Introduced by a mixologist, Stan was a zoologist, Evie a geologist. They lived in a metropolis, were happily monogamous, their lives never monotonous. Then Evie saw a gynecologist, who sent her to a virologist.
Stan wasn’t a monogamist.
Evie thought him the rottenest. He’s at the ER with a proctologist.
Originally from Toronto, Janet Koops now calls Bend, Oregon home. When she is not sitting at her computer, she is exploring the high desert with her husky.
The evidence was already heavily against me. The ring—that item meant to solve my problems—found in my possession. Tire tracks in the mud. The dirty shovel in my car.
But what really convinced the jury in the grave robbing case was DNA proof. My nail in the coffin.
Michael Augustine Dondero is a Brooklyn-based writer. Read more on his website, augustinedondero.com. He’s also the co-creator of the horror/sci-fi podcast “Lost Signal Society.” Tune in at lostsignalsociety.com.
“How’d you find your runaway goat?”
“We simply followed his spoor.”
“How’d you know it was his?”
“Before he left, Billy ate a magazine with one of your stories in it.”
“How’d that help?”
“Billy found some of your prose was indigestible. You could say he left a toilet-paper trail.”
John H. Dromey has some hundred-word stories (four new, one reprint) in WORLDS: A Science Fiction Microfiction Anthology (Dark Drabbles Book 1) (Black Hare Press, 2019).
I logged out and fled my cubicle
so find yourself another IT guy, boss
’cause I’m rebooting my system
Time for me to start a new session
open a new window
and reset my password in a warmer climate
as I back up the files and folders of my life
Roberta Beach Jacobson is a humorist from Iowa.
Every Friday morning patrons packed Mrs. Cook’s study. She’d serve them sponge cake, but not without sharing the ingredients first: Sally’s rejection, Mary’s offer, George’s pauperism. Delicious, they’d quip, giggling wildly.
But this week, her patrons’ persnickety appetites grumbled as she baked something never served before: a dense humble pie.
Maja Scheler’s debut Flash Fiction, Exposed, received runner up in Women On Writing’s 2018 fall contest. When she is not working on a story, she can be found chasing after her three young boys in the beautiful outdoors of the Pacific Northwest.
He was the only boy I ever loved.
We sat side-by-side on the beach, stealing kisses and pointing out funny-shaped clouds. His laugh was soft as sea foam, his hair as light as sand.
“Looking into your eyes is like searching for treasure,” he said.
Seems he never found it.
Guy found his treasure at the seaside. This is his twenty-third 50-word story.
“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).