“Where were you on the evening in question?”
Robert stared at the officer. He’d been in his car, waiting and dreaming. He’d been a musician giving a concert in Naples, a mechanic fixing engines in the Sahara, and Superman taking a short trip to Mars.
“I was everywhere,” he replied.
Patrick Mc Loughlin is an English Language Teacher in Ireland who dabbles in writing. He also dabbles in painting and music and someday hopes to do more than dabble. He lives in the west of Ireland, where it’s hard to concentrate.
“Can you drive?”
“I don’t see why that would matter when I’m applying for a banking position.”
“You need reliable transportation.”
“I get around,” Rick replied as he patted his guide dog’s head.
“We’ll be in touch.”
After twenty interviews just like this one, Rick knew that they were lying.
Rebecca Holland is a visually impaired writer from Pennsylvania. She is the author of the chapbook “Through My Good Eye: A Memoir in Verse” and her work has appeared in The Drabble, Bold Blind Beauty, and CAPTIVATING, among others. She blogs about faith, books, and disability awareness at BeckieWrites.com.
Kinny stormed inside. He threw aside the briefcase, turned on the TV – “…was acquitted on all counts…” – and strode into his study.
He admired his model city.
But it was time for some development.
He widened highways and crushed the courthouse.
“…news just in of the sudden implosion of downtown’s…”
Joey thinks some people should play with models instead of screwing up the real world.
This wasn’t what Sibyl expected when she signed up for digital detox.
The man with the pronounced brow regarded her quizzically. She needed a translation app, location finder, ride service; the phone was no longer in her pocket.
“I think I’m from the future,” she said.
He raised his club.
Tanya Zilinskas is a writer living in Northern California. She is only mildly afraid of the dark. See more of her work at tanyazilinskas.com.
Our children lost their connection. They could have learned from our mistakes, but in our quest for secrecy we hid the wrong things. We gave them the wrong stories.
They must learn the Earth’s magic, forget their alien origins. Time grows short.
We will not take them to another planet.
Rae Stinger writes from her home in Salem, Oregon, and awaits the return of her alien ancestors. You can find her on Twitter. @raestinger
Every morning I stand on that platform waiting for the train to arrive. And every day, on the opposite end of the tracks, another train comes flashing right by.
All the while, another flash flies through my mind: What if I just walked over there and took the other train?
Dylan Martin is a University at Albany alumni who currently lives in the New York metropolitan area. His passion for fiction tends to gravitate towards the characters involved, and as such, his writing tends to focus on the characters as well. See more at dm-writing.com.
When I first laid my eyes on her, I could not look away. Months later, I feel the same.
Charming and delicate, she is absolutely perfect. The only thing I would change about her is the way she shuts her blinds before she sleeps.
One day we will be together.
Samantha Baltz is employed in the medical field and currently taking up writing as a hobby. She loves meeting new people and hearing their stories and sharing her own.
She prepared her coffee, added her favorite creamer, carried it to her sitting place, placed her coffee, picked up her chosen pen and journal.
Nesting into her tranquil spot, she turned to the blank page.
Suddenly, the phone rang.
“Is this Kate Morgan?”
“We hate to inform you…”
Anne Logan is a consultant, author, and lecturer. She self-published three books including Why Heal Your Mind, Body, and Spirit? Sleuthing Ways to Love, which can be found on Amazon for Kindle and in paperback. See more at gpsanne.com.
“He died in Tanganyika,” she said, pouring herself another chotapeg. “Mauled to death by a lioness. That’s what he called it. Never Tanzania. Native nonsense, he used to say. He’d insulted his bearer, you see. He frequently insulted people. The shotgun the bearer handed him hadn’t been loaded.”
Nicolas Ridley lives in London and Bath (UK) where he writes fiction, non-fiction, scripts, and stage plays. A prize-winner and Pushcart Prize nominee, his short stories have been widely published in the UK, Ireland, Canada and the USA. See more at nicolasridley.co.uk.
“Whipped!” we used to shout, mocking him, all those times he couldn’t join on bar nights.
When he could, she’d always call him home early.
Those phone calls cracked us up. We made women’s voices, and passionately screamed his name while he shushed us.
“Hanged,” police told us one day.
David Derey wrote this story.