The memories all came flooding back. The screams. Blood. Lots of blood.
Her dreams lingered… two black butterflies flitting about on a warm day, dancing just for her.
I awoke, resigned to their presence. Ours was an uneasy alliance, here in this darkness behind my eyes.
Dave James Ashton favours short fiction as he has a bad memory and poor attention span.
He cared more than words could say. All the signs were there. One day, she was depressed; another, enthusiastic. He experienced her life in snapshots — health, sickness, good times and bad ones — more devoted than any husband.
He lifted his leg, left his reply, and proceeded to the next hydrant.
Philipp M. Selman is a graphic artist, musician, historical martial artist, and professional copywriter. His art, music, and writing can be found at pmselman.com
You began as a light, a face, a screen, a swipe. Soon enough you were flesh and blood, a hand in my hand, lips for my lips, Friday dinners.
Light faded. Lips met less often. Dinner went cold. You chose to fade, back to a dim screen. Ashes to ashes.
This is Alexandra’s ninth 50-word story. She thinks some internet strangers are a little too strange. She’s looking at you, Mister I-Can’t-See-You-Anymore-Because-You-Have-Bangs!
I didn’t know who she was but she wasn’t my wife and that wasn’t our house. The television had carried news, she said, of the inflations, and the suicides, and the sudden economic conditions, but the news was not my news, told in a voice that was not her voice.
t lives on a hill by the sea in England. He spends his spare time planning to write more short stories.
Act One (Crisis): “Oh No! My coupon is expired! Then why am I even here? I’d be better off at the grocery store.”
Act 2 (Complication): “But I do still need to buy toothpaste. And they do have my brand.”
Act 3 (Resolution): “Whatever, I’m going to get some beer.”
Daniel Paul received his MFA from Southern Illinois University. His fiction, non-fiction, and humor writing has appeared or is forthcoming in McSweeney’s, Puerto Del Sol, Hobart, The Briar Cliff Review, New Delta Review, Yemassee, and other magazines. He lives in Ohio where he is currently pursuing a PhD at the University of Cincinnati.
“Chicken,” he argues, accepting a plateful of my scrambled eggs.
“Egg,” I counter, despairing.
“Chicken,” he pluffs, eggs carelessly falling from his smug mouth.
Unzipping my skin suit, feathered breast bursting, I peck him solidly in the chest. Mouth agape, he flees the kitchen.
I hate it when he’s right.
Judy Crawford met the love of her life in a college writing class. They don’t always agree either.
She has to have her cigarettes. Buys them with the baby food money. Buys a six-pack, too. She lights up; first drag is always the best. She drops it in the sand, crushes it. She chugs the beer, staggers, falls into the moonlit surf.
She gave the baby up today.
poetry, prose, and photographs have appeared in Melancholy Hyperbole
, When Women Waken
, and Blotterature
. She travels the scenic route between St. Pete, Florida and the Off Campus Writers Workshop (OCWW) in Winnetka, Illinois. When she’s not writing, she’s listening, picking up slices of life or shells on a beach.
She was an old woman spending summers bent over: planting, weeding, harvesting.
I watched from my window as she used her cane to search for beans and cucumbers.
Now I am the old woman, bent over, sowing seeds saved by her.
I harvest a bit of her with each picking.
Candace Kubinec wrote this story.
Being alone was the least of his worries. Looking out at the void, the emptiness was hypnotic, enticing him outside.
His crew was sadly gone and two years remained until his arrival. “But who will need rescuing by then?” he thought.
He switched the ship to autopilot just in case.
Hogarth placed a wildflower bouquet at the weathered roadside cross. He couldn’t read the stranger’s name, but he knew, in reversed circumstances, he’d want the same.
It was only through the flash of headlights and screeching tires that Hogarth realized the cross’s name was his, the date of death: today.
Scott is an Amazon best-selling author and short story writer. He lives and works in Texas with his wife & their two boys. You can connect with Scott and find links to his stories on his website