He managed to get over the stout fence with ease. The derelict hut lay waiting as a fine, light snow began to fall.
If he could just get away from the voices.
Here. It must be far enough.
Obese. Grotesque. Vile. Slob.
Here he could be himself, without their judgement.
Abbie Mapley wrote this story.
Alone again herself, she saw the loneliness of others. Stray mittens and gloves in parking spaces, on snowbanks and sidewalks.
She brought them home, washed and dried them, wore them as others wear mismatched socks.
Now when she claps her hands the soft thick sound makes her broken heart glad.
Mary Steer is a word nerd living west of Toronto, where she works and reworks stories from life and imagination. When she’s not writing or editing, she likes to dabble in physics (knitting) and chemistry (baking).
The house had been eerily quiet. She wanted to talk to someone other than her mind.
She found him seated in the rocking chair by the window. Sitting down on the floor beside him, she leaned her head gently against the chair.
The empty chair rocked slightly at her contact.
Divya is an IT nerd by day and a blogger by night. She’s also a coffee junkie and a Cancerian. She lives in India.
A streetlight, an escaping soul fuzzed the world behind the dizzying waltz of flakes, but even the gloomy yellow halo and lonely ghost of a breath were not as hazy as my head, as hard as my heart.
I had watched her leave her office for weeks now, alone now.
Colin Rinne is currently enrolled in Wabash College and is an intended English/Spanish Double Major with a minor in fanciful adventures and interesting conversations.
Many expressed concern when she departed for Costa Rica. Like going out at night alone, traveling solo is a way to get yourself in trouble.
People worried about her safety and felt a twinge of pity. Some looked at her with admiration and awe.
Living up to that exhilarated her.
Emilie lives in Toronto, Canada and works at a bank. She seeks to discover her creative and expressive side through writing and finds 50-word stories the perfect medium.
I saw the child in the church where he’d taken refuge. An atheist myself, I wondered at his old-fashioned notion of sanctuary.
He pretended not to see me, but I knew he could. I waited for the boy to show himself. At last he came weeping to me, another unbeliever.
Paul Jenkins is director of library services at the College of Mount St. Joseph in Cincinnati Ohio.
Even here in the basement, I still hear the siren wailing in the distance. Mom went with the others to make sure it was safe outside for me.
I’m nine, ten next month, so I wanted to come, but she told me to wait.
That was yesterday.
Where is everyone?
Alexander Scotchfield is a Canadian academic and software developer. He lives in Southern Ontario with his family, including Ulysses, his late night feline writing companion. When he isn’t writing, he can be found writing games, or running in the cool evening hours. See more at scotchfield.com/.
Mister Adolphus Finnegan was a pleasant chap, if a little seclusive. His daily forest-path meanderings were routed so as to minimize chance meetings with other meanderers. He called these his “refreshing ambulations”, and continued them well into his elderhood.
He lived a long, well-refreshed, pleasant, but secluded kind of life.
This story was based on a title provided by @Keab42.
In a Brooklyn apartment complex, she’s one anonymous echo among many. She doesn’t know anyone’s name. One day, she finds a dead ant outside her door. She wonders how it survived in a world where everything was bigger than it. She gives it a name. She feels very large.
Kyle Hemmings is the author of three chapbooks of poems: Avenue C (Scars Publications), Fuzzy Logic (Punkin Press), and Amsterdam & Other Broken Love Songs (Flutter Press). He has been pubbed at Gold Wake Press, Thunderclap Press, Blue Fifth Review, Step Away, and The Other Room. He blogs at http://upatberggasse19.blogspot.com
Ten minutes later, Jon was still staring into the open refrigerator.
“I thought you weren’t hungry,” Stephanie said.
“I’m not,” Jon replied, closing the door. “Ever wonder if it gets lonely?”
“The fridge?” she asked.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
The fridge tried not to cry.
Ryan Hall is a computer programming graduate student at the University at Buffalo in NY, hoping to go into game design. He started writing microfiction to deal with stress from programming projects.