I’m sitting by the fireplace. I hear a knock. I unlock the door and open it.
Nothing.
I’m walking away when I hear the knock again.
I walk back to the door. Open it.
Nothing.
I step out to look around. I scream.
Silence.
The door is still hanging open.
Abby is an experimental writer and 7th grader from the suburbs of Philadelphia.
She looks at me with disgust, her thin eyebrows scrunched.
“What? You think you’re so special? You fat, dumb, talentless girl. You are nothing.”
I walk over to her. She walks to me. I look straight into her pale gray eyes.
“You suck,” I tell the girl in the mirror.
Jewel Gray is a stay-at-home-mom who tries to write a little.
Arachne’s skill still amazes me. In the early morning sunlight, I have often watched dew shimmering in rainbow-drenched glory along silken strands laid down by Madame Spider between the soft open petals of two crimson roses.
When a fly buzzes by and lands, he remains. Amazed also? No. Madame’s breakfast.
Joan spends her days typing, daydreaming, talking on the phone with her daughter and collecting seashells on long beach walks with her husband.
The story of the week for November 9 to 13 is…
The Last Day I Wore My Wedding Ring by Guy Preston
We’ve come to expect this kind of quality from Guy. It’s already his third Story of the Week award.
Helm in hand, the knight revealed himself. A dying man deserved to know the name of the adversary who’d bested him. He gripped the cold, spiraled hilt of his father’s blade.
The old man’s eyes widened, not because of the pain, but because of the ghost in front of him.
AC Baldwin wrote this story.
“You have beautiful hair and amazing figure.” He thought his pick-up line was charming in its sincerity.
She flinched and sneered. “This is a wig, and I lost weight because of cancer.”
He froze in his seat, unable to speak.
The train stopped. She got off, and burst out crying.
Katya Duft is a translator, interpreter, and language teacher who enjoys writing short stories, poetry, and her travel blog “Tales from the Bus.
They converge in NorCal every August, scruffy in their outdoor encampments, recharging devices between candy and coffee shops, each waiting for texted directions from secretive connections. They share granola, vague tips, and legends, sizing each other up, moving under the radar, keeping journals to document how the West was lost.
Lee DeAmali resides in the Los Angeles area.
The “DO NOT DISTURB” tag was hanging on the doorknob.
His wedding ring sparkled on his left hand. The gun gleamed on his right hand.
Muffled moans echoed through the motel door.
Still sobbing, he slammed the back of his head against the wall in time with the creaking bed.
Eliah Medina is a Legal Studies major in Texas who also enjoys creative writing.
When my mother fell pregnant, I wished for the baby to die.
My sister’s looming arrival changed us all. I pretended to busy myself with my toys as my parents discussed their problems. Another mouth to feed was too much.
When labour pains kicked in, I’d already packed my bag.
Mark Farley’s nose is to the NaNoWriMo grindstone. His zombie novella “Grans & Ammo” is available on Amazon.
We would be the first family to fly to the moon. I don’t know why they chose us. Dad hates flying, mom fears open spaces, my sister needs too much space, and I get severe motion sickness.
At least I’ll find out if the moon really is made of cheese.
Stephanie Amargi lives in Oregon with her husband and some house spiders. Her poetry is forthcoming in Foundling Review. She writes about her love for food, words, and being human on her blog.