I didn’t believe in time travel until I met myself one rainy Tuesday. Back from a world unknown to me.
Despite the shock, we drank tea and laughed about our mother. For a few moments I was happy with myself.
Until I told me not to look forward to much.
Shark Trager lives in North London and has been writing and blogging 50 Word Stories erratically for five years. He is a novelist in progress as well as a jobbing copywriter and ghostwriter.
I saw her today and I knew what she was immediately. After some hours of watching her pickpocket unwary airport travelers, I want to meet her and know her.
No one here knows that I’m a predator of a much more dangerous kind, and neither does she as I approach.
Thomas Summerson is a daydreamer and storyteller. He writes every day, as work and family life allows, of course. He dreams and labors toward the day when he can leave the day job behind and write full time. “Twenty years of schoolin’ and they put ya on the day shift.” It’s true Bob, it’s so true.
The room’s dark. The blue light of the computer screen illuminates his face, its raw desire. He clicks on a name he hasn’t tried before: Double Trouble, a buxom blonde.
The chat room opens to a promising skin show. He is staring into the eyes of his wife, working late.
Indu Pillai writes poetry and fiction when she is not reading poetry and fiction. She delights in all kinds of stories, written and unwritten. During the day, she works in her design studio. Follow her on Twitter.
“I looked at her and it was love at first sight. I knew she didn’t know I existed so I hid my glances. Then she got up and walked towards me as if to say something.”
“You’re so nerdy. Everyone can hear your narration from over there. Now shut up!”
See more of Connell’s literary misadventures at paragraphplanet, home.wtd-magazine.com, and postcardshorts.com.
The organist’s drunk fingers blew atonal notes. No-one noticed: the bride was so beautiful in her dress.
Her father cried.
A child started clapping, but was silenced immediately by a sibling’s shove.
In silence she stalked the aisle, floating forward to her blissful future.
“She looks fat,” her mother-in-law said.
TL Krawec writes because why not?
I poured poison into my thermos. I sat alone on a park bench. Several people passed by and we exchanged passing greetings. I inhaled the steam from my cup and grinned. A young man sat beside me. I knew him. I offered him some coffee. He drank. I smiled.
Insanity.
John Mark lives in a secluded valley in rural PA. When he is not maintaining his campground he is either writing or making fun of the people at Wal-mart. He intends to turn one of these into a career.
“They die,” she whispered. “Everyone I love… They all die.” A tear; then she burst, unable to contain it anymore. She sobbed. “Why is this happening to me?”
My words stuck. I didn’t want to tell her, or admit I could see her clearly. “Layla, you… You’re a death omen.”
Hazel is a girl who aspires to write but doesn’t find much time for it.
Bobby heard grumbling coming from under his bed. He looked under the bed and saw his own face staring back at him.
He was consequently sucked under his own bed and devoured, bones and all.
Bobby does all his chores now! Bobby’s parents love the new Bobby.
Whoever he is…
Doug has contributed to all three issues of Demonic Visions: 50 Horror Tales.
It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. The warmth coursed through his body, filling his veins with fire. His vision blurred; his thoughts became clouded.
And yet, he thought, there was an unshakable feeling forming within his stomach. A feeling of doubt.
An understanding of his inevitable death.
Ryan is a student at Coventry University currently studying English and Creative Writing. His hobbies include being the greatest musician to have ever lived, winning the Nobel Prize seventeen times, and being the first man to go to Mars (without a rocket). Oh, and he’s humble, too…
It’s the poetry of precision. An atypical prose through which half the story remains unwritten, but not untold. An exercise in speculative brevity where quality always trumps quantity. A minuscule door to great expanses of imagination. A strict form which flows as if oblivious to its boundaries: exactly fifty words.
Chris Griglack was born and raised in Massachusetts where he has lived for 24 years. He graduated from the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth in 2012 with a degree in Writing, Rhetoric, and Communications.