I look into his unblinking eyes, staring intensely at me.
I shudder with fear, for I know my time is nigh.
He beckons me forth, wiggling a white-gloved finger.
It is time. I can delay no longer.
I must get my picture taken with Santa, or Mom will kill me.
Numbers swirled in his mind, forming equations, axioms, proofs. The logic of the argument led him to certainty, to a ‘Eureka’ moment of perfect, shining clarity. Absolute, mathematically verifiable truth lay before him and now there could be no doubt: chocolate really was the greatest of the ice cream flavours!
Bill lives in Aberdeen, Scotland where his experiments in time travel have created an inescapable temporal loop. Bill lives in Aberdeen, Scotland where his experiments in time travel have created an inescapable temporal loop. Bill lives in Aberdeen, Scotland…
Pete woke up alone and he was not there.
He smelled the roots of trees; he heard the worms whisper; his foot walked away without him; he sank into the sky; his inside was outside; he saw the sun shine through his navel.
Pete had stars at head and foot.
Paul Negri has twice won the Gold Medal for fiction in the William Faulkner-William Wisdom Writing Competition. His work has appeared in Vestal Review, The Penn Review, Pif Magazine, Jellyfish Review and other publications. He lives and writes in Clifton, New Jersey.
He closed the door behind him and looked over the room. A melancholic expression was drawn across his face.
It was curious how ordinary things had acquired very special meanings while they were together.
She was gone, but everything else stayed the same, a cruel reminder of their broken story.
José Jaime is from Spain and is studying at university.
Lieutenant Harold Demarest stands on the bridge, watching a kamikaze roar towards him.
Below, Gunner Frank McClelland fires the 40mm cannon and hits the suicide plane.
It veers downward, exploding into the ship.
Demarest is alive, a flimsy clipboard shielding his head. Below, Frank McClelland and seventeen others are dead.
Frank McClelland was awarded the Silver Star Posthumously. Harry
Demarest wrote this story about his father, Harold Demarest, who attended
many reunions with his shipmates until his death at age 96.
Fifty-word stories? Sounds easy, but HA! Challenge embraced; let the jotting and counting begin.
“Not tonight dear. One… too busy… two, three.”
Cloud of perpetual distraction.
“Sorry, what were you saying? Didn’t catch that. I was—”
“Yeah. I know,” he mumbles. “Counting. Scribbling.”
Relationship ends, but hey! Fifty words!
Judi MacKenzie is a writer who teaches yoga and, sometimes, meticulously counts words. She loves writing screenplays and is a reader for the Austin Film Festival.
It was a problem from day one. I’d never wanted a roommate, but simply couldn’t swing the apartment any other way.
I plumped the pillows and placed them precisely in their preferred positions on the pristine couch.
Then I huddled down in my bean bag and waited for the enemy.
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories and poetry and has never owned a bean bag.
Olga was fast as a muscle car, one of those girls. There on Friday, gone by Monday to care for a sick aunt in Florida.
We knew better. We knew she’d be back in nine months, flattened, her brass tarnished. Smudged with the fingerprints of all who had driven her.
Sarah Freligh is the author of Sad Math, winner of the 2014 Moon City Press Poetry Prize and the 2015 Whirling Prize from the University of Indianapolis. Her fiction and poetry have appeared in Sun Magazine, Hotel Amerika, BOAAT Journal, diode, SmokeLong Quarterly, and in the forthcoming anthology New Microfiction: Exceptionally Short Stories (W.W. Norton, 2018). Among her awards are a 2009 poetry fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts and a grant from the Constance Saltonstall Foundation in 2006.
After paying in cash so there would be no paper trail,
after sneaking it in under his shirt,
after hiding it all weekend in the back of the freezer,
after thawing it in the microwave while she bathed,
he put the dead mouse under her pillow,
and then he waited.
Bob Thurber is the author of “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel” and two collections of stories. A celebrated master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in 60 anthologies, received dozens of awards, and been used in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts where, despite severe vision loss, he continues to write every day. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
The story of the week for May 21 to 25 is…
The Art of Disappearing by Patrick Mc Loughlin