When the lion emerged from the quarantine, he sidled up next to the lamb.
They had lunch together.
This happened before its time, contrary to Messianic prognostications.
Some say it was a hoax.
Some say it was a miracle.
Some say the vaccine.
Hard to know the truth these days.
Linda Vigen Phillips’ poems have appeared in The Texas Review, California Quarterly, NC Poetry Society Award Winning Poems 2001, Wellspring, Main Street Rag, Independence Boulevard, and The Whole Idea. She has published two young adult novels in verse: Crazy and Behind These Hands. She lives in Charlotte, NC.
David’s Gran smelled of urine and talcum powder, and her parrot always squawked when he visited her. He could not drink Gran’s tea or eat her cake.
“It’ll put hairs on your chest,” she said.
But David is still waiting for the parrot to sprout a fur coat and bark.
K. S. Dearsley’s stories, flash fiction, and poetry have appeared online and in print on both sides of the Atlantic, including in Fifty-Word Stories. Her fantasy novels are available on Amazon and Smashwords. Find out more at ksdearsley.com.
It’s not your fault, Son. After all you went through, they still didn’t follow instructions.
“It didn’t work. There’s too much suffering. What can we do?”
Shut it down. Just like I started it 6024 years ago.
And God said, “Let there be no light.”
And there was no light.
Harry Demarest wrote this story.
Monday morning: I know she’s wrong.
Tuesday: I think she’s wrong.
Wednesday: I ask my workmate, “She’s wrong, no?”
Thursday: I cook pan-roasted salmon, wait for her.
Friday: “Are you still angry, Baby?”
Saturday: “Sorry. I knew I was wrong.”
Sunday: We drive to the beach, curl up under stars.
Mandira Pattnaik is an Economics graduate who lets her degree gather dust while she word-weaves. Some of those pieces have made their way into Spelk, Lunate, Gasher, Star82, and fiftywordstories. She tweets @MandiraPattnaik.
The Tokyo lad bicycling Canada had been warned in advance: Nature there would frighten a city boy. Wheeling around a shaggy tree-lined bend at dusk, he understood what they’d meant. But then the road straightened, and when McDonald’s golden arches dawned in the West, Quebec felt a lot like home.
James Gallant’s short story collection, “La Leona and Other Guitar Stories,” which won the 2019 Schaffner Press prize for music-in-literature, has just been published, and is available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, etc.
Revenge kept Miss Felpham alive. As she outlived the rivals and tormentors of her youth, she took pleasure in walking her terrier among their graves. It had taken some training, but the dog would now do its business on command.
Each morning, she took her time picking the day’s spot.
James is a writer from Brighton, and is currently working on a book of stories about the South Downs Way.
Life is about winning the prize. He thinks nothing can stop him but always ends up back where he started. Get after it again. Success requires dogged determination, and he has it aplenty.
Again he attains the prize. Again it’s tossed away.
Never give up. Never.
Squeak squeak. “Fetch, Boy.”
David Henson and his wife reside in Peoria, Illinois. His work has has appeared in numerous print and online journals. His website is writings217.wordpress.com. Follow him on Twitter at @annalou8.
Such meticulous planning: poignant prayers, elegant oak casket, extravagant flowers. All ruined.
Overlooking the river from the flower-adorned hill, the plot I picked had guaranteed eternity with a view.
And what did those imbeciles do? Lowered me in backwards. Now I face eternity gazing uphill at my own rotting feet.
Jenn is a former English teacher who has only recently entered the world of writing. She decided to begin with flash fiction and has quickly fallen in love with the crafting of very short stories. Jenn is a Scot based in Manchester, UK.
We are folding laundry together when my husband holds up a piece of cloth. “What’s this?” he says.
“Just a rag,” I say.
He puts on a little squeaky voice, pretending to be the rag. “I used to be something!” he protests.
“We all did,” I reply.
We fall silent.
Cheryl Caesar lived in Paris, Tuscany and Sligo for 25 years; she earned her doctorate in comparative literature at the Sorbonne and taught literature and phonetics. She now teaches writing at Michigan State University. Last year she published over a hundred poems in the U.S., Germany, India, Bangladesh, Yemen and Zimbabwe, and won third prize in the Singapore Poetry Contest for her poem on global warming. Her chapbook Flatman: Poems of Protest in the Trump Era is now available from Amazon and Goodreads. See more at caesarc.msu.domains.
I get home from work. My dog leaps into my arms and I bask in his unconditional love. I think, Dogs are great, but I’m glad I’m a superior animal.
I sit and flip on the TV: racism, rioting, and Tiger King.
I look back at my dog.
Joshua Addison resides in the foothills of Appalachia where he attempts to write historical fiction. Occasionally between bouts of writer’s block he attempts to put together something that resembles a micro-fiction.