In the darkness,
only his face is illuminated by his laptop’s glow.
From another room comes that old Saturday night hop-along music,
Gun Smoke. Matt Dillon fires second, but more true.
The bad guy drops in Dodge City’s dusty main street.
And for a brief moment, the darkness is gone.
Matthew lives in Maine.
Hunt them in dark castles or the bedrooms of virgins.
Dispatch with a blunt instrument. Avoid the heart.
Hang the meat high.
Allow to drain for three days. Do not let it near sunlight.
Slice with a silver carving knife. Serve immediately.
Burn the clothes.
Keep the fangs.
Mark Farley is currently enjoying trying to write a 50-word bio but suspects he may miscalculate. He loves writing short stories and has been lucky enough to see his work appear in several flash fiction magazines. He blogs his creative writing at mumbletoes.blogspot.com
and often wishes he was better at poetry.
James heard the Gestapo dogs barking relentlessly as they chased him.
He banged frantically on the church door. A man wearing a black cassock answered. “Come in, my son. You are safe here.”
Relieved, James knelt to receive a blessing, then froze in horror. The man was wearing combat boots.
Joann Majerle retired and recently took up writing as a hobby.
Hezekiah was “soul” caretaker at the Mount Airy Cemetery. He liked to call himself “the keeper of the bones.”
While he prided himself in the lush, green grass and carefully groomed rows, it was the unmarked grave in Row 38 that had given him the greatest amount of personal satisfaction.
Susan Gale Wickes enjoys writing and daydreaming about where it might lead.
“Get some rest,” the doctor suggested, upon glancing at my chart for a millisecond. “The fever will break soon.”
It sounded dismissive and rehearsed.
I fought the urge to launch into a diatribe about attention to detail. Realistically, it didn’t matter anymore: he was unaware he’d been treating Patient Zero.
Eldar recently finished reading a novel about a devastating pandemic. Go figure.
A busy intersection; pouring rain. She must make a choice.
One direction offers comfort, everything she’s ever known. The other promises pain and more than a little adventure.
She steps off of the sidewalk, passing by her battered, bloody shoe, taking a turn away from the world and into eternity.
A. Elizabeth Herting is an aspiring freelance writer and busy mother of three living in colorful Colorado. She has had short stories featured in Bewildering Stories, Peacock Journal, Dark Fire Fiction, Friday Fiction, Under the Bed, and Fictive Dream. She has also published non-fiction work in Denver Pieces Magazine and bioStories. More info is available on her website and Facebook page.
As he fumbled to open the squeaky back door, he cursed himself for not having used WD-40. And there she was, just staring at him, with her revolver at the ready.
“Thank God,” she said. “I thought you were a burglar.”
He smiled in relief as she pulled the trigger.
Fred Vogel is working on a collection of short stories as well as a third collection of poetry. He plays bad guitar but sings like a bird. He lives in the Pacific Northwest.
There are many ways to die on stage, but I never expected this.
Sleight of hand at the props table, the audience blissfully unaware. As the cool blade pierced my skin, a searing pain forced me to my knees.
The knife had been switched. My co-star finally had her revenge.
Anna is a performer and writer from Nottingham, England. Follow her creative journey on Twitter
I look through the window and se two children playing catch.
I look down at my feet and pet my orange cat. “Which reality do we visit today?”
The cat meows.
I strike a few buttons on the keyboard. Seconds later, our window is full of bright lights.
Larry Sells wrote this story.
Darkness crept over him like a sheet of ice. Is this the end? he wondered. He shuddered as the light was extinguished, leaving him alone in the emptiness of nothing.
Suddenly, a beacon of light pierced the blackness.
His mother always made sure to turn on the nightlight.
Jonathan is a freelance writer in Southern California. He loves writing almost as much as he likes In N Out
, which is to say: a lot.