The rain beaded on the windshield and scattered the light from the full moon, mottling her face with dabs of gray like an impressionist painting.
I wanted to make love to her, but how could I? She is a work of art, a masterpiece to be venerated from a distance.
Alex Markovich gets his best story ideas in the middle of the night.
He had experienced moments of pure joy mixed with frustration and sung all the songs of satisfaction. He had discovered that discipline was love in its purest form. He had witnessed breathtaking sunsets and surveyed star-filled heavens on a clear night.
But he would never learn to whistle a symphony.
Jim Freeze is 69 years old and retired.
The fortuneteller strokes my hand, the callouses along my fingertips. Her brow furrows. “You have the hands of a pianist… But that cannot be…”
My nostrils burn in a dark, musty room, air of silence shattered by empty notes only I hear. She shudders at my memories, proving herself authentic.
Denise Long writes from her home in Nebraska. She works as a freelance copy editor and an English instructor. In her spare time, she is also a wife, and a mother to two young boys. Her flash fiction has appeared in or is forthcoming from Burrow Press Review, Journal of Microliterature, and The Story Shack, among others. She occupies a small bit of online space at denisehlong.com
Round, another shield of Perseus, the painting holds Medusa beheaded and mortally offended; why does everyone blame her?
Why must she be punished again and again? She scowls, her snakes hissing in support of her.
“Don’t look at me,” she cries out. “Don’t let him use me like this. Run!”
E.A. Fow holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Brooklyn College, CUNY. She reads, writes, and paints in Brooklyn, NY.
Editor’s Note: This story is inspired by a painting, which you can learn about here.
Crimson dyed the sky. A colossal, drowning black rushed to overtake it. Into the heavens two colors fought, masking bloody fires below. In time, I will forget the explosion, the names of the dead, even the blinding light, but the battle between red and black will own the skies forever.
Brandon Newman is a senior at Hunterdon Central Regional High School in Flemington, NJ.
On a walk I saw a dying cicada mating with a fully dead one. It was a silent act. None of the annoying buzz.
With a flickering of one wing, the dying bug ceased all movement. I wondered if it was necrophilia or one last chance to make a mark.
Nathaniel Tower writes fiction, teaches English, and manages the online lit magazine Bartleby Snopes. His short fiction has appeared in over 50 online and print magazines. A story of his, “The Oaten Hands,” was named one of 190 notable stories by storySouth’s Million Writers Award in 2009. His first novel, A Reason To Kill, was released in July 2011. Visit him at www.bartlebysnopes.com/ntower.htm.
Dr. Ruination plotted to steal the Mona Lisa for months.
He had a forgery commissioned so the theft would go unnoticed. His minions entered the Louvre and exchanged the Mona Lisa with their forgery.
They were crestfallen to discover someone had already stolen it, this replica going unnoticed until now.
This is the first in a series of five stories by King Kool.
Critics and laymen shared exclamations of delight as they wandered in awe through the halls of Fallo’s gallery.
“The texture!” they said. “The movement! The tone! The pizzazz!”
Everyone wanted to know Fallo’s secret.
He told them, “My tools are my heart and my toothbrush,” and flashed a paint-stained smile.