Her limbs ached. Her heart ached, too. Wasn’t time supposed to heal all wounds?
She’d caught him in lie after lie. “I never want to see you again!” she’d screamed.
She looked down at the blue planet below. She’d slept five years in the spacecraft’s hibernation pod.
Maybe she’d over-reacted.
AJ Joseph is a bookaholic, semi-insomniac, unsuccessful recovering javaholic, and most importantly a writer. She occasionally writes on her blog, Words from Sonobe
He gazes at the glass, filled to the brim with whiskey. Too full, she’d say with that laugh of hers. She’d loved whiskey—the burn of it, the promise in it—in a way she’d never loved him.
He lifts it to his lips and tastes her one last time.
Melissa is a writer, teacher, and dog lover in the Middle of Nowhere, Michigan.
It’s a lovely name. Four letters, synchronized and encased within a crimson heart. Forever.
The joyous pulsing within my heart helps sedate the pain of the ink injections.
In the final touches of the artistry, my Twitter account suddenly activates. The needle slips. And scars.
“It’s over,” she tweets. “Forever.”
Glen Benison is a writer of short story fiction, finding themes from everyday happenings that settle in his brain, some of which eventually take seed.
Am I coming back? Wow. Bluntness at last. Good for you. And about time, I must say. Imagine if we had always talked so openly, so directly. I wonder where our conversations would have led us, where we’d be right now. Not here. That’s a fair assumption, don’t you think.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble”. Visit BobThurber.net.
Clinging to the cliff’s edge by his finger tips, James oddly found time to think. He considered his position and in retrospect, he regretted his decision to split-up with Tina near a waterfall. He was never a huge fan of water and was fast losing his love of heights.
David is getting older by the day.
The ticket stub for the 8:50 showing of The Grand Budapest Hotel floated onto the bathroom floor.
It lay buried in my winter coat pocket all summer; today it fell out.
A bittersweet reminder of the last date before you left without a word. I can’t bear throwing it away.
Kristin Ronzi is a freelance writer and editor living in Tokyo, Japan. Her work has been featured in EastLit, Paragraph Planet, Anak Sastra, and The Anthem.
“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”
“My boyfriend dumped me.”
“I’m sorry, Miss, but ending a relationship is not an illegal activity. There’s nothing I can do for you.”
“What about Phil’s smooth talking and handsome good looks? Can’t you arrest him for possession of burglary tools? He stole my heart!”
John H. Dromey had his story “Hunger Gamesmanship” posted at Stupefying Stories Showcase.
I’ve always been told to trust you. But you only entice me to make bad decisions, like eating Taco Bell after midnight. Then you spend hours punishing me!
And now you’re telling me to quit my job to become a novelist?
This isn’t working. I’m leaving you for my Head.
Diana Wagner loves to write and read and watch and think about stories.
There’s a buzzing in my mind,
like a swarm
from a ripped and tattered hive.
Looking in my direction,
can you see my soul
through your dark and stinging eyes?
What happened to the words
so softly spoken,
your gentle hand,
your warm embrace,
as we walked, talked, and smiled.
Patrick works with robots and computers, at times writing software, but he would rather write poems.
The burly biker stormed in, sleeve rolled up to expose “Christina”. One glance and I knew.
As the tattoo machine drew the line, I patiently listened to him curse at her. A long silence followed.
He winced, seeing the crossed-out name through sorrowful tears. Ink could only cover, not remove.
On a lighter note, Jason is enjoying his summer.