He slept with a volume of Jorge Luis Borges’s short stories beneath his pillow, convinced they influenced his dreams. He’d wander through labyrinthine libraries, walls of books guiding him to some unknown destination.
Eventually he’d find his way back to his bed and awake the following morning, exhausted but satisfied.
Ran Walker is the author of 24 books, including the 100-word story collection Keep It 100. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University in Virginia.
The story of the week for January 17 to 21 is…
After My Mother’s Stroke, My Parents Refuse Assisted Living by Jennifer L. Freed
and
Hurt is Homeless by John Lovell
Reaching fifty can be quite traumatic.
Ancient Romans called it “Going to L”.
You must still bring home the bacon
which, for you, is now quite indigestible.
And, while watching pretty women pass by
continues to be very pleasant,
you’ve found, when they get closer,
you have to change lenses.
Gene Newman is a retired old guy (90 yrs) and former New Jersey journalist and columnist. Read more at GeneNewmanImagineThat.com.
After the labyrinth brought us full circle, Chuck proposed we apply cow-tipping to the upright-sleeping minotaur. Bovine, it’d be unable to rise. We could then navigate our way out at leisure.
But the minotaur climbed to its feet.
“That was,” it growled, “the wrong, wrong way to tip a dairy.”
Graham Robert Scott has yet to visit Tipperary. Or Crete.
I wish someone I know would
Die
Maybe my brother, or my father.
Not because I want them gone, or to
Suffer
But because then maybe all the
Pain
I feel would have a home. Right now my
Hurt
Is homeless: it comes from nowhere and has nowhere to go.
John Lovell is from Dallas, TX, and is trying his darndest.
They want capers, cumin, garlic. Fresh basil
in their salad. Blue cheese.
They want their olives with the pits.
The whole chicken—skin and bone
and dark.
They want the carcass
for soup. They’ll risk
a few spills.
They need
to try,
to know what will happen
if
they try.
Jennifer L. Freed writes mostly poems and sometimes writes very short stories. Find her at jfreed.weebly.com.
The prettiest girl in class was Catholic.
Doomed.
Danny said she belonged to the bad guy himself.
Long locks of hot red flowed down her back, tickling the tips of the fingers I stretched over the edge of my desk.
I loved her.
In nightmares, I followed her to Hell.
Amy Marques has penned three children’s books, barely read medical papers, occasional blogs, and numerous letters. Her work can be found or is forthcoming in The Dribble Drabble Review, Flying South, Brilliant Flash Fiction, Potato Soup Journal, Ariel Chart, Sweetycat Press, and Flash Fiction Magazine.
“You could do surgery on my kitchen floor,” she said.
At dinner, I accidentally spilled my glass.
Mom got up and walked slowly around the table, spilling the other seven glasses—64 ounces of icy cold milk. It wet my jeans, ran down my legs, filled up my Sear’s Jeepers.
Jim is a versatile and experienced writer and editor of nonfiction and creative nonfiction works. He blogs about and has published articles about green home building and renovation, energy, the environment, and Climate Change. He has also published articles on science and spirituality, personal essays, and poetry. Jim lives in Walnut Creek, California, with his partner and their Labradoodle, who is out of work as a therapy dog for hospice patients due to COVID-19.
I cloned myself and kept him in my closet until I wanted to visit my girlfriend. I would go out, leaving him with my wife.
It worked perfectly for months.
Sneaking in last night, I found them in bed together.
She told me it was my turn in the closet.
Alan has worked as a successful screen and TV writer for over forty years. Recently retired, he began writing short genre fiction. So far he has been published in several online venues. New to the art of short fiction writing, he welcomes feedback. He may be reached at his Facebook page under his name or mosko13@aol.com.
If this is a haunting, I’m afraid you’re not doing it right. No, it isn’t ironic. No, I don’t intend to discuss the definition of irony with you right now. No, I don’t want to fight. Wait. Don’t leave. Please. No, I’m sorry. Of course, of course I miss you.
Mia Dalia is a new author, who until recently, was mainly writing nonfiction – essays and reviews. She can be found lurking anonymously on GR delighting 100s of followers with 50plus reviews each month or on the internet at advancetheplot.weebly.com. Her flash fiction will soon be featured in Flash Fiction Magazine and Night Terror Novels.