If she had known,
she might have answered her telephone,
let the dog out one more time,
refilled his bowl.
She would’ve worn a newer nightgown.
As it was,
she was just so
tired, so bone-heavy
tired.
She turned on the television,
crawled beneath her comforter, took
Tomorrow
for granted.
Jennifer L. Freed writes mostly poetry, and occasionally some micro fiction. Other work can be seen at jfreed.weebly.com.
Pen engaged
His soul binds to paper
His broken shoulders explained
Transposed
Twelve bells toll
His verses unfold
Ignited
Burning in rage
Crimson embers glow
His silence smoulders
His ashes dance
Within the wind
Release
A bugle plays in the distance
For a silent hero
Who served his country proudly
Patrick Yu never served in the military, but he knew a silent hero.
Wrapped inside a chrysalis of excrement beneath the dry earth she slept away black centuries in a semi-gelatinous state. Gradually an exquisite shape formed inside the foul pupa, regaining consciousness only as vital organs shifted sluggishly, painfully into place.
Soon it would be time to emerge, and she was ravenous.
Sarah has been in love with short stories all her life, but most of her writing energy is focused on her blog.
He saw her across the gate, three rows over, reading a paperback with eyes wide, ponytail in place, and imagined her next to him, picking at the leftovers of a fight from last week, always hauling up their baggage just before they travel.
Ponytails always look better from a distance.
Robert Hoekman Jr is a writer and the cohost of Spillers, downtown Phoenix’s premier short fiction storytelling event. Learn more about him at rhjr.net.
The Thing came at her slowly, then gathered speed. With an unexpected boldness, it cut off her escape.
The effect it had on her was overwhelming.
She shook.
She struggled to breathe.
She broke into a sweat.
The scream rose in her throat.
The spider stopped dead, its havoc wreaked.
This is Jean’s third offering and this one is based on real life experience. Sad but true.
She arrived at the airport. Two hours later, she would be flying.
Gate 25. Panic.
Inside the plane. Cold sweat.
Small bag in the overhead compartment. Fast heartbeat.
A woman approached her. “Sarah, the Captain needs us. We are taking off in ten minutes.”
She breathed deeply and started working.
Ana lives in Madrid, where she works as a secretary. She has a pile of dreams. The last one: writing a short story. There she is. AGAIN.
At night their scaly tails became legs, so he hung bells around their necks to help find them in the morning. The bells hung heavy and pendulous, like a third breast. When his wife was away, he opened the shutters and waited for the scrabble of claws upon the windowsill.
Mark Farley is attempting to write 1,000,000 words in 2016. Please wish him luck!
I stepped onto the old front porch. The empty swing creaked and swayed, despite the lack of an evening breeze.
“Is that you, Charles? You’re early tonight.” It was 80 degrees, but I felt a chill as I sat next to him on the swing.
He always was a charmer.
Susan Gale Wickes spent many years in the newspaper industry, but is now devoting her time and energy to writing poetry and short stories. She has been published in Haiku Journal, Sleeve, and 50-Word Stories.
The Story of the Month is chosen from the Story of the Week winners announced from the past month.
The finalists for June were:
The Last Gig by JD Lone Bear
There Be Monsters by Eva Lucien
Could You Please Direct Me to the Self-Help Section? by Ozzie Nogg
The Daily Check on His Enchanted Girlfriend by Mark Farley
The Leaking and the Legacy by Bob Thurber
The winner of the June 2016 Story of the Month, and the $10 prize, is…
There Be Monsters
The final sentence of this story is haunting and darkly beautiful. So much is suggested by these 50 words, written in between the lines. I love the world-building. Great work, Eva!
A cockatoo gnaws at the twisted wire holding his cage shut. Upstairs, humans hurl insults and furniture. Again.
These bars, their anger: a prison within a prison. Enough.
Snap! A puff of feathers, an open window. The sky, foreign but irresistible, challenges his wings to embrace a new, dangerous freedom.
After chasing his muse from Virginia to Manhattan, Richard Day Gore settled in Southern California, where he spends his time pushing around words, paint brushes, and guitar strings. See more at richarddaygore.com.