Have you seen my left eye? I’ve misplaced it.
In 5th grade, my teacher told me to keep my eye on my paper.
So I plucked it out and kept it on my paper.
Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt. It’s more of an inconvenience.
I found it.
LC Treeheart has survived two super typhoons and paddled outrigger canoes in the ocean. She lives with her wife, Lizzy, in Oregon. They share their home with two extraordinary dogs, Pakpak and Mozart, and their grand piano, Francesca.
She had tried to teach you, ever since you were a little girl putting on your first pair of sneakers. “Later,” you would say. “Maybe next time. I promise.” You can’t remember how many times you promised.
Now she’s gone, and you still don’t know how to tie your shoelaces.
AJ Joseph is a bookaholic, semi-insomniac, unsuccessful recovering javaholic, and most importantly a writer. She occasionally writes at Words from Sonobe.
I was born and went to school. Then I got a job and now I’m retired.
Writing a memoir isn’t that easy when you’ve nothing to say.
Here’s the plan: Do something memorable.
Top of the list: kidnap Donald Trump and cut off his hair.
That ought to do it.
Henry lives in Somerset in the UK, which is at the moment still part of the European Union. He eats a lot of toast.
The lesson wasn’t going well. Lucy was trying to concentrate, but she couldn’t. Games, phone calls, messages, viral videos—everything was distracting from her work.
“If you use your phone, at least turn off the sound! It’s impossible to study!” Lucy snapped, even though shouting at the teacher was rude.
Sophie is a high school student from Ukraine. She’s been studying English for five years and she loves writing stories, so 50WS is a great combination of her favourite hobbies.
It was the first time I’d worn a suit in years.
Nervously, I feigned nonchalance. Made small talk. Nodded to people, surprisingly youthful, who didn’t nod back.
Now, seated near the back of the room, punch in hand, reality began to set in.
I was at the wrong class reunion.
Susan Gale Wickes lives in Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories and poetry and looks for inspiration in lots of strange places.
They’d only been married since the weekend, but she could readily identify his writer’s block.
She suggested that he might at least try to write something short, perhaps about a convicted criminal in his cell, awaiting the executioner’s call.
“Nah,” he replied. “I’ve never really been that much into autobiography.”
Ron. Lavalette has been widely published in both print and pixel forms. His first chapbook is now available from Finishing Line Press, and a reasonable sample of his published works can be found at EGGS OVER TOKYO.
He’d nibbled fingertips and the occasional toe, but he awoke Christmas morning to an entire arm dangling over the bed.
Yes! There was a Santa Claus.
But as the monster relished the impending feast, fit for the most discerning palate, little Bobby snorted and rolled over, dashing his Christmas dreams.
Because Alison and every sleeping child knows that only dangling arms and legs are fair game for the monster under the bed.
“I need to see you,” he says, phone denting his cheek.
She swallows, hard. That “sucking on a penny” taste.
20 minutes later, he rings her doorbell.
“Your dad is dead,” he says, no warmup.
“Oh thank God. I was afraid you were going to tell me you’re leaving me.”
Anne Gudger is a Portland writer who has been lucky to have words in Real Simple Magazine, The Rumpus, Slippery Elm, and more. In November 2017 Anne won two contests: Hippocampus and New Millennium Writings. She lives with her sweet husband, and their grown kids and kid-in-laws live not far.
His wingless angel protests, “You won’t like it,” but Derrick insists.
In the world in which he’d never been born, his parents haven’t divorced, his wife married Ryan Gosling, and the Beatles are all alive and still together.
“Nothing’s worse without me?” asks Derrick.
“Fruitcake still sucks,” his angel offers.
Tony Jasnowski teaches English at Bellevue University and is sure that we’d all be one step closer to living in Pottersville if 50-Word Stories didn’t exist.
Millions of microbes live symbiotically on every body, but this particular infestation was way out of control. Gaia had tried shaking them off, drowning them with strong showers, even killing them with heat, but through it all they persisted.
Finally, she stopped spinning and watched them float off into space.
Nathan Alling Long’s work has appeared in over 100 publications most recently in Manhattanville Review, Mud Season Review, and The Journal for Compressed Creative Arts. His collection of fifty flash fictions, The Origin of Doubt, was released in Spring 2018 by Press 53.