Seven gunmen carried their six-shooters into the cavern, emptied their rounds into the beast’s flesh, and killed it like they’d promised. This way they’d be safe when they went to collect the treasure, even though all of them were out of bullets.
All but one.
He still had all six.
Tony Blaine is a writer and English teacher in the Pacific Northwest. He started writing fiction in college and hopes to get pretty good at it someday. Follow him on Instagram for more of his flash fiction or visit wheneverihavetime.com to read his full-length short stories.
I never was in love with Gillian. Just thought I was.
But once she expired in my cellar, it smelled bad. And after I buried her, I found the diary in the wall crack. All she wrote about was escaping.
A petite redhead exits the bike path alone every evening.
Shoshauna Shy has had her flash fiction published by Sou’wester, Fiction Southeast, 100WordStory.com and other places.
An acrid chemical haze blanketed the city wastelands. The noon sky glowed with an eerie crepuscular light. The Cataclysm proffered two choices: adapt or die.
In the fields we no longer chased butterflies. They now chased us, their flapping avian wings dusting us with fine powder that necrotised human flesh.
Melanie always feared her childhood obsession with catching butterflies would, one day, come back to haunt her.
He was used to the hallucinations that came with Lewy Body Dementia. He was no longer surprised when he saw bugs and animals crawling out of the walls.
So he wasn’t afraid when he saw a giant python slithering down the hall toward him.
Not until it swallowed him whole.
Harry Demarest hopes to publish his fiftieth 50-word story before he ends up in a memory care facility.
Philip sought a good book to live in.
He’d tilted at windmills with Quixote, rafted rivers with Huck, and fished with the old man in the sea.
Finally he decided to make a permanent home. With eyes closed, he chose the first book he touched and entered.
“In the beginning…”
Alison just loves a good book, or a short story for that matter.
they are going to vote ‘guilty’
and she refuses to believe
the new procedures are fair
nervous as she ascends the podium
unfolding her statement – she is not
convinced that bias has been eliminated
a dozen people deliberating in a room
is better than
a million poised behind smartphone screens
Note: Now read the story from the last line through to the first!
Alanah Andrews is an English teacher in Australia. She is the author of “Beyond,” A Short Story Collection of twisted tales, ghosts, aliens, murder, and “beyond.” You can follow her at facebook.com/alanahandrewsauthor.
Achilles removed his armor.
His servant announced, “The soldiers wish to celebrate your victory over Hector. I’ll re-attach your anklet.”
He waved him away. “I don’t need it just to drag a body before the gates of Troy.”
Achilles taunted the Trojans, then felt the deadly bite of Paris’ arrow.
Bill Diamond is a writer in Evergreen, Colorado, whose initial work has appeared in The MacGuffin, Eastern Iowa Review and Windmill and other publications. See more at bdiamondwriting.com.
Lieutenant Harold Demarest stands on the bridge, watching a kamikaze roar towards him.
Below, Gunner Frank McClelland fires the 40mm cannon and hits the suicide plane.
It veers downward, exploding into the ship.
Demarest is alive, a flimsy clipboard shielding his head. Below, Frank McClelland and seventeen others are dead.
Frank McClelland was awarded the Silver Star Posthumously. Harry
Demarest wrote this story about his father, Harold Demarest, who attended
many reunions with his shipmates until his death at age 96.
It was a problem from day one. I’d never wanted a roommate, but simply couldn’t swing the apartment any other way.
I plumped the pillows and placed them precisely in their preferred positions on the pristine couch.
Then I huddled down in my bean bag and waited for the enemy.
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories and poetry and has never owned a bean bag.
The platform’s empty. The train isn’t due for almost an hour, but I’m in no hurry.
Someone left yesterday’s newspaper on the bench. Another celebrity wedding. Another mass shooting. Same old, same old.
Tomorrow will be different. “Woman saves child,” it will say.
This time I’ll stop him from falling.
Kim McGreal lives in the UK with her husband, daughter, and a cat that believes scritches are more important than writing. She can be found on Twitter @kimsfic.