Grinning, Earl invaded Gomper Hall, sporting a fuchsia waistcoat with orange-striped breeches, a feathered fez. His belt had bells!
Earl slapped distinguished backs, strutted past mouths agape, open as though for fishhooks. Gentlemen fanned woozy ladies.
Earl was removed.
(Nobody expected that heist. We’re still taking inventory of the loot!)
C.B. Auder might someday dream of a life jam-packed with flexi-twill cuffs and apricot capes.
Worse than ants, worse than soured milk. Worse than forgotten forks.
The drone of the helicopter ambulance roared in their bellies the closer it came. It set down in the field, sending the banner that read CELEBRATING 50 YEARS soaring over their heads.
It was clear the party was over.
Ashley Hutson has been published in Hedge Apple Magazine and was a finalist in this year’s Lascaux 250 Flash Fiction contest. She lives in Sharpsburg, MD.
Chosen as a soldier.
A box of bullets and a gun.
Across the line, he spots movement.
Through his scope X marks the spot.
A thousand thoughts.
As he pulls the trigger
I hear the shot.
My heart races.
I feel the pain.
One life to live.
This was insane.
Patrick is about to retire. A favourite person in his life introduced him to this site.
The girl ran. The girl shouted, “Mother! That radio! It’s ea… Ahhh!”
The mother ran. The mother shouted, “Husband! That radio! It’s eating my… Ahhh!”
The husband ran. The husband shouted, “Max! That radio! It’s eating my fam… Ahhh!”
Max yawned. Max farted. That awful radio said, “Bye, doggy doggy!”
Madeline is almost ten. She likes reading, drawing, writing, and learning new things. Madeline hopes to be a scientist.
I watch him from across the street. The ice cream cone in his hand leaves pink drops on the pavement.
I watch as she bends down, tenderly wiping the sticky mess around his beaming smile. I watch my son slip his hand into hers and walk away with his mother.
Megna Murali is an amateur writer who has vowed to escape corporate stoogedom through the power of words. She likes to put one word after the other and watch magic happen. Her blog is the outlet for her chaotic creativity.
The silence was deafening. The icy water made his lungs burn and the pressure became unbearable. He knew he was dying. He would soon be dead.
“Strange,” he thought as the world slowly turned black. “I’m almost dead and the fact that I left the oven on still bothers me.”
Ryan is a student at Coventry University currently studying English and Creative Writing. His hobbies include being the greatest musician to have ever lived, winning the Nobel Prize seventeen times, and being the first man to go to Mars (without a rocket). Oh, and he’s humble, too…
One car after another. Her ponytail bobs up and down.
They call her Isabelle. Cindy. Maryanne. They say you like it. They say I’m sorry. They say don’t tell.
The man she calls Daddy takes her home, counts up the money, and gives her a McChicken. He calls her Alice.
Patti McDermott is a marriage and family therapist in Los Angeles California and live in Topanga, California. I wrote two self-help books back in the 90’s that were published and am currently working on a novel (much harder, but way more interesting!).
Martin Bledsoe was a short, plump, bald, harmless-looking man in his mid-50s. Nobody suspected he was also the best assassin in the world.
Bang!
Well, nobody except Emma Kronstad, a short, plump, grandma-looking woman in her early sixties who strolled away from his dead body whispering, “Now I’m No. 1!”
Michael Coolen is a pianist, composer, actor, performance artist, and writer who lives in Corvallis with his wife, two boys, and two cats to which he is terribly allergic.
Those thoughts again
Yes, those kind
Yes, you’ve had them, too
The ones locked in a box
I try to hide them
How would I look
If I was exposed?
Do you question me?
Are you so perfect?
What’s in your closet?
Yes I’m a vegan
And I crave bacon
Patrick is about to retire, a favourite person in his life introduced him to this site.
I left town and drove straight at the rising sun. No one would miss me. My radio screamed and I forced myself not to look back. A new life swelled over the horizon, while the old one turned to ash in my wake. Lesson learned: nobody loves a rodeo clown.
Steven is a writer of fiction and Facebook updates. He is proud of one of these and hides another. Alternatingly. Depending on his Facebook posts that day. Check out his blog.