The local diner, sun about to show herself.
He passed me,
sat at the counter.
Doing so, his shorts slid down, revealing two grey,
cotton-covered buttocks and a vertical crack.
Hard not to look.
Leaving, he flashed a smile my way,
the horizontal crack considerably more appealing.
I smiled back.
My mother enjoyed researching our family tree – searching through census data, sending off for birth certificates, the lot. She painted a fruit tree on the wall, adding names and photos to its branches.
Then she discovered Great-Grandpa was a member of the KKK.
We burned his picture on the lawn.
writes novels, flash fiction and the occasional poem.
“Isn’t Darryl joining us?” I ask my host.
Otis grunts, gnaws on a BBQ rib. Should ribs be that big?
They’d argued… I heard thuds. This is hillbilly country!
A bruised Darryl appears. “Dang, Otis! Don’t freak our dinner guest.”
Then he stage whispers, “You know fear spoils the meat!”
Mary Sheehan hails from southern Ireland and is vegetarian…
Gerald was in the unenviable position of having a pseudonym more popular than himself. He had submitted five stories and had none accepted. Mitchell Kent—Gerald’s middle name and favorite superhero—had been published twice. Gerald had to get rid of Mitchell. Murder or suicide? Either way it’d be messy.
Mark Konik is a writer from Newcastle, Australia. He writes short stories and plays.
She felt guilty for doing this, but Time waited for Zoe. Time tried to maintain her standards—a second had always been a second for everyone, no exceptions—but, captivated by Zoe, she found herself unwound. Time couldn’t stop herself.
Zoe wondered why her life seemed to move so slowly.
Iain Young once, mistakenly, thought Time waited for him, but it was just something he ate.
We had been going at it over a year before my wife found out.
She’s truly a remarkable person: compassionate, bright, dignified, highly restrained.
She said, I believe it’s time we let you-know-who go. I’ll answer your calls, do your bookkeeping, schedule meetings. It’s time I helped manage your affairs.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble.” His first novel, “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel,” was recently rereleased. Visit BobThurber.net
He was an older version of me. The years have not been kind.
“Don’t go out tonight,” he warned, before vanishing into thin air.
I guess I could invite my date here instead.
He reappeared and slapped me in the face. “The point is to avoid the girl, you idiot.”
Pontius Paiva has been published several times in the past and hopes to be published again in the future. If you have the time, travel over to pontiuspaiva.com
to read more.
The centurion realized they were doomed
surrounded by barbarian hordes
Not his choice, being sent to Germania
To die on foreign soil, in this supposed adventure
For the Glory of Rome and Gaius Cornelius Tacitus
He marked the time on his Rolex
The professor was wrong
Time travel… really sucked
Paul Hock wrote this story.
Life had taken over. I’d tried to get it back on track. Thwarted at every step, I finally called the children to my feet. In simple language I tried to explain how life sometimes runs amok, despite our best efforts.
The television remote was beyond my mental capabilities, I explained.
Gordon Lysen is enjoying retirement one day at a time.
Visiting a dark church, I notice a bowed head in the front pew, haloed with rainbows from stained-glass saints in leaded windows. I respect his need for peace and soulful prayer.
Quietly tiptoeing to the altar, a sidelong glance reveals his cupped hands radiating light, and that he is texting.
Viv Burgess likes writing, it’s the thinking that is troublesome.