“Dad, you can’t keep appearing in my bedroom as and when you want. Please respect my privacy.”
Dad just sits there on the end of my bed, nods, and leaves the room. The room suddenly becomes very cold.
Dad passed away over a year ago now. Still seems like yesterday.
Chris is a Network Manager involved in many aspects of IT. He loves writing short stories and technical articles, photography, and playing the guitar. He is from Dudley in the Black Country. He is also a member of The Oldbury Writing Group.
“A salad,” she ordered, waving the unopened menu.
“Certainly. Which salad would you like?”
She looked up, momentarily, then back to the phone. “I don’t care. A salad, with leaves and salad stuff in it.”
The waiter brought dandelion leaves he picked himself, from out back where the dogs go.
Stuart is absent without leave from the majority of life and finds that writing helps him remain that way. He occasionally blogs a story at diamondsanddross.blogspot.com.
First day and I’m in hell. Crunch. Crunch. Ugh, does she have to chew so loudly? I can’t concentrate.
The apple rolls along the floor, stopping beside my foot. A tiny green head pops out of the core. Wriggling out, it crawls across the linoleum.
“Thanks, li’l worm.”
Emily Ramser is a high school author living part-time between North Carolina and California. She’s been published in a few small online journals such as Vox Poetica and Spinozablue. Her story Sins of Murder will be published in Wolf Craft Anthology this coming fall as well.
Clarence played his brand new clarinet very loud: Phweeee!!
It made his little sister angry, so he played it even louder: PHWEEEEEE!!!
In a puff of orange smoke, a genie appeared. It said, “I’ll grant you two wishes.”
Clarence wished for an even louder clarinet, and a pair of earplugs.
Captain Crunch had a parrot, Polly, who chanted “Treasure Chest” four times in a row every ten minutes. The crew members hated it.
When the Captain was sleeping, the crew taught Polly to say, “Ahoy,” so it sounded like the crew was listening to their captain.
The crew was happy.
Rosie G. is a member of Todd Battaglia’s Grade 7 Language Arts class.
Just as I’m easing myself through a bank of lasers, the last security measure between me and my target, I’m jolted by the ear-splitting blare of a siren, followed by the chiming and gonging of bells and the braying of a chorus of sick donkeys.
I hate my alarm clock.
This story is based on a title suggested by Adam Michaud.
Scrib scrub, scrib scrub…
Inch by inch, the tiled floor returned to its original lustre.
The scrubber had mixed feelings about the procedure. On the one hand, it was a tedious chore. But on the other hand, it was a pain in the butt.
Actually, his feelings were pretty consistent.
The word eludes me.
“Done yet?” she interrupts.
I scowl. “Looking for another Bestseller?”
“Yep!” my assistant chirps. She loves launch parties.
Sanity vanishes. I strike with my pen repeatedly.
Blood oozes, and she dies at my feet.
I blink. “There’s the word I was looking for… Expired.”
Lisa Forget lives in Quebec, Canada. A singer and entertainer by profession, she enjoys writing paranormal, romantic and young adult fiction as an extension of her artistic expression. She is a member of Kelley Armstrong’s writing forums, successfully completed NaNoWriMo 2010, and will have four flash fiction stories published by Pill Hill Press in the DAILY FLASH 2012: 366 DAYS OF FLASH FICTION (LEAP YEAR EDITION) anthology coming out in the fall of 2011. She’s currently hard at work on what she hopes will become her first YA novel.