Nothing but trouble was open for business at that hour.
“Grabbing a tree,” Bruce said.
“Don’t,” said Allison. “I’ll pay the fifty bucks tomorrow.”
Dawn arrived without Bruce. Allison’s texts remained unread.
She assumed either Bruce was dead or they’d use his mug shot on their Christmas card.
Iain Young still can’t convince his family to get a Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
I looked through the thick, slightly dirty glass. I could sense the large shadows of creatures passing around me. After a while, an alien-looking face moved up to the glass. Its heavily layered scales glistened momentarily in the light filtering down from above.
I guess I never really liked aquariums.
Susanna Cahn von Seelen wrote this story.
Across the moat, the tower door stood open. What carelessness!
Klaus crouched by the black water, trying to gauge its depth. Atop fifty feet of curving stone, a guard wandered the battlements, oblivious.
Easy swim. A nearby frog croaked its agreement. Klaus eased himself in.
Around the bend, something splashed.
Jim Anderson is a retired college teacher who lives in south-east Michigan. He reads a lot, and writes a little. More of his micro fiction can be found at jimthewriter.net.
Both our wives walked out within a week. We hadn’t spoken in years, but now all we had was each other: though divided by parents, we were united by divorce.
We fished from the harbour wall, with bated breath and baited lines, sharing tales of the one that got away.
Guy has never taken his brother fishing. This is his twenty-second 50-word story.
The eyes stared upwards. The blonde hair was caked with blood. The nose was cute even in death. The mouth held what proved to be a golf ball in a sock. The hands had typed a social security benefit disallowance.
“So where’s the rest of the body?” the detective wondered.
Irish writer Perry McDaid lives in Derry under the brooding brows of Donegal hills which he occasionally hikes in search of druidic inspiration. He even finds it on occasion.
The day I headed to Jupiter was a fine spring day. I’ll never forget my euphoria of anticipation and the fine sense of adventure as the blue Earth shrank behind me, our galaxy’s most beautiful jewel, full of dreams and life.
Too bad it was gone when I came back.
Sandra Siegienski enjoys writing science fiction/fantasy and young adult fiction. Her focus ranges from novels to six-word story contests.
My hands are sore. One good finger; the rest are in pain.
I swing my legs out of bed. My knees hardly work. Creak. Moan. Crack.
Once I get moving, the joints will be okay.
My latest target is in Italy.
One good finger. That’s all it takes.
Henry lives in Somerset in the UK, which is at the moment still part of the European Union. He eats a lot of toast.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
It wasn’t so much what he said as how he said it; with that expectation of compliance. He sounded like her dad, not like a lover.
Why did some men feel they had the right to compel obedience?
She wondered what would happen if she said no.
Joanne has self-published a novel called “They Called it the Incident,” available on Amazon. She also has a short story published in an anthology put out by Polar Expressions Publishing. She continues to hone her writing skills and is working on a second novel. See more at jmjohnson-author.simplesite.com.
The idea arose when Sophia’s father said her smile was more beautiful than Mona Lisa’s.
After retiring from grade school, she used her savings to go to Paris, where she wandered through the Louvre until she found it.
Staring at Leonardo’s masterpiece, she could only think, “Wow. It’s so small.”
Ran Walker is the author of sixteen books. He serves on the creative writing faculty of Hampton University in Virginia.
Maybe you will call, she manages to murmur while lowering herself into the taxi, before I close the door between us. It is not a question; just a simple statement. She has saved me from lying to us both.
This makes me like her more than I have all evening.
Shoshauna Shy gets inspired by all the other 50-word story authors on this site.