One cold winter’s morning,
not so long ago,
the knights grumbled and complained,
as they strapped on their protective armor.
Boots, gloves, chest protectors, and hats.
They mustered by the door, reluctantly ready.
The trumpet sounded,
dad opened the door,
and watched the kids race to catch the school bus.
John Fowler served twenty years in the US Air Force before retiring and starting a second career in the IT field. He is also a Lay Pastor serving a small church near his home in Texas. His hobbies include reading, golfing, writing, and now oil painting.
The girl wiped her face with the red jacket she was wearing. He’d kicked her out and didn’t let her explain why. Through the cab window, she lipped the word please to him.
He sighed and opened the door.
Finally, he’ll listen.
He stuck his hand out. “My jacket please.”
Marc D. Avecilla stares in front of a T.V screen as the rows of coffee cups next to him grow. He’s focusing on trying to beat the famous video game Dark Souls. He’s placed honorable mention for a reflection contest and has been published at Eskimo Pie
Jai had decided to be completely honest with his wife. He shared his past with an understanding Nisha. When Vandana came wanting her letters back, he unhesitatingly returned these, while Nisha dreamingly looked on.
That night, Nisha snuggled up to Jai and whispered, “I also want to tell you something.”
Vijai Pant is a language teacher in a school in India. He is also a freelance writer.
“He fell. Hard. We’ve called 911.”
I was terrified. His eyes were closed.
“Severe concussion,” they say. Serious head trauma.
“CT is clear. No bleed. He needs rest.”
No contact sports. No TV. No colouring.
“Physical and cognitive rest.”
How do I possibly keep a six-year-old boy still?
Michelle is a freelance writer; who writes both fiction and non-fiction. She is a regular contributor to the Briar Crier Magazine, and has had her work featured recently in the Voice of the Farmer newspaper, and the Focus 50+ newspaper. In April 2016, she was shortlisted as a finalist at the Ontario Writers Conference Story Starters Contest
He gave everything. Candles and wine and his undivided attention. He gave me a ring he had fashioned with twine into a lover’s knot. He gave me his love. He would have given his last Rolo.
I had my own agenda. I gave him my best smile as I left.
Jean lives in Bath, UK. She loves writing 50 word stories and won’t give up trying!
Target confirmed, advance fee accepted, Robert dresses that night to kill. Black pants, black turtleneck, black greasepaint covering every inch of face and hands. Stealthy, he waits in shrubbery. Hours pass. Lights dim. Robert heeds nature’s call at last.
Sirens erupt: the alarm!
He’d never considered greasepaint below the belt.
Alexandra Renwick’s literary pulp fiction has appeared in Ellery Queen’s & Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazines, The Exile Book of New Canadian Noir, and Imaginarium: The Best Canadian Speculative Writing. When not inhabiting urban wetlands in Austin, Texas, she can be found curating a crumbling historic manor near downtown Ottawa. More at alexcrenwick.com.
He’d been running for years—even hijacked a spaceship once, using a plasma rifle and a bluff. But they’d finally caught up.
Mirrored glasses reflected his mute, fearful face as they scanned him and nodded.
“At a fifty percent penalty, you owe back taxes in the amount of…”
Alison pays her taxes. Honestly.
People usually covered their ears, or skipped the aviary altogether. Oddly, the squawking didn’t phase the little girl or her mother. They smiled, admiring the large, colorful birds.
The zookeeper wondered how anyone could tolerate such obnoxious shrieking when suddenly the child lifted her tiny hands and signed, “Pretty feathers.”
Pontius Paiva is loud and colorful. And although he probably belongs in a cage, he’s flying high at pontiuspaiva.com
“If that boy ever bothers you again,” says my Uncle Tommy, “punch him.”
He shows me his prize-winning right hook, but I can’t take my eyes off his nose, spread across his face like a pancake.
“How many fights did you win?” I ask.
He laughs and ruffles my hair.
Daniel teaches English in Poland, among other things.
She saw him walk from cubicle to cubicle, and her heart filled with longing for him to drop by.
“Would you like a date?” his sweet voice softly whispered in her ear. She stopped breathing for a moment, until noticing a plastic bag of dried fruit next to her face.
Katya Duft is a translator, interpreter, and language teacher, and enjoys writing short stories, poetry and her blog Tales from the Bus