I was making notes when the doom opened. A strangler entered.
“Have a seaweed,” the leader said. “We’re all frenzied here.”
After listing to us, the strangler spoke. “Er…”
“Yesterday?”
“I wanted Fantasy Language Class. I’m Dave, by the way.”
“Hello Dave,” the Auto Correct Fan Club chorused in unicorn.
Bec Lewis lives in Kent, England, and likes short stories, micro-fiction, and chocolate. See more at beclewisfiction.com.
The young father presses his hands flat against the window. Although the mask covers half his face, the baby knows him. New game. Laughing, she reaches for the father’s hands, cool glass between them.
She lifts her arms, “Up.” Old game.
The father’s learned the new rules: he turns away.
Miriam N. Kotzin teaches creative writing and literature at Drexel University. Her collection of short fiction, Country Music (Spuyten Duyvil Press 2017), joins a novel, The Real Deal (Brick House Press 2012), and a collection of flash fiction, Just Desserts (Star Cloud Press 2010). She is the author of five collections of poetry, most recently Debris Field (David Robert Books 2017).
“Side effects,” says the oncologist. The priest says angels have many forms.
In my garden, the unicorn eats my red roses, dripping petals like blood. “Am I dying?” I ask. She snorts, then gallops away.
Next summer, the roses bloom white. My hair grows back curly. The unicorn doesn’t return.
Hannah Whiteoak writes speculative fiction to escape the real world. She is working on an animal-themed flash collection. Follow @HannahWhiteoak or visit hannahwhiteoak.me.
“Today is the day,” Dr. Zoungrana said. Decades of mind-expanding research, painstaking calculations and meticulous execution of findings led to the peace-making chemical she has dispersed in the air. It spread quickly, annihilating fear and aggression in every one.
She waited until the gas lost potency before removing her mask.
Emmily Magtalas Rhodes is a freelance writer and mother of two boys. She lives in a spa town in England.
One of the strongest of his kind, Jude was one of only a few left. He had resorted to means of survival he’d never even considered centuries before.
But the humans weren’t the only race to ignore the dangers of climate change. Now the vampires were nearly out of food.
Chad Bunch writes speculative fiction from the suburbs of Saint Louis. He is going to publish a novel this year if it kills him! You can find some his other nonsense at diaryofmadness6719293.wordpress.com
The volcano erupted.
Pride took selfies in front of it.
Envy copied but got fewer “likes,” so she jumped in.
Gluttony ate on, lava lapping at the door.
Lust opened Grinder for a final fling.
Anger raged against Volcanologists on Twitter.
Greed robbed empty homes.
Sloth couldn’t get an Über.
Natalie is a Clinical Psychologist and aspiring writer in Wales, UK.
It is 2003. The year of SARS. I tell my husband that my face mask is for his protection.
“Protection from what?” he asks with a shocked look on his face.
“My mouth. It is now off limits for fourteen days,” I reply. “But it will be worth the wait.”
Marjan Sierhuis has learned there is a first time for everything.
“Guess what?” Alice’s eyes sparkled. “I told Dad what I really think of him. No more holding back. And you’re right, I feel so much better.”
“Well done.” Her husband relaxed. “You going back next week?”
“Yeah.” She rubbed her scarred wrist. “My turn to put flowers on his grave.”
M.H. Thaung can’t decide between writing tiny stories or speculative fiction novels, so she has a go at both. Find out more at: mhthaung.com.
The story of the week for February 17 to 21 is…
How Long Do You Wait? by Ursula Hoult
“I’m afraid I’m leaving you,” you said at dinner.
Slightly drunk on wine, I smiled. Later, I kissed you goodnight. My dreams were troubled.
In the morning you were gone. Sunlight failed to warm or wake you, so I rose and walked to the kitchen. A stranger in our house.
Jeremy lives in Ontario, Canada, with his wife and two young children. He loves to write, but seldom does. He has amassed a significant pile of books as “must reads” by his bedside that get picked at page by page, but have not been finished. Jeremy loves his children, and looks forward to finishing those books, whenever Paw Patrol is not a thing anymore.