“Honey, shouldn’t you clear the driveway?”
“Not today. Doc recommended no more shoveling the white stuff for a while.”
“He was referring to forks and spoons and your carbohydrates intake! Potatoes, pasta, refined sugar…”
“Maybe so, but I’m taking no chances… There’s a shovel just your size in the attic.”
John H. Dromey’s short fiction has appeared in publications ranging from Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine to Z-composition (June 2012 issue, online).
Frying the onions had been easy.
Without any bother, she watched as the meat in the pain turned from red to a shade of brown. So eating the liver wasn’t going to pose her any problems.
It was cutting it out of his abdomen that had been the hard part.
Henry lives in Somerset in the UK. One day he might buy a train set.
Still in graduation cap and gown, Johnny gawked as a parade of robots entered the convention center, carrying colorful paintings and sculptures, sturdy keyboards and drums, even elegant, fashionable garments.
Several carried banners: “Inaugural Synthetic Art Festival.”
Disgusted, Johnny pitched his art school diploma in the trash and slouched off.
Gordon Sun is a surgeon, scientist, and consultant who lives in California and has published numerous peer-reviewed articles in the New England Journal of Medicine, JAMA, and other medical journals. His literary writings can be found in Ars Medica and Hektoen International.
The big man strokes his white beard. “It’s been a hard season…”
“Seen the new requests?!” shouts one elf. “Epidemics, tanks, false flags… And we’re hungry.”
“I’ve brought in a consultant.”
A black, hooded robe enters, holding a tray. “All will be delivered this Christmas. For now, enjoy reindeer steaks.”
Joey thinks it is never too early to plan for the coming Christmas.
Have you seen my left eye? I’ve misplaced it.
Again.
In 5th grade, my teacher told me to keep my eye on my paper.
So I plucked it out and kept it on my paper.
Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt. It’s more of an inconvenience.
Thanks anyway.
I found it.
LC Treeheart has survived two super typhoons and paddled outrigger canoes in the ocean. She lives with her wife, Lizzy, in Oregon. They share their home with two extraordinary dogs, Pakpak and Mozart, and their grand piano, Francesca.
She had tried to teach you, ever since you were a little girl putting on your first pair of sneakers. “Later,” you would say. “Maybe next time. I promise.” You can’t remember how many times you promised.
Now she’s gone, and you still don’t know how to tie your shoelaces.
AJ Joseph is a bookaholic, semi-insomniac, unsuccessful recovering javaholic, and most importantly a writer. She occasionally writes at Words from Sonobe.
I was born and went to school. Then I got a job and now I’m retired.
Writing a memoir isn’t that easy when you’ve nothing to say.
Here’s the plan: Do something memorable.
Top of the list: kidnap Donald Trump and cut off his hair.
That ought to do it.
Henry lives in Somerset in the UK, which is at the moment still part of the European Union. He eats a lot of toast.
The lesson wasn’t going well. Lucy was trying to concentrate, but she couldn’t. Games, phone calls, messages, viral videos—everything was distracting from her work.
“If you use your phone, at least turn off the sound! It’s impossible to study!” Lucy snapped, even though shouting at the teacher was rude.
Sophie is a high school student from Ukraine. She’s been studying English for five years and she loves writing stories, so 50WS is a great combination of her favourite hobbies.
It was the first time I’d worn a suit in years.
Nervously, I feigned nonchalance. Made small talk. Nodded to people, surprisingly youthful, who didn’t nod back.
Now, seated near the back of the room, punch in hand, reality began to set in.
I was at the wrong class reunion.
Susan Gale Wickes lives in Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories and poetry and looks for inspiration in lots of strange places.
They’d only been married since the weekend, but she could readily identify his writer’s block.
She suggested that he might at least try to write something short, perhaps about a convicted criminal in his cell, awaiting the executioner’s call.
“Nah,” he replied. “I’ve never really been that much into autobiography.”
Ron. Lavalette has been widely published in both print and pixel forms. His first chapbook is now available from Finishing Line Press, and a reasonable sample of his published works can be found at EGGS OVER TOKYO.