“Get your story straight.”
My mama never made it past the seventh grade, but she always knew what she was talking about.
The judge looked at me and said, “Let’s hear your story.” I looked into his eyes and they turned a soft blue, just like Mama’s.
Easy as pie…
Susan Gale Wickes spent many years in the newspaper industry, but is now devoting her time and energy to writing poetry, songs, and short stories. She has been published in Haiku Journal, Sleeve, and 50-Word Stories.
The raindrops on the window look like tears.
Ava says, “Daddy, the house is crying.”
“It’s not, dear,” I promise, gathering the last of our bags from the room where her mother fought so hard.
But as the removal van pulls away, I look back and wonder if she’s right.
Mark Farley (mumbletoes.blogspot.com) is attempting to write 1,000,000 words in 2016. Please wish him luck!
What seemed like an infinite amount of time passed in about three seconds. She experienced the glorious sensation of what seemed to be flying. All of her worries vanished, except that for a split second, just before she hit the tarmac, she found herself asking, “Wait, why did I jump?”
Hannah Stevens has always had a passion for reading and writing. She is fifteen years old and has a weakness for words.
Martha, daughter of the hated sheriff, was seated at the window of his forest cabin. She stared vacantly at the shining glimmer of sunlight on metal or something a distance away.
“Must be a soda can.” She jumped off the stool. “I’m thirsty.”
The bullet splintered the wall mirror instead.
Natisha Parsona is a South African retiree who lives on the South Coast KwaZulu-Natal. She has been published in not too many magazines and has a children’s book on Amazon. She also has a short story in a chapbook published in South Africa.
His aunt didn’t see him watching her put in the wall safe’s code.
She didn’t see him hiding in the cellar the morning she left for her three week cruise.
He couldn’t see her pull out and bolt the sliding metal door she had recently installed at the cellar entrance.
Diane de Anda has published fiction, poetry, and essays in Rosebud, Straylight, Storyteller, Pacific Review, Bilingual Review, Frogpond, Modern Haiku, Bottle Rockets, Presence, and others; satire in Humor Times; eight children’s books; and a collection of 40 flash fiction stories.
She is a dancer, twisting her lithe grey body through the air as rivulets of water streak along her slender flanks.
At the peak of her flying pirouette, she can just make out the other dolphins playing in the distance.
Then her vision falls behind the stalls.
The audience applauds.
Jordan is a twenty-something writer and MA student from Telford. He has lots of aspirations, half hobbies, and musical instruments, but not enough time. If you like this, why not check out his blog.
Temperatures soar in the day and plummet at night, here in this God-forsaken desert. Stretching to the unimaginable horizon are miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles.
Don’t leave your car, they said.
Our rations are finished. Our water is finished.
I love you, we tell each other.
Mary Steer enjoys writing stories of all lengths, from fifty words to fifty thousand and more. More of her stories may be found at marysteer.com.
The story of the week for September 5 to 9 is…
Intent by Perry McDaid
Perry always comes up with complex characters and ideas, and he does a great job bringing them to life.
How to ignore her screaming as the car plunged into the river? But I couldn’t die with this on my conscience. “I slept with your sister!” I shouted above the torrent.
Kerry continued screaming, even when arms appeared to drag her out.
If she heard my confession, I’m done for.
Heather lives in the UK and writes poetry, flash fiction, and stories. Her poetry has appeared in several UK small press magazines, and her flash fiction at paragraphplanet.
His head thrummed through mixed conversations which crept down the aisle of the 35 bus. He patted the saxophone case.
He wasn’t musical. He preferred to write short stories since his psychotic breakdown.
He could have walked to High Street, but the hot Edinburgh summer made the Kalashnikov especially heavy.
Irish writer Perry McDaid lives in Derry under the brooding brows of Donegal hills which he occasionally hikes in search of druidic inspiration.