LS ENGLER: Ten

Adventure, Submissions, Top Stories, , , ,

My name is Ten. I have killed ten people. My lover, my lover’s lover, their child. The Avalon brothers, boom boom boom. Four. Five. Six. Seven almost killed me, but Seven Eight Nine, all in a row. Ten? Just a job. This? Another job.

Hello.

Goodbye.

My name is Eleven.

L.S. Engler writes from outside of Chicago, though she grew up chasing dragons in the woods of Michigan. She is the editor of the World Unknown Review and author of the Slayer Saga, a trilogy about zombies. Her work has appeared in many anthologies and magazines, including the Saturday Evening Post, Phantaxis Magazine, and Pulp Modern.

MARY SHEEHAN: Invited for Dinner

Amusing, Odd, Submissions, , , ,

“Isn’t Darryl joining us?” I ask my host.

Otis grunts, gnaws on a BBQ rib. Should ribs be that big?

They’d argued… I heard thuds. This is hillbilly country!

A bruised Darryl appears. “Dang, Otis! Don’t freak our dinner guest.”

Then he stage whispers, “You know fear spoils the meat!”

Mary Sheehan hails from southern Ireland and is vegetarian…
honestly!

ANNA SCHOENBACH: A Refuge in Ueno Park

Artistic, Submissions, , ,

I am in greenery. I needed peace more than I knew.

Peace is the sigh of life, a sudden loosening in your body and your soul.

I sit in that park for an hour, and stand up to leave, only to see another path.

“Oh!” I breathe, prayerfully, “There’s more!”

Anna finds life to be an overwhelming cacophony of beautiful sensation. She writes so that she can capture even just a little bit of it.

SUSAN GALE WICKES: A Coming to Light

Submissions, Touching, , , , , , ,

He carried me over the threshold. That, in itself, was not an easy task.

I should have loved him for that alone, but I always wanted more.

“You missed a spot.” I twirled the just-washed glass around in the sunlight.

He reached to take it, but I smiled. “Let me.”

Susan Gale Wickes hails from the Midwest. She likes writing and daydreaming about where it might lead.

SARAH KRENICKI: Family Secret

Odd, Submissions, , , ,

“We need to talk.”

“I’m sorry!” he shouted, thinking he knew what she wanted. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I can’t be the son you want. I’m sorry I can’t get my life together. You want perfection… I’m only human.”

“Ah,” she said, smiling sadly. “But you’re not.”

Sarah Krenicki is, in fact, only human. She makes up for this about writing stories about people and things who are not.

LOURDES TUTAINE-GARCIA: The Secret Life of Knick Knacks

Artistic, Poetry, Submissions, , ,

Paper hearts for wooden souls. Wooden souls for men with minds of cellophane who yearn for women made of air (sweetly scented air) encased in expensive, crystal bottles.

Only the plump sofa is sincere, pleasant in its dowdiness. And the radio, in love, spends its day warbling serenades to it.

Lourdes Tutaine-Garcia is a novelist who has published several poems, the last of which appeared in Avocet.

ANGELA BRETT: Wibbly-Wobbly Words

Poetry, Submissions, , ,

Fifty-word stories, you say?
I wrote two:
one imaginary, one true;
one momentary, one eternal —
thoughts growing from language kernel.

For a second’s worth a thousand words,
a word a thousand seconds.
A fiction hides a thousand truths,
a truth a thousand fictions.

Word and truth aren’t reckoned by restrictions.

Angela Brett wrote this poem for her blog at angelastic.com as a way to announce her previous two stories published on 50WS.

BOOMER TRUJILLO: Sudsy Surrender

Submissions, Touching, , ,

Burgers and beer aren’t romantic, unless free-range and craft. The perfect test: casual pretense, maudlin subtext.

They caught each other blowing away their beer-burger burps discreetly. Infatuation.

They cut off each’s “Before this goes further, you should know” speeches with “I already know, and I feel just the same.” Love.

boomer trujillo is a TexMex son, parent to an anxious dog, and a perpetual student. He’s grateful for readers.

MARK KONIK: Unnamed

Amusing, Submissions, , , ,

Gerald was in the unenviable position of having a pseudonym more popular than himself. He had submitted five stories and had none accepted. Mitchell Kent—Gerald’s middle name and favorite superhero—had been published twice. Gerald had to get rid of Mitchell. Murder or suicide? Either way it’d be messy.

Mark Konik is a writer from Newcastle, Australia. He writes short stories and plays.