They held hands. The special moments passed, as they do. She smiled that smile he had fallen for years before. Her eyes sparked. Her grip tightened.
“I love you.”
He heard the words before her mouth even spoke them.
“Always,” he heard himself say.
He died.
Memories remained in her.
JH Statts is paralyzed from the chest down. He writes music reviews, draws a lot, likes tacos, and maintains a blog at aspirento.com. Visit him in Savannah, Georgia.
“What was it like down there?”
“It was heavy.”
“Heavy?”
“Yes, like a fat man.”
Marty looked at his brother as Tony ate a cup of Jello. “Then why did you jump in the water? You could never swim.”
“I know… But deep down, I always thought I could float.”
Kristina England resides in Worcester, MA. Her writing is published or forthcoming at Extract(s), Gargoyle, The Story Shack, and other magazines. For more on her writing, visit http://kristinaengland.blogspot.com.
The war lasted many years, but today would mark its end. The knight pulled his sword out of the murderous king knowing his action had saved many lives.
Honor above all, the knight told himself. But nonetheless, he whispered one final sentence to the king.
“Be at peace, my brother.”
Wim De Cuyper spends most of his time writing for a Belgian website and reading books. English not being his first language, he thanks videogames and movies in particular for making him able to read most of his books.
Check out his website: www.4gamers.be
After Jack and his friends had turns at the piñata, Liza’s father put the bat in her hands. “You can go without the blindfold, since you’re littler.”
Jack protested, so the bandanna went around her temples. But there was a gap at the bottom.
She swung; Jack yelped. Sweet release.
Anna Zumbro is a writer and teacher in Washington, DC.
Karma. The good kind.
When we moved into our first home, our pitbull, Wally, kept finding his way into the neighbor’s yard to play with their dogs. Well, Wally passed away a few weeks ago and now our new neighbor’s dog, Jackie, is digging into our yard.
We’re not complaining.
Mathew Allan Garcia lives in Hesperia, California with his wife, his three dogs, and his bear-dog hybrid named Zansa. He serves as the managing editor at Pantheon Magazine (www.pantheonmag.com), and writes a bi-weekly column entitled Funeral Songs at Parable Press. His work has been published at Shotgun Honey, Absinthe Revival, B O D Y Literature, Swamp Biscuits & Tea, among others. Sometimes, between it all, he has a chance to breathe.
As a writer, I feel the need to revise, to rewrite my life. I won’t ever get the chance: it is the first draft that gets published.
Upon my death, my life will be summed up in words.
I hope the words are kind. I hope the words are true.
Eileen McIntyre is a writer working on her first mainstream fiction novel. Eileen lives in Northern California with her ardent fan, her husband Michael.
“You will never learn,” my mama said to me.
She sat me down at the kitchen table with a sack of potatoes and a paring knife and told me to get busy.
But I did learn. So did she.
Never make a kid mad and then hand him a knife.
Joe Malone is living with a Wora woman and her three sisters in South Sudan. Read more of his writing at joem18b.wordpress.com.
He brought her two slices of blackened toast, apricot preserves slathered on like burn salve.
“I made breakfast. Sorry about last night.”
“It smells terrible.”
“And sorry I can’t cook,” he said, perched on the edge of the bed like an uncertain sparrow.
She smiled.
They went out for pancakes.
Amy Locke received her BA in English from the University of Iowa. Her fiction has been published by monkeybicycle.net, bewilderingstories.com, and crackthespine.com. She currently lives in Iowa with her husband, daughter, and two silly dogs.
When Stan dropped out to become a tattoo artist in Hawaii, Mom said he was in trouble.
Bigger trouble when she heard his customers were Yakuza thugs smuggling handguns back to Japan.
Mom was wrong.
Stan was really in trouble when he got caught kissing Momoko, the boss’s only daughter.
Katie Grotzinger is currently a student at St. Edward’s University in Austin, Texas, where she writes rhetorical criticism papers on gangster rap and cartoons.
In her ninety years, Mrs. Agatha Harder had never been kissed like this before.
Passionate, yes, but also exciting, forbidden! Her eyes closed blissfully, as she savoured the soft lips, pressing against her own…
“Miss, others are waiting.”
“A dollar well spent,” she smiled, walking away from the kissing booth.
Barrette Plett is an advisor at the 7 Oaks Met School in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. Every so often, he commits acts of fiction and subjects his students to enjoying them.