
The librarian read with vitality. She glanced at her audience of preschoolers and noticed wide-eyed horror. Confused, the librarian continued to read her best.
She startled as scaly fingers covered her own. The monster crawled out the book and purred against her.
She kept reading as long as she could.
Tyrean Martinson (pronounced T + Irene) is a writer, daydreamer, teacher, student, and believer from the rainy side of Washington state. She writes fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and eclectic journal entries. She prefers speculative fiction, but now and then she writes contemporary or historical. She winces when writing kissing scenes, but has no problem writing sword fighting scenes. She believes “write what you know” includes “write what you can imagine.” She has fiction and non-fiction books found all places e-books are sold and she can be found online at tyreanswritingspot.blogspot.com.
Some wild-eyed vagrant bursts into a studio and tells a young artist about the evil he’s done and his years on the run. He hands the artist a pistol.
The artist listens attentively before recognising the vagrant’s eyes as his.
Terror… Then resignation follows as he slowly squeezes the trigger.
One of Connell’s many dilemmas is whether to write a bit or not before going to bed. When he writes, he’s sleepy the next day, and when he doesn’t, the ideas slip away.
He wondered, first, why it hadn’t died.
Grey fur, scarce, in patches. Full of fleas, and two tender red eyes. Worms. Some bones broken, limbs bent.
Loaded the gun. Shot it. “Rest, now.”
But when it raised its head again, he realized:
Perhaps it was never alive to begin with.
Uzair Shahed Islam is an economics and mathematics student at the Lahore University of Management Sciences who writes fiction and non-fiction in his spare time.
Navin brought the dragon to his lips and kissed her tiny nose. “It’s time,” he said.
The dragon nodded, unfolded her shimmering wings and launched. In ever widening circles, she exhaled over the frigid land.
Navin smiled as banks of white capitulated to a triumph of green and riotous color.
Mary Haynes splits her time between sailing in Florida and dirt-dwelling in Burlington, ON. She is currently writing short stories and plays.
“Before we go our separate ways…”
“I just wanted to say…”
“That it’s been great knowing you…”
“I wouldn’t have been able to pull this off…”
They’re still running as they say their goodbyes, the thwup-thwup-thwup of the helicopters growing louder.
I. E. Kneverday is a writer of fiction. His first book, The Woburn Chronicles: A Trio of Supernatural Tales Set in New England’s Most Mysterious City, is available now. You can read more of Kneverday’s microfiction on Medium.
First-grade bedtime. Lights are out. A coat-draped chair turns into the mummy watching my bed. Malfunctioning WiFi turns the nanny cam’s playful green light into the red-eyed demon watching me, too.
The wee, perilous hours of the night require defensive weapons of choice: a blanket pulled overhead and Duracell flashlight.
Darnell Cureton is a middle-aged man at the crossroads of life, expressing his personality through technology and creative writing.
“Humanity’s greatest adventure: a footprint on Mars. We had enough to survive, but not, it turns out, to live. The rot was in our souls, sick for home, for green. Darkness took them one by one. Only I remain, marooned, looking to the stars for a final glimpse of home.”
Bill is from Aberdeen, Scotland. He is the end product of a centuries long breeding programme designed to produce the perfect human being. It didn’t work.