Jenice left the dorm, left her purse bedside.
Success: her phone showed Channel 3 suspected abduction. Maybe that police siren nearing Lowell Woods was coming to search for her at last.
She ripped her shirt collar, threw her phone into the creek.
Denny would never threaten to leave her again.
Shoshauna is often inspired by the other 50-word stories that authors write for this site, and is grateful for that.
In the canoe, he always took the back to steer, so I was in the front. I couldn’t do anything right; he’d shout at me, Paddle harder! On the left! Left! Feather it!
When we switched to individual kayaks, our relationship improved immensely, moving together, each our own way.
Jackie Ascrizzi live in Montville, Maine, where she spends time observing beavers and cooking Indian food.
“How is your new job?” A crumb escapes, falling.
“I am thankful to have one.” Careful, collected, but unable to avoid my family’s stream of questions. I reflect, the way my bargain-bin cassette instructed.
A miniature rake scrapes across the artificial garden on my desk. A grain of sand escapes.
Raphael Bastek is a Polish-American office worker. He lives with his beloved cat, Yuna.
That summer smelled like burning ants.
“C’mon, give your old man a hug,” he said, struggling to sit up straight amongst white sheets. I could feel his bones when I wrapped my arms around his tired body.
The ants squirmed under my magnifying class, but I was a merciless god.
Regina Solomond is a writer from Wexford, Pennsylvania. She is inspired by the oddities of the world and the strange people living in it.
The pawnbroker adjusted his eyeglass whilst circling Joe’s wedding ring through his supple fingers.
“Twenty dollars,” he snapped.
“But it’s solid gold. Cost two hundred new,” Joe pleaded.
“Twenty,” the pawnbroker repeated.
Joe snatched the ring and left, satisfied. For this first day, he was in control of his addiction.
John B Sinclair is a much-travelled Scot who has now returned to Scotland, where he enjoys freelance writing on a variety of subjects.
Marcie wonders if inanimate things have secrets. She watches her dolls in the glow of the nightlight. Merely a word or the curved closing of a spread plastic hand will be horrifying, for she knows this: no one can control anything that can form a fist or speak its name.
April Selley teaches Writing of Fiction and American Literature at Union College in Schenectady, New York. She has published seven works of fiction and over forty poems in literary magazines. Her chapbook In and Out of Eden won the 2001 Permafrost Chapbook Award.