The story of the week for November 2 to 6 is…
The Vagrant by Travis D. Roberson
MICHAEL B KEANE: The Day After It Bit Me
I was asleep, darkly dreaming. There was suddenly a scream from my little sister, whom I could hear tearing down the hallway, and next thing I knew, I was scurrying on all fours into the nearest corner, bristling with fear.
“Mom,” she sobbed, “there’s a huge rat in his room!”
Michael B. Keane is a London-based writer of dark fiction.
TAWNIA COURAGE: The Battle Within
Doubt pulls me into a chasm of dread. Spiraling in darkness. Out of control.
Stop!
Hope glimmers briefly—but the bonds of anxiety choke it.
No!
Let go. Breathe deep.
Resilience sparks… grows. I grasp a flicker, encourage and feed it.
The glow swells… black shadows recede.
I’ve got this.
Tawnia is an elementary teacher in Ontario who started writing a few years ago. You can find her on Twitter @TawniaCourage.
TRAVIS D ROBERSON: The Vagrant
The vagrant discovered the lake house at the end of a gravel road. A fridge inside a shed gifted him a single beer, and an untethered canoe took him into the lake, where he opened the beer and drank—living the life of another and waiting for something to end.
Travis D. Roberson grew up in Central Florida, where he spent most of his youth throwing rocks at snakes and reading comic books. He spent his late teens entrenched in Orlando’s local punk scene before leaving the sunshine state and bouncing around the world as a flight attendant at a major airline. Now settled in Queens, NY, he lives with his wife and his dog, who wakes him up far too early every morning. He spends most of his time yammering about the genius of Jim Jarmusch and The Clash to anyone that will pretend to listen. His work has appeared in a number of places, including Hypnos, The Arcanist, and Coffin Bell.
JULIAN DORES: My father started fights in bars
My father started fights in bars. The brutalist architecture of his days was legendary.
He was proud to be blue-collar, to break things with his hands and rebuild them in his image. Oak. Rosewood. My mom. The bones in my fingers.
In our house, silence was an act of survival.
Julian Dores lives in Brussels, Belgium. He enjoys writing fiction and taking candid photographs of everyday life on the street. You can follow him @JulianDores or on his website.
HANNAH KELLEY: Fruit Boy
Walter gobbled down the watermelon.
He felt the “plop, plop” as the seeds landed in his stomach.
When he woke the next morning, Walter had stems growing out his nose and a green tinge to his skin.
He was no longer a fully human boy.
He was becoming a Waltermelon.
Hannah Kelley lives in Australia and loves writing and reading micro-fiction. Her favourite fruit is watermelon.
Editor: Groooooan.
BMA ROOK: Fly Free
He flies free on bold green wings, the sky above and the earth below. He soars towards warmth on a cooler breeze, chasing freedom with his peach-covered face. He surges forth towards the sun, the world before him, nothing behind him, and then blinks awake in his cold, impenetrable cage.
B.M.A. Rook just wants this year to end without any more sorrow.
ROBERT MARKOVICH: The Shade Tree
“Tranquil here, isn’t it?” said the voice. She’d met him after her divorce. Such a good listener! She felt a rivulet of sweat trickle down her back beneath her blouse. But the tree was wide, and his touch cool as he coiled himself around her and whispered in her ear.
Robert Markovich spent a lifetime in what is charitably referred to as service journalism, writing and editing stories about everything from cars to toilets, most recently at Consumer Reports. He is happily and gratefully retired.
FANNIE CHEN: The Manager
He looks at the wheel with great determination. He turns it slowly, controlling the tepid temperature of spring in high heaven.
Cleaner silently mops the wet floor.
Thump! He slips. The wheel spins wildly. His face is pale with panic. Spring turns into summer, autumn, and winter.
He is fired.
Fannie is a girl living in Sydney, NSW, Australia with a great interest in writing and literature.
MEGAN GIM: One Day at a Time
The credit card declines again. I tell the cashier I’ve left the other card at home.
Walk back without the groceries, holding Evie’s hand, wondering whether she’ll be happy with spaghetti again.
I gently rub the ring on my middle finger. I’ll take it tomorrow. Should buy us some time.
Megan Gim works as a speech pathologist but is currently on maternity leave with two young boys at home. She recently completed a short course through the Australian Writers’ Centre for writing middle grade fiction, which has reignited a passion for writing, and is writing flash fiction and microfiction to help develop her writing skills.