Bitten badly once, Linda felt twice shy. Yet Bob seemed safe.
The night he invited her over, she pecked his cheek as he opened his door.
His response: “Whoa—down, boy!”
Was she too forward, she wondered? Or was he… excited?
Then the answer struck—all furry paws and sloppy kisses.
Christa is a professional writer with a passion for creative expression. She has had her poetry and short stories featured in several publications, including River Poets Journal, The Write Room, Tanka Journal, Haiku Journal, and Every Day Fiction. Currently she resides in South Jersey with her six feline muses.
Peter hadn’t inherited his father’s disease, but a child of his could. He couldn’t allow it.
“This won’t hurt,” the doctor promised. It bloody did! He deserved that for not telling Clara, who desperately wanted a baby.
A year later, Clara announced, “I’m pregnant!”
Seemed she had a secret, too.
Mary lives and writes in southeast Ireland.
“You can’t wear that!”
“It’s hot pink, and too short!”
“We’re going to church!”
“Jesus won’t mind.”
“But your legs. Everyone will see-”
“I’ll wear what I want, when I want.”
Elderly Mrs. Franks wore the dress to church, scarred legs and all.
Kelsey Josephson is an introvert who enjoys connecting with others through writing and mixed-media. She lives with her husband, two young children, and a very sensible cat. She can be found on Instagram
Tears flooded down her cheeks. The girl’s most outrageous fantasy had been realized: a pair of unicorns, in nature.
As she surveyed their matted, blood-soaked coats with horror, her eyes froze on contact with the victor, who, looking elated but puzzled, said: “Why do you think we have the horn?”
Kai Gaitley is pursuing an English major at the University of Hawaii at Hilo, and enjoys discovering the energy that resides within every format, whether it is a sonnet, a blog, or a well researched essay. This dalliance with fiftywordism is a new and exacting path, full of high-stakes promise and brutal editing decisions.
Emily knitted dreams into every row on the socks she made for her son Frank. Thoughts far away on palm-laced shores, she knitted and purled from toe to heel, ribbed a cuff of tropical sunsets.
Frank complained they made his feet itch.
He runs a bar in the Bahamas now.
Karla Dearsley’s stories, flash fiction, and poetry have appeared online and in print on both sides of the Atlantic. Her fantasy novels are available on Amazon and Smashwords. Find out more at ksdearsley.com
At the family’s yearly Seder, Mom farted.
Dad farted to deflect her embarrassment. Grandpa let one rip, and grandma came out with her silent but deadly. My brother nodded at me and we doubled down.
A cousin, the youngest, asked if these could count in place of the four questions.
Paul had a micro story, “Brother Speak”, selected for the 2018 Norton Microfiction Anthology. His published story website is paulbeckmanstories.com
As usual, Joe was prepared: food and water, map and compass, rain gear and tent, flashlight, matches. He left a note with his name, date, time, and route.
He set out, hiking the yard’s unvarying relief. Around, around.
His wife, pouring herself more wine, hoped he’d get lost this time.
Iain Young thinks the best part of a hike is the end, when he sees his car in the parking lot.
Phineas Phelps found figurative fiction fascinating, frankly.
As an author, alliteration always added authenticity.
He carefully crafted creative copy, constantly cultivating killer quotable content.
Naturally, news networks need new knowledgeable know-it-alls, Phineas figured.
His hottest headline?
Prayer Park Pair Peeps Pope Pooping Per Private Property; Prez Promises Prompt Papal Persecution.
Jonathan writes written words by tepidly typing text. You can find more micro writing of his on Twitter
The television at the diner was gone. My waitress said that someone smashed it. It was hard for me to imagine who would do such a thing.
After I ate, I went to the parking lot. I heard the sound of breaking glass. The manager was breaking someone’s car windows.
John Kujawski wrote this story.
After my husband’s departure, I acquired a dog for company.
Out walking, Rufus found a body in the woods. The policeman gave him some treats.
He scented the second corpse in the canal.
When Rufus brought back a finger, he had to go.
He’d also started scratching at the patio.
Viv Burgess wonders why dog walkers who find bodies in crime novels never get suspected. There’s a book in there somewhere, but it would take more than 50 words.