I built a man from discarded parts, mostly found online. His brain was an alt-right podcast; his heart, an incel chatbot.
I charged his phone with a lightning strike. He scrolled with borrowed thumbs, demanding I build him a female. When the battery died he sat forlorn, staring into darkness.
Joe Pearson is a British fiction writer living in Paris. He’s trying to use his phone less. You can find more of his writing at joepearsonwriter.com.
I was once considered a monster.
They used to scream from terror, not adoration.
They used to wait with pitchforks, not cameras.
They used to hide when I killed, not watch.
Now when I drink blood, I quench their thirst more than mine. I am no longer the monster here.
Berkeley Turner is a wife, a mom, and a follower of Jesus. She has been published in Liberty University’s LAMP Magazine, 2020.
“Good boy!”
Spot bounded from the forest, the disc clutched between his teeth. His tail wagged as he dropped it at my feet.
It wasn’t mine.
This disc was silver, metallic. And what strange markings…
The glass and the tiny, frantic green specks inside caught my eye.
“What on Earth…?”
David Albano enjoys reading, LSU Sports, and being involved in his church community. David has previously been published in 50-Word Stories, as well as Frontier Tales and Dark Moments.
It was crazy talk I wanted to believe. My sister had sources. Quotes from the bible. And Grandma. “She says we fly from heaven when we’re born. After we die, we fly back to heaven.” She was moving Christmas Ornaments around.
“Help me look. We’ll go together.”
We searched everywhere.
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.
Ruth looks much older than her 70 years. Infirmity shrinks her flesh, leaving a canvas of taut skin, applying time like sallow make-up around her eyes and neck. She brushes her hair before getting into the bed – in case of visitors. But until they come, she will sleep a little.
Dave Bradley’s words have appeared in publications such as Best Of British Science Fiction and Dorling Kindersley’s The Screen Traveller’s Guide, as well as various pop culture magazines and websites.
Odd, elongated footprints lead from the derelict mushroom-shaped lander to you. Blue and white Earth shines in the black sky above where you sit, back against a boulder. Eyes with cross-slit pupils remain open behind a dust-filmed faceplate. Did you die here watching your world burn 66 million years ago?
John Sloan has been a writer in London, Ontario, Canada, for 40 years, mainly as a journalist, columnist, and technology analyst. He chose this path due to Lou Grant, a degree in journalism, and a need to eat. Sloan lives neither in a rambling Victorian house nor in a cozy flat. He does not own a cat.
His wife had gone, he had stayed, neither by choice.
I watched him walk toward a place only he could see, more distant each day.
Photos fade before dimming eyes, music falls flat to distant ears. Further he walked.
Today he followed as she took his hand across the horizon.
Mike Keyser writes microfiction while working on his novel.
Ken was the type of man so quick to point a finger that when he discovered a hair swimming in his pot of lentil soup, his head snapped up accusingly. “Hey!” he yelped. In the kitchen window, his reflection stared back. For once, here was someone deserving of his contempt.
Gabriel Lewis lives in New York City.
The story of the week for February 2 to 6 is…
Haunted by Uninvited Guests by Liam MacDonald
and
Memento Mori by Kip Knott
Treading on the toes of giants
in attempts to reach a shoulder
where the air is clear, suppliance
lifts me up as I grow bolder.
Yet I know that my reliance
on the thoughts that they have shared
guides my muses, their suppliants,
with the thoughts that we have aired.
Ken Gosse usually writes whimsical, rhymed verse. First published in First Literary Review–East in November 2016, later in Pure Slush, Home Planet News, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Spillwords, and many others. Raised in Chicago suburbs, now retired, he and his wife live in Mesa, AZ, with rescue dogs and cats.