Alone in the office at night a slow madness overtakes me. It begins with a paperclip chain. It ends when the cleaner finds me, the Emperor of the Paper Cup People, berating the massed ranks of my subjects, my nudity covered only by yellow sticky notes. The horror! The horror!
Bill lives in Aberdeen, Scotland, where he works as a professional haggis hunter.
“I’m sick!” the stranger whispers, in the hospital lift.
Fear takes my breath.
“A sniff a day… prevents… you know?”
“Okay.” I breathe.
He hunkers down.
Wrestles off my left shoe.
The doors ping.
“You’re sick!” I yell, furiously hoping my diagnosis will be infectious.
I poured poison into my thermos. I sat alone on a park bench. Several people passed by and we exchanged passing greetings. I inhaled the steam from my cup and grinned. A young man sat beside me. I knew him. I offered him some coffee. He drank. I smiled.
John Mark lives in a secluded valley in rural PA. When he is not maintaining his campground he is either writing or making fun of the people at Wal-mart. He intends to turn one of these into a career.
The tension was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.
So she did. Blood surged into the air, splattering everything with
Rorschach patterns some detective would fail to analyze.
She pocketed the knife. No sense leaving it behind. Having an incomplete knife set would really drive her crazy.
“Do you feel like you are crazy?” she said with a brief pause.
When all she got was a look, she continued, “Because I do. All these people around me talk about things no one cares about. They go from work to home and back again. How is that living?”
Miranda Thomason lives at the southern tip of the Appalachian Mountains. After completing the novel On the Mercy of the World, Miranda is writing short stories.
“I’m kind of crazy,” she told him when they first met.
“I’m kind of crazy. Lots of guys have a problem with it, so I figured I’d tell you up front.”
“Okay, sure. Thanks, I guess.” He looked down at his hands. “Combo number five? Your total comes to $6.74.”
E.D. Martin is a writer with a knack for finding new jobs in new places. Find more of her stories at http://www.edmartinwriter.com.
First night on the ward, the boss said, “Lookit, college boy, we got a load of patients. Most are only pick daisies in the park nuts, but them two in lockdown there is bona fide nuts-nuts. Don’t mess around with ’em.”
They didn’t look a lick crazier than the boss.
Gary Clifton was forty years a Federal officer, has an M.S. from Abilene Christian University and has short fiction pieces published in Spinetingler, Broadkill Review, Yellow Mama, and Dumb Butt Mag.
She sang beautifully. When it ended they rose to their feet in awe and appreciation, begging for more.
“Ever heard of having too much of a good thing?” she chided them. Still they implored her: a little longer!
To prove her point, she barred the exits during her three-day encore.
“I’m a world-class artiste!” the actress pronounced. “I require the perfect environment to nurture my delicate muse.”
“So it’s your muse who eats six pounds of blue Smarties every day, then?” muttered her browbeaten young assistant.
“Silly boy; we don’t eat them! We throw them out the window at people.”
Creative people are weird. Cough.
This story was based on a title suggested by @Vigafray.
Water is my favourite drink
I sure find it delicious
If some old bad guy stole it all
I’d find it quite malicious
What would we do?
Where would we go?
We’d get so dehydrated
That’s why I built this reservoir
And sat down here
My lifestyle’s underrated