“If I told you I was going to save the world, would you believe me?” I asked her.
“No, I wouldn’t. Don’t be so silly,” she replied.
I stepped to the door and opened it.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
I turned and smiled. “I’m going to save the world.”
Salmir is a university student, studying Computer Games Design. He also does some video reviews and webcomics.
There’s a valley in the mountains
where the blue grass grows,
where the blue wind blows,
where the blue sky glows.
There’s a shepherd in the valley
searching wide and deep
for his lost blue sheep;
never stops for sleep.
There’s a valley in the mountains,
bluest place I’ve seen.
This story is based on a title suggested by Larissa via Facebook.
I know this guy who saves puppies. He hears the world’s gonna end. He doesn’t believe it, he’s not religious, but he wants it to be true. When it doesn’t happen, he’s depressed.
So was I. I was depressed because the guy who saves puppies wants the world to end.
Walter Campbell lives and works in Philadelphia, went to school in New England, and grew up in LA, but he’ll write pretty much anywhere. Recently, his work has been published in Jersey Devil, Six Sentences, Dogzplot, MicroHorror, Toasted Cheese, and Glossolalia.
If I come back as a ladybug, you once told me, be gentle. Try not to crush me, but if by chance you should, don’t grieve. I’ll keep coming back, you promised, time and again.
Now, as you cling to me, I turn leeward to shelter you from the wind.
Alex Markovich was a magazine editor at Consumer Reports before he retired. He lives in Ardsley, a suburb of New York, with Jackie, his wife of 54 years and his fiercest critic.
With waxy wings buzzing, and multifaceted eyes glowing maliciously, the fruit flies attacked.
In mere seconds, the unsuspecting picnickers were covered with a two-inch-deep blanket of angry, but harmless insects.
“We have them!” buzzed Franklin Fruit Fly. “What do we do now?”
And the swarm realized it had no follow-through.
This story is based on a title suggested by Nancy Cavanaugh via Facebook.
He didn’t know it worked: one night he’d simply pointed at the sky, and a star had appeared, bright and new.
It was a great party trick, of course, and it stimulated his inner artist, but he didn’t fully harness the potential of his god-like ability until he went commercial.
Father Simon found a note in the charity box that read, “Sorry, I took some money.”
He suspected parishioners took money, but they never left a note.
Weeks later, Father Simon noticed a note in the charity box wrapped around a five dollar bill. “Thanks. The lemonade business picked up.”
Martin Jaeger has been published or is soon to be published in several print and online magazines. He tries to create imaginative pieces that will intrigue the reader, who will then have a greater appreciation for writers.
Ramone had a very diverse selection of friends. He enjoyed spending time with Havarti, Provolone, Mozzarella, and Brie.
He didn’t get along that well with Cheddar or Feta, but Gouda was fun.
Ramone’s mom told him, “Cheeses can’t be real friends,” but he knew better.
Oh yes, he knew better.
A monster slouched past my apartment window last night, its shoulder on the thirty-fifth floor. I tried to get its attention, but it just skulked onward towards the west.
This morning I woke up early to check the news. There was no mention of my monster. I was sadly disappointed.
Andrew Black is a writer of weird fiction and has had stories featured in anthologies by May December Publications and SNM Horror Magazine. Andrew has a blog with news of the weird and tips for writing at maskofreason.wordpress.com.
I asked Mom once why I had an uncle but no aunt. I figured they were a bundle deal.
Mom said, “Your uncle has three defining characteristics: veiny biceps, chest hair, and a fanny pack full of beef jerky.”
I still don’t know which of those is the bad thing.