I used to collect mermaid scales at the beach with my brother. They were aluminium soda can tabs, but whatever—we knew they were really mythical, wish-granting scales. We used them for snow days until my brother caught pneumonia.
I stacked hundreds on his grave.
Even then, it wasn’t enough.
Like most kids , E.O. just used shooting stars to wish for snow days. During meteor showers, about 90% of the wishes in the region were likely made for snow, with the remaining 10% being divided between money, sports cars, and those hoping that their sadistic bosses would drop dead inexplicably.
I see my life.
I see my laughter, my tears. I see passion, hope.
Sadly next I see doubt, anxiety, so much worry, too little joy in the beauty of simply being alive!
Looking back, through dead eyes, too late I see a glorious gift unappreciated.
I see my life.
Lisa Lysen is having fun exploring her passion for words, hoping an adventure in writing may be somewhere in her future.
Engineers created robots that wrote music based on brainwaves.
We wanted to hear thoughts of wonder, imagining a new wave of ‘sub-conscious’ brain-raves.
Exhilaration turned to panic as a deeply buried sorrow filled our ears. A dying world screamed within our minds, and we had turned the volume up loud.
Alex Massey is a writer and the editor of Story Seed Vault
. They can be found hiding behind decorative foliage at parties or on Twitter
An inch worm
rides on the ear
of a calico cat.
on the roof next door.
A can for Ore-ida potato chips
worn as a helmet on a child’s head
passes by on the sidewalk.
An old Retriever
asking permission to be young again.
Marjorie lives in Maine.
Beneath the majestic Tora Bora Mountains he pulled the trigger, then trailed his quarry into a nearby cave. He leaned over and peered into the man’s dying eyes, and was startled when the Arab’s bloody hand rose slowly and gently touched his cheek.
He decided this was his last kill.
Henry F. Tonn is a soon-to-be-retired psychologist who once wrote an excellent novel about a woman with multiple personality disorder who became a serial killer. It had all the qualities that the reading public would presumably like. He webs at henrytonn.com
Met Generation Rent in the multi-story carpark yesterday.
They’d parked themselves where the electric cars go, in a circle defending their charging electronics. Their final protection a clothes-line of paid parking-tickets. Unbreachable for just three hours.
I drove by, fuelled by diesel and guilt, and made their sad bunting flutter.
Virginia Marybury loves history (especially hidden, revisionist, steampunk or other alternatives), but is no alt-truther.
We were married within a month.
The first morning I woke with nausea, I felt rotten. The second: jubilation. Mere weeks had passed since we first made love, but I swore I could already feel a bump.
We laughed, kissed, hugged; fell asleep with bodies intertwined. Life was a dream.
Guy forgot to submit this story last month. This is his twentieth 50-word story.
Editor: See part 1 and part 2 of Guy’s ongoing story.
Sometimes I’ll toss out a we
It requires little effort
to slip back from I.
I is so hard.
We feels good
part of the club
are doing this
just came from here
For a moment
everything is as it should be.
Robin Lubatkin does circle time with the very young and what she calls “songhealing” with the very old.
The story of the week for July 31 to August 4 is…
Out by Joey To
First thing out was my suit. Next went my helmet, violently followed by my books.
She’d always had a good arm and a bad temper.
Obviously I’m next, which would be bearable if we were on Earth rather than a spaceship.
Well, at least I won’t hear her screaming anymo—
Joey doesn’t mind travelling through space even if there is a risk that she’ll blow him out of the airlock. You can visit him at joeytoey.com.