We were comparing tattoos, grandad and me. His was a dot in the palm of his hand, charcoal grey.
“Two lessons,” he said. “One: never catch a falling pencil, especially when it’s just been sharpened.”
He paused, eyes distant.
“And number two?”
A grimace. “Not all mistakes can be erased.’”
Thomas Malloch began writing in retirement. Short stories and Flash fiction mostly. Sometimes, he even gets published.
The banana pudding – exquisite. And then the bacon stir-fry.
Five plates worth.
The jumbo coconut shrimp, do you want some?
Only one egg per customer!
The dessert is just a palate cleanser, and then one more plate like my first.
Didn’t like the ice cream selection I saw. Very small.
Dan writes fiction when he isn’t writing confidential technical reports (until the State deems them as public knowledge).
“No car crashes? Violent impacts?”
He leans in, puzzling over my retinas’ freakish blood vessels.
“No,” I reply.
“You do boxing?”
I could tell him: International Planetary Response Force, Top Secret missions battling Sagittarian cruisers beyond Sirius, high g manoeuvres just below lightspeed.
The world ain’t ready.
“Insurance,” I say.
William Mitchell lives in East Sussex in the South of England. He is an award-winning author, having had early success with various Horror and Science Fiction publications before winning the Writers of the Future contest in 2012. His first novel, CREATIONS, came out in 2014 with John Hunt Publishing.
The billionaire’s gorgeous wife was killed when his jet crashed. Grief-stricken he vowed to bring her back.
Taking some of her tissue to the research lab he owned, he instructed the staff to clone her immediately, despite the law.
A year later they triumphantly handed him his newborn baby.
Robert Carlberg writes to try to silence the voices in his head, and sometimes it works. More often they suggest stories… and then want credit if they’re published.
Everyone in the TimeGuild warned me about “the darkest timeline.” I assumed they were joking, since the scans showed a timeline without disease, famine, or war. I had to go.
Upon arrival, I spied a newspaper headline: “Princess Bride Reboot Coming 2027.”
I jumped home, horrified. The TimeGuild was right.
David Dezell Turner is an aerospace PhD student at the University of Colorado Boulder. When he isn’t giving directions to real spaceships, he’s writing about fictional ones. Check out more of his work at daviddezellturner.com.
A baby. A beginning. Exciting! Eager anticipation of the end goal: Adulthood! Every growth step welcomed.
If lucky, the journey continues, rewards received: Grandchildren! Cute and cuddly morphing into talented and fun. Finite time parenting yielding eternity of grandparent ecstasy.
Then, horrific awareness. No one prepared us. Grandchildren grow up!
Eileen was dazed when the truth was revealed. Boyfriends, girlfriends, drivers’ licenses, graduations, jobs, even marriages. Suddenly, outings and stories and sleep overs had become history, and the toys have become dust collectors.
It’s a sight to behold, that slick of teenagers commuting home from the beach. All salt-encrusted eyelashes and lobstery shoulders, screeching like a murder of crows.
Time travelling. My youth—I can almost reach out and touch it.
The train window reflects my denuded reality… but I’m still 1985 inside!
Gabe has been writing and editing for 30 years, from her home base in Sydney, Australia. She doesn’t plan on being replaced by AI any time soon.
Our bodies melded together as we danced real slow. His hands were warm and laced with mine. The music was low on the radio—it was our song. We were a party of two in the kitchen, swaying to the beat. Kissing. Laughing. Burning the tater tots in the oven.
Brenda Lee Carlson is a writer from Minnesota. She has an MA in English and an MFA in Creative Writing. She has published poetry, flash fiction, short stories, and fifty-word stories, including two on FiftyWordStories.com. When she is not writing, she reads or tries to please her diva cat.
Lady, to merit thy love, I coaxed a golden tear from King Midas’s eye, which I bartered for a mermaid’s song.
I used her voice to lull a Dragon while I snatched his diamond tooth.
This, I present to you, peerless Lady, and humbly pray on bended knee, wilt thou—
Joanna Norland has learned through painful experience always to check the word count and trim where possible.
He was tired of setting world records. Everyday for eight years, thousands of world records. For walking a mile, for riding a bike, for waking up in the morning, another world record. He had the world record for the most world records.
Then the oldest human to ever live
died.
Robert Ludemann is happily retired and dodging as much responsibility as possible.