Drinking champagne in that unremarkable moment of melancholy felt unfitting. But it was all she had on hand and it was Sunday in Indiana where liquor sales are halted for 24 holy hours.
Her options were limited.
So she twisted off the cork and texted him: “Hey, still wanna talk?”
Margaret is an amateur writer, but her mother thinks she’s WONDERFUL. She resides in Indianapolis.
As usual, Joe was prepared: food and water, map and compass, rain gear and tent, flashlight, matches. He left a note with his name, date, time, and route.
He set out, hiking the yard’s unvarying relief. Around, around.
His wife, pouring herself more wine, hoped he’d get lost this time.
Iain Young thinks the best part of a hike is the end, when he sees his car in the parking lot.
Phineas Phelps found figurative fiction fascinating, frankly.
As an author, alliteration always added authenticity.
He carefully crafted creative copy, constantly cultivating killer quotable content.
Naturally, news networks need new knowledgeable know-it-alls, Phineas figured.
His hottest headline?
Prayer Park Pair Peeps Pope Pooping Per Private Property; Prez Promises Prompt Papal Persecution.
Jonathan writes written words by tepidly typing text. You can find more micro writing of his on Twitter.
Gentrification marched its silent footsteps to the oak door of Moore’s Tavern.
Old Man Henry smiled and licked his wrinkled lips. If he couldn’t have it, nobody could. He grabbed the gasoline and lighter.
The starry night seemed brighter to him that night.
The stone chimney was all that remained.
Anthony works with numbers by day, and words by night! Happily married in the heart of Kentucky.
The television at the diner was gone. My waitress said that someone smashed it. It was hard for me to imagine who would do such a thing.
After I ate, I went to the parking lot. I heard the sound of breaking glass. The manager was breaking someone’s car windows.
John Kujawski wrote this story.
We arrived with all the time in the world.
Those first birthdays couldn’t come fast enough.
The middle days whispered in our ears.
Don’t worry; there’s loads of time left.
We’ve known from birth this day would come.
Still, we’re surprised when we open the door and find death waiting.
John Fowler served twenty years in the US Air Force before retiring and starting a second career in the IT field. He is also a Lay Pastor serving a small church near his home in Texas. His hobbies include reading, golfing, writing, and now oil painting.
A loon’s call echoes across the amber lake. Her mate’s wail reassures her.
Above, a rested comrade takes point. The spent goose banks away, catching the slipstream.
Hardwoods preen, sashay their brightest orange, gamboge, and crimson. The old ones yawn, smiling at the adolescents, who dream tonight’s dance never ends.
Matthew lives in Maine.
The story of the week for October 9 to 13 is…
Grief’s Special Delivery by Connell Wayne Regner
After my husband’s departure, I acquired a dog for company.
Out walking, Rufus found a body in the woods. The policeman gave him some treats.
He scented the second corpse in the canal.
When Rufus brought back a finger, he had to go.
He’d also started scratching at the patio.
Viv Burgess wonders why dog walkers who find bodies in crime novels never get suspected. There’s a book in there somewhere, but it would take more than 50 words.
A black cat dashes across the busy highway. I slam on the brakes.
A siren chirps.
In my broken rear-view mirror, I see the fractured image of a police car. I pull over and the officer approaches my window.
I’m let off with a warning. Must be my lucky day.
Pontius Paiva protects himself every Friday the 13th by eating cereal with mini marshmallows shaped like items commonly associated with good fortune. See more from this superstitious scribbler at pontiuspaiva.com.