“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).
Carol had never understood Bob. A prominent attorney, he always crossed his t’s and dotted his i’s, but he couldn’t put down a toilet seat.
She filed a complaint; they settled out of court.
She said she simply wouldn’t stand for it anymore, so he agreed not to.
They’re still married.
Susan Gale Wickes lives in Indiana. This is her first story about a toilet seat.
Misha suddenly said: “I don’t like homophones.”
I asked her why not.
“Because they’re dangerous,” she said.
“Do you mean ‘people who are anti-gay?'” I asked.
She laughed. “Oh, yeah. Wrong word.”
I agreed with her anyway.
Then I wondered weather she wished she had rather not said that allowed.
Henry lives in Somerset in the UK. He likes jazz flute.
“Congratulations! Is it true your bride learned to cook, years ago, at her mama’s knee?”
“Yeah,” Jim said without enthusiasm.
“Polly’s perfect with shortbread and shortcakes but for everything else she only makes a half recipe. In hindsight, I reckon she ought to have stood on a chair.”
John H. Dromey has a rather short (but complete) story reprinted in the anthology Timeshift: Tales of Time (Shacklebound Books, 2018).
The presidential cabinet huddled in their murky war room to discuss rejecting the enemy’s offer without escalating tensions.
“Send them an insult disguised as a gift,” said the president, “maybe a box of chocolates-covered ants?”
“One problem,” said a diplomat. “They’re insectivores. They won’t take ants for a no, sir.”
Marsrick is a social worker living in the Midwest. Read more short writings at marsrick.com.
They met on Tinder and their relationship blossomed on Snapchat and Instagram. But when she watched a concert he live streamed on YouTube, she saw him kissing her BFF.
She unfriended them and blocked their Twitter feed.
But Facebook is still recommending them as friends. What’s App with that?
Damhnait Monaghan is a Canadian now living in the UK. Her stories, real and imagined, can be found in Understorey Magazine, The Fiction Pool, Spelk Fiction and Flash Frontiers. She’s on Twitter @downith
My cousin, a dentist, became bored with mundane extractions, fillings, and teeth whitening. So he decided to specialise in crafting vampire fangs for niche clients.
I asked him, “Why the change?”
His response? He’d simply grown tired of working in a soulless job that sucked the life out of him.
Melanie has a greater fear of visiting dentists than she has of vampires.
We had been going at it over a year before my wife found out.
She’s truly a remarkable person: compassionate, bright, dignified, highly restrained.
She said, I believe it’s time we let you-know-who go. I’ll answer your calls, do your bookkeeping, schedule meetings. It’s time I helped manage your affairs.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble.” His first novel, “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel,” was recently rereleased. Visit BobThurber.net
“Let’s skip school today,” Phil suggested.
“Don’t you have an important exam?” his friend asked.
“No biggie. It’s just something the guidance counselor thought up to help me pick a college major. I’ll call it in.”
“You can do that?”
“Sure. My phone’s smart enough for a simple app-titude test.”
John H. Dromey has had short fiction published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Crimson Streets, Stupefying Stories Showcase, and elsewhere.
She saw him walk from cubicle to cubicle, and her heart filled with longing for him to drop by.
“Would you like a date?” his sweet voice softly whispered in her ear. She stopped breathing for a moment, until noticing a plastic bag of dried fruit next to her face.
Katya Duft is a translator, interpreter, and language teacher, and enjoys writing short stories, poetry and her blog Tales from the Bus