A bunch of them broke into my home shouting gibberish while I was sleeping. I awoke and tried to get them to leave, but they pointed these odd-looking weapons at me. I had no choice but to fire my lasers at them.
Until now, I thought humans were a myth.
Doug Hawley is a little old man who lives in Lake Grove Oregon USA. After retiring as an actuary, he began writing, collecting music, hiking, snowshoeing, and volunteering. More personal and writing info is in his blog and on his website.
The room was so small, he couldn’t fathom how he had ever enjoyed living here. He had a feeling he was no longer welcome anyway, and now the landlord was practically begging him to leave. He was glad to oblige, until his tiny body met the frigid delivery room air.
Julianna is a tax attorney, but asks that you please not hold it against her. She is new to flash fiction and loves the challenge of the format.
I folded their socks, washed, and paired them. I collected them from the floors of their bedrooms, rolled, inside out, crumpled.
As they grew, I found them tucked down the sides of beds, inside duvet covers. A game of hide and sock.
Now they are gone.
I miss their socks.
Jane Langan writes fiction and poetry and is currently working on her debut novel. Her anthology of poems, Blood Kisses, is available now. Jane has been shortlisted for a number of writing competitions and has been published in several magazines. Besides writing, she enjoys photography and tap dancing. She has just completed an MA in Creative Writing.
“My case is simple, you shall see:
don’t listen to or heed his plea,
In jail he should remain our guest.
The prosecution now will rest.”
“The deed, if done, was in the past,
which disappears, and really fast,
so judge and jury please admit
you’re not clairvoyants; hence, acquit.”
Don Nigroni is a retired labor economist and volunteer Weed Warrior at the Heinz National Wildlife Refuge.
After a year of retirement spent plopped on the couch bingeing on-demand TV and enjoying the freedom from corporate deadlines that filled sleepless nights with worry, I’m thinking I better start setting my own deadlines and get my butt moving or else the inevitable deadline will arrive sooner than later.
Charles Gray is retired and living in Austin, Texas. He enjoys playing chess and writing.
“Thank you, Darling, that’s just exactly what I needed,” he said without even looking up, too busy shoveling the meal’s few delectable remnants into his drooling face; too insensitive and neglectful to provide the eye contact every great chef both craves and deserves.
“You’re welcome,” she replied, mentally debating antidotes.
Ron. Lavalette lives on Vermont’s Canadian border. His poetry, flash fiction, and creative nonfiction has been very widely published in both print and pixel forms. His first chapbook, Fallen Away (Finishing Line Press), is now available at all standard outlets. A reasonable sample of his published works can be found at EGGS OVER TOKYO.
The picnic was everything they’d hoped for.
The table, beautifully set, sparkled in the afternoon sun.
Heavenly aromas wafted on the summer breeze.
They anxiously gathered around in anticipation of the upcoming feast.
Betty brought potato salad.
Bill made his famous meatloaf.
Sadly for them, Mildred brought a fly swatter.
Susan Gale Wickes lives in Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories, cartoon captioning contests, and the occasional picnic.
There was a great gaping hole in his life. He hadn’t dug it himself; he’d certainly allowed them to backfill it on top of him.
He could be assertive; he’d just never seen the need.
He toyed with a bit of kidney on his plate, doubting that cannibalism would help.
Absorbing the Donegal hills from distance only now, Perry McDaid’s creativity subsists on nature’s palette and scents. Unfortunately this sometimes involves silage.
I once dated a man who never smelled. No sour morning breath, no corn-chip feet, no pungent sweat. My nose—less trusting than my heart—sniffed for signs of humanity. But even his gas didn’t provide a whiff. Farts of a hollow man, all sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Laurie P. Mendoza is an elementary school counselor and children’s author who has been published in Spider Magazine. She also dabbles in playwriting, personal essays, and holding a grudge. This is her second story for Fifty-Word Stories.
As the group approached the house, it was clearly uninhabited.
The windows were dusty, cobwebs hung in every corner.
“We gonna do this or what?” Jake asked the group. No one spoke.
Creeping around back, even before gaining entry, they felt the presence.
Emily said, “I’m out!”
Everyone else died.
Kim Smyth is a freelance writer/blogger studying to become a transcriptionist. Find her at her blog, Words on a Page, or on Medium.