Arthur discovered time travel quite by accident.
It was surprisingly simple. He reached into his cupboard for a snack, and suddenly, with a WHOOSH, he was across the room, fifteen seconds ago.
“Whoa!” Arthur exclaimed. But he was still hungry, so he went over to the cupboard for a snack.
He looks at the wheel with great determination. He turns it slowly, controlling the tepid temperature of spring in high heaven.
Cleaner silently mops the wet floor.
Thump! He slips. The wheel spins wildly. His face is pale with panic. Spring turns into summer, autumn, and winter.
He is fired.
Fannie is a girl living in Sydney, NSW, Australia with a great interest in writing and literature.
He set the bottle down at the door, grunting as his back popped. He wiped the troll blood off his sword, toed off his muddy boots, and shook leaves out of his hair. Satisfied, he picked up the bottle and entered.
“I’m home!” he shouted. “And I brought the milk!”
Anthony Lora is a serial and short fiction writer living in Orlando. Follow him on Twitter at @AnthonyLFiction and find a free set of his flash fiction on Patreon.
Football ruled his weekend. College all Saturday and pros all Sunday. This was his just reward for a hard week of work.
He turned the television off after the last weekend football game. The house was eerily quiet.
He wondered, idly, when she’d left and whether she would come back.
NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.
Dolly squinted up, stolen from her busy holopad by the boisterous burst of blue-hued starlight. Her pupils adjusted. She caught her breath.
Her Comet-class space train, cantering along the networked velocity gates, weaved a shimmering silver thread through the dense asteroid cloud.
“…I’ll need celery for soup,” she remembered.
Ben Toovey is a Brit living in Germany, and a keen procrastinator.
Margo used to wonder about her friend Ellen’s strange requests.
“Would you mind picking up some industrial-sized trash bags?”
“Can I borrow your duct tape?”
“Wanna hold my new pistol?”
“Just take my phone.”
Now, sitting here in prison, it all made perfect sense.
Ellen wasn’t her friend after all.
Susan Gale Wickes is a writer from Indiana. She claims nobody was harmed in the writing of this story.
“You wear earplugs?”
“You know, so’s you don’t lose your hearing. I mean, it’s real loud, right?”
“When you do someone. It hurts your ears, the bang.”
“You think I use a gun?”
Legion shook a smoke from the pack. “You gotta lot to learn, kid.”
Willie Carr wrote this story.
It wasn’t my fault. The kid went over the side all by himself. Being an idiot, I went in after him. Hit the water like a sledgehammer; seemed more fun when I tried it as a boy.
Anyway, he didn’t say much while we waited. Just as well. Some cruise.
David is 67 years old and lives in Victoria, B.C. He started writing a year ago and enjoys posting poetry and vss on Twitter as @DavisLunnThe3rd.
I looked through the thick, slightly dirty glass. I could sense the large shadows of creatures passing around me. After a while, an alien-looking face moved up to the glass. Its heavily layered scales glistened momentarily in the light filtering down from above.
I guess I never really liked aquariums.
Susanna Cahn von Seelen wrote this story.
The monster under my bed whispers to me in the dark. Says I’m small, scared, so easy to pull down and rip apart and chew up until I’m nothing but two knuckle bones hanging from a string.
I listen, frozen, until I scream, run.
Mom sighs, says: “Ignore your brother.”
Catherine Ann Fox lives in Indiana with her husband, and enjoys writing all sorts of weird things. Logically, she knows there’s nothing under her bed but boxes, but one can never be too careful, can they?