Sam can be so stubborn… most recently, his refusal to wear a mask.
I begged him. He scoffed, said it was silly, too confining.
“It’s not all about you!” I snapped. “Think of our friends. It’s expected, after all.”
Grumbling, he finally relented.
He’ll make a great Yoda this Halloween.
Lisa Chambers is a Texas girl who loves writing (and reading) short stories.
Editor: But actually though: wear a mask!
We were disoriented when some blue objects miraculously turned green and various green items inexplicably turned blue. We weren’t able to differentiate blue from bleen and green from grue before that happened so what else are we misinterpreting? We can only wait in trepidation for the next shoe to drop.
Don Nigroni has a Bachelor’s Degree in Economics from Saint Joseph’s University and a Master’s Degree in Philosophy from Notre Dame and worked as an economist for the US Bureau of Labor Statistics.
The smoke alarm goes off seconds before the doorbell, but the oven can wait.
Smoke billows behind you while she beams before you. “I brought wi—oh, wow.”
You sigh at the blackened promise of ‘simple and easy’ romantic dinner, but she leans against you, as natural as breathing. “Pizza?”
Rebecca Ruvinsky is a student and emerging writer in Florida. Found at @writeruvinsky, she has work forthcoming in Underland Arcana and Prospectus. In her free time, she writes daily poems and goes to rocket launches.
A top propagandist and Politburo member in the party, the younger sister now controls the Guidance and Organization Department, aka G.O.D., the body administering ideological indoctrination, party organization and political appointments.
Through edicts issued by G.O.D., a woman has unprecedented control of the future.
At last, there’s hope for mankind.
James Menges is a writer and photographer. He is a member of the Dramatists Guild of America.
She cut herself falling off her bike. Instead of blood, wires spilled out.
She wondered if her childhood was a lie, fake memories coded into her psyche. If her parents were androids too.
The last one was easy to test.
She taped a metal detector to the doorway and waited.
C.M.F. Wright (@cmf_wright) is an avid fantasy reader and sentence wrangler. Her short stories have appeared in Fifty Word Stories, Syntax & Salt Magazine and the VSS365 Anthology.
Her sweet gaze froze me, yet thawed my soul
Like a microwave-refrigerator, if that we’re such a thing
But we both play bass
We both play bass
Two strings, tethered in parallel
Destined never to cross
Because we both play bass
We could never band together
Kit is an ad student from Florida, and he loves a good story. He’s just a zany kid who has a lot of inspiration and is looking for something to do with it.
They stopped legally selling candy cigarettes because it encouraged smoking in minors. The problem was, I was already going through two packs a day. Now I meet shady kids on the playground who sell them at a premium from inside their overcoats.
I wish I’d never chewed that first stick.
Shawn D. Brink has four novels and many shorter works to his name. For more, please visit shawnbrinkauthor.wordpress.com. Shawn is represented by Liverman Literary Agency and lives in Nebraska, USA.
When the game comes on, my friends know not to call.
I love cheering on the players and yelling at the TV. All part of the fan experience; a true American institution.
Throw in some snacks and I’m set.
It all kicks off with three simple words.
This… is… Jeopardy!
Lisa Chambers is a Texas girl who enjoys writing (and watching Jeopardy).
She’s an entrepreneur, though not of life-altering stuff. No vaccines or edu-tech.
She makes beauty potions for the uber-rich. Sells the promise of lifelong allure, at 500% profit. They buy happily.
Then she gives their money away. Feeds, shelters, medicates the destitute. Anonymously.
She’s the legal kind of Robin Hood.
Megha Nayar writes to remain sane. It is her escape from drudgery, dealing with people, and the drudgery of dealing with people.
At the running trail’s straightaway, I knew I could make my legs pistons, sprint like I was 25, but suddenly Goose-Poop Alley loomed, 100 yards of goopy green and brown sidewalk smudges. I leaped, twisted, quick-minced, and lunged, the ballet dancer I’d never been but was now—magnificently!–at 74.
Paul Lamar lives with his husband, Mark, in Albany, NY, not far from three grown children and two swell grandkids.