The Stars fade gently into a glowing horizon as the Sun arrives in the East.
Some remain still glistening to complement the radiant canvas of colour and light.
This visual spectacular provides a challenge to every artist’s palette
as they strive to capture the new dawn before it vanishes forever
John B. Sinclair is a much-travelled Scot who has now returned to Scotland, where he enjoys freelance writing on a variety of subjects.
A child star, she’d been acting all her life. She’d played the beautiful princess, the glamorous wife, the sexy secretary.
At 35, roles disappeared.
She booked in quick: nipped, tucked, tightened.
Next audition they loved her: “Perfect cheekbones; sensual pout.” Booked her for a Hollywood blockbuster.
Playing George Clooney’s mother.
Jo Withers writes micros, shorts, and poetry from her home in South Australia. Recent work is featured or forthcoming in Ellipsis Zine, Molotov Cocktail, FlashBack Fiction, Milk Candy Review and Lunate. You can follow Jo on Twitter at @JoWithers2018.
Grey skies jigged upon the bus stop as dejected commuters huddled beneath. The endless stream of headlights paraded the relentless downpour.
A man checked his watch. A woman her phone. A dog ducked between.
The bus arrived.
Lucy smiled getting off and nonchalantly, through the applause of puddles, waltzed home.
Raymond lives in Ireland and has been previously published in 101 words and 101 fiction.
Doomsayers warned of apocalypse. “Disaster from the sky will destroy the world and the entire species!”
“Ridiculous superstition,” trumpeted Tyrannosaurus and Brachiosaurus. “We rule. Always will.”
The prophets were right.
A puny bunch with no claws or sharp teeth took over and wreaked havoc.
But their end, too, would come.
Marilyn McFarlane is a travel writer and the author of Sacred Stories: Wisdom From World Religions. She also writes poetry, memoir, and fiction. She lives in Oregon with her husband, a sizable garden, and maple and fir trees. See more at marilynmcfarlane.com.
The pistol tucked in my waistband is a constant reminder of my vulnerability, the reason that I can never feel safe.
Sometimes I forget it’s there. Sometimes everything feels normal. But then I remember all at once: the gun, the people I’ve hurt, and the retribution that’s sure to come.
Ethan Noll writes short stories and poems. He hopes to have as many published as possible.
Sometimes my dreams seem so real I think I can reach out and touch them. Sometimes they don’t. This last one worries me the most: I can’t tell the difference.
I’ve stayed awake now for almost two days, feeling more secure with each passing minute that nothing bad will hap…
Ed N. White has recent stories accepted by The Scarlet Leaf Review and Wordgatherings (Dec. issue).
“Je t’aime,” the young soldier declared to the farmgirl in German-inflected French as they strolled hand-in-hand through peaceable pastures. “I love your smile. Your eyes. Your lovely long hair…”
But she couldn’t forget her neighbors’ wrathful warning: “Someday we’ll drive out the pigs. Then we’ll come for you with shears.”
Alex Markovich is old enough to remember World War II.
The story of the week for October 28 to November 1 is…
Sundays by Una Nine Nine
Velu had an uncanny resemblance to his mahout dad. Even his voice was the same.
But he was a wastrel.
Until Dad died and the elephant refused food.
When Velu patted him and gently asked him to eat, the noble animal rose to oblige.
Velu’s status, too, rose with that.
V.R. Shankar is a retired engineer from India with a zest for creative writing.
Vicious attacks plagued the sleepy town.
Victim after victim, each unable to defend themselves.
I made the journey to walk the darkened streets alone.
Finally it was my turn to face the flashing blade,
but the paltry criminal did not count on my maniacal nature
and rapacious taste for blood.
Kristyn Mass lives in Iowa with her husband and three cats. She is a professional voice actor and aspiring writer.