Diet #304: day one. I emerge at dawn hoping no one will see me jiggling and wobbling in my tracksuit. Overhead a kookaburra begins his song, laughter echoing years of torment. I pause. Go back and feed my pain with buttery toast? No, this time I’ll have the last laugh.
Sandra James writes from a rural property in Central Victoria, Australia. Her first collection of short fiction, My Muse Wears a Purple Collar, is available on Kindle.
When the town-sheriff reported my mother dead, my grandfather disagreed.
Where’s her body, he said. Show me a body.
I drove us downtown. Our visit to the morgue silenced the old man.
That’s not her, he said on the ride home. There’s a resemblance, but I know my own daughter.
Bob Thurber is the author of six books. Regarded as a master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in Esquire and other magazines, been anthologized 60 times, received a long list of awards, and been utilized in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
The pair ambush their younger brother as he is practicing his magic, mid-portal-opening. But the vortex is uncontrolled—and uncontrollable without the rest of the spell.
It sucked the boy in, then the sisters, releasing a loud belch and a single shoe after.
Unaware, their mother continued watching her stories.
S. C. Shelby is a versatile author with a background in literature and creative writing. Her work spans children’s stories, speculative fiction, tragic dramas, and situational haiku. Under her dog’s name, she has contributed copywriting to various blogs and websites. Outside of writing, she enjoys reading, crafting, spending time with dogs, and travelling. See more at scshelbyauthor.wordpress.com.
How many lives can I live in this one? To be a radiant woman, a passionate lover, a sweet daughter, a caring sister, a diligent worker, and a successful businesswoman. A shining example of humanity, child of God, daring to dream. How many souls must I embody in this lifetime?
Gabriela Lima wrote this story.
Being a superhero isn’t easy, especially for a working mother. But moments like this make it worthwhile. I grasp the mask, revealing the villain’s face. My eyes bulge.
“Jake?” I croak.
“Sorry, Mom.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“You’re never home. It was the only way to see you.”
Kevin’s work has appeared in a variety of anthologies, magazines, and e-zines, and he enjoys writing in multiple genres. You can learn more about Kevin by visiting his website at kmhopson.com.
The world shrinks as I watch three ants wander the pots on my balcony.
Patient travellers, carefully mapping their world to the top of each plant. Tiny questing spirits searching the furthest edges of their universe.
These brave little souls shouldn’t go unrecognised.
Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria, I christen them.
Michael has only a fair to middling green thumb, and always tries to look out for the little critters in his garden.
She pulled the door closed, trying to ignore the dirty hallway and broken railing. She closed her eyes, straining to hear her daughter, somehow a woman, settling into her first apartment. She walked gingerly down the stairs, her legs and arms aching from carrying. Her heart aching from letting go.
Melanie Winklosky is a fiction writer trapped in a grant writer’s body. Her work can be found in McSweeney’s, and was named a finalist in the 2023 Boston in 100 Words contest and a 2023 finalist in NYC Midnight’s Flash Fiction Challenge. She lives in Swampscott, Massachusetts.
Staring at a picture of his family for a final time, he wistfully set the frame in a box labeled “Do Not Open.” He placed the box on a shelf in his empty storage unit, padlocking the door. On the drive home, he tossed the key out of the window.
HNK has been featured on fifty word stories a couple of times before. His debut novel will be released in November. You can purchase a copy here.
The oranges are bitter.
The hummus though, is sweet. Flat breads, falafels, and olives. The fruits of the irrigated deserts.
In the bunker we tell the children of our heroes. How they dug in, built walls and barbed wire fences.
How our neighbours grew into enemies.
Stephen Doherty wrote this story.
I looked up because an invisible spark went off in my head. With my two tired eyes, with the open book still in my hands, I watched a beautiful blue bird fly straight into my sliding glass door. I got up to check on it and found it frozen stone.
Sean is a 39-year-old writer who learned to write when he was diagnosed with schizophrenia when he was 20. He is a slow learner and wrote at least 12,000,000 words before he got the hang on this writing thing. It provides a solid foundation for a meaningful life.