I wonder what would have become of him. The bulletproof teenage years stole his future because of a fatal flaw in reasoning. His car had defied gravity in the curve, and sixty to zero became his final act. I lived and grew old.
I wonder what will become of me.
Gordon Lysen resides at Sugar Point on Lake Manitoba. Retired from police work after some 27 years, Gordon co-authored the novel “A Deadly Blend of Souls” with his wife, Lisa. Writing and painting are Gordon’s relaxation methods when retirement becomes too stressful.
A busy intersection; pouring rain. She must make a choice.
One direction offers comfort, everything she’s ever known. The other promises pain and more than a little adventure.
She steps off of the sidewalk, passing by her battered, bloody shoe, taking a turn away from the world and into eternity.
A. Elizabeth Herting is an aspiring freelance writer and busy mother of three living in colorful Colorado. She has had short stories featured in Bewildering Stories, Peacock Journal, Dark Fire Fiction, Friday Fiction, Under the Bed, and Fictive Dream. She has also published non-fiction work in Denver Pieces Magazine and bioStories. More info is available on her website and Facebook page.
I loved her for 28 years, yet brain cancer won.
I loved her for 40 years, yet breast cancer won.
I loved me, but lost my mind losing my beloved, lifetime friends. I lost my job because I lost them and my mind.
Why is loss so sad and ugly?
Terri lives in Bucks County, PA where she’s healing her heart and looking forward to brighter days…
Tonight I celebrate a glorious sunset, the precious ending of another glorious day!
Its view is tainted through a hospital window; no problem.
Have I truly beaten death? Perhaps!
I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but for today I’ve won, and with every labored breath I celebrate life’s simple joy.
Lisa Lysen is having fun exploring her passion for words, hoping an adventure in writing may be somewhere in her future.
Grandpa was terminal. My flight was tomorrow, the tickets were booked; I had delayed telling him until now.
He looked at me, but his gaze spanned a thousand miles. Then he smiled, smoothing wrinkled cheeks and pulling ridged scars taut across his jaw.
“…Long time since I been to Texas…”
It’s been two years, three months, and nineteen days since Guy was in Texas. This is his fifteenth 50-word story.
Standing on the footpath the cyclist had just been removed from, small pools of blood seeping brown into the asphalt, he noticed tiny red specks on his suede shoes. He heard another onlooker say something like, “Holy, this is horrific.”
He nodded his agreement; he’d bought the shoes in Florence.
Chris Connolly wrote this story.
Rounds chambered. Safeties off.
We face the wall.
No one’s innocent. Still, one looks twelve, another an old padre… Their stares tear through the blindfolds.
Our weapons rise. I glance at a fellow corporal. He looks away.
Wars are messy, but I didn’t expect to shoot—
Joey thinks he’ll probably be the one to be lined up against the wall when the time comes… Meanwhile, you can visit him at joeytoey.com.
If she had known,
she might have answered her telephone,
let the dog out one more time,
refilled his bowl.
She would’ve worn a newer nightgown.
As it was,
she was just so
tired, so bone-heavy
She turned on the television,
crawled beneath her comforter, took
Jennifer L. Freed writes mostly poetry, and occasionally some micro fiction. Other work can be seen at jfreed.weebly.com.
After the World Science and Ethics Commission (the W.S.E.C.) discovered the answers for the annoyances of old age, disease, war, and famine, the population—over time—grew beyond humanity’s control.
I smiled broadly at the prospect of coming out of retirement, unpacking my black hooded cloak, and sharpening my scythe…
J.D. Lone Bear wrote this story.
From his chair, he watches the cellar door. His hands folded patiently along his lap, each knuckle stiff and cold. Eyes glazed over, witless.
The door hasn’t opened for three days. Only the smell has made the ascent. Fetid bloat, sweet with decay. Ripening, ever since he died down there.
Kyle Cortright is from eastern Pennsylvania. He is a pretty rad dude.