Our prison break was a success.
I followed Kyle to a house in the dark. “Won’t we get caught?” I said as he broke a window.
“No chance. This guy will be out all night.”
“How do you know?”
Kyle grinned. “He runs the prison. He’s out looking for us.”
Mark Farley (mumbletoes.blogspot.co.uk) is attempting to write 1,000,000 words in 2016. Please wish him luck!
He adored the plains. They boasted a beauty, and a savagery, all their own, alive with raucous trumpeting and haunting laughter.
The roar was his favourite, bar none. Unmistakable and unique, its sound carried for miles. Its meaning was abundantly clear to all who heard it: hail to the king.
Tony Awori is studying in Kuala Lumpur, and plays with a band in his spare time (when he isn’t writing).
The daffodils were open only a day when the wind bowled most of them over.
I gathered all those with broken stems and put them in a vase and put the vase on the table. This is what life is like after 60, the light, indecisive, distraught, sprouting black feathers.
Howie Good is the author of Danger Acts Starring Unstable Elements, winner of the 2015 Press Americana Prize for Poetry.
Standing by the rails, feeling ethereal in the moonlight, I feel no cold, nor pain on the soles of my feet.
Yet my senses are heightened.
Breathing. Breathing. Breathing.
Thunder becomes a crescendo as the train bursts from the tunnel.
It brushes me. I sway. I turn.
Not this time.
Jean Lloyd enjoys the challenge of fitting a story into so few words. When she retires, she would like to try writing a book, but she’s sure it’s a lot harder than it looks!
Grandpa snapped open the latches. The case creaked as he pulled up the lid.
“Why are you keeping our stubs? They’re not worth anything.”
Grandpa smiled over his shoulder. “We had fun though, didn’t we?”
Twenty years later in that dusty attic, I cherished those priceless tickets. “Love you, Grandpa.”
Jason wishes he could have met his grandfathers, and wishes he visited his grandmothers more when he had the chance. He marvels at how value lies in the eyes (and heart) of the beholder.
She could feel it at the very edges of her fingertips. If she reached a little more, just a little, she could grab it. She summoned the last of her strength and energy.
But it was gone.
Her doctor explained to her husband that Alzheimers is a slow degenerative disease.
Lee Otto lives in Australia with her husband, two children, and plethora of cats. At 60, after a life spent as a technical writer, she decided to find out what fiction writing is all about and enrolled in a Bachelor of Arts majoring in fiction writing. This is her first attempt at having anything fictional published.
No longer able to live in their home, the elderly couple moved to a long-term care facility.
Possessions gathered during their fifty-eight years together were tossed into a dumpster and hauled away to the landfill.
The house is empty of breath, waiting for a family to bring a new beginning.
This is Debbie’s second 50-word story. She is amazed at how challenging it is to tell a story in so few words. An aspiring writer, Debbie is excited to eventually meet her new neighbours.
The man runs toward the café. His red coat and yellow umbrella are bursts of color in the rainy gray.
Earlier, he slammed the door shut at our home because of a misunderstanding.
He smiles as he sits at my table, erasing the stinging words we threw at each other.
Gabriela Abraxas lives and writes in Los Angeles.
I smelled her perfume, that flowery muskiness she used to drown herself in. It tickled my nose just the same. I imagined her dancing past in her wispy skirt, as if she still couldn’t let go of childhood ballerina dreams.
Just the way I still can’t let go of her.
Laura Widener is a wife, mother, and coffee addict living in rural Georgia. She holds degrees in Sociology and Human Services, and completed her MFA in Writing at Lindenwood University. Her forthcoming work will be found in Riding Light and NoiseMedium, and her previous work can be found in TWJ Magazine, Morpheus Tales, and Life in 10 Minutes. Visit her blog at incessantpen.wordpress.com.
Nobody saw the tree coming.
The great trunk ruptured the sun-blasted concrete, folding the collapsing buildings into itself as it expanded. Roots burrowed through underground railways, branches pierced the brittle glass of windows, and asphalt flowers blossomed in the air.
The city was abandoned overnight.
Tourists returned only cautiously.
William Shaw is a student, blogger, and amateur journalist. He is fearful and respectful of all trees. You can find him on Tumblr, where he writes haiku poetry about Doctor Who, and on Twitter.