Surgeons can spend up to twelve hours working in the operating theatre. Strange indeed to call that “theatre.”
Or perhaps it’s merely human nature to adopt a pastime that sounds like glory on the mountaintops when all we ever do is hope that we can make it through the hardship.
Living in a mid-sized town at a hipster shop was nice for Isaiah, but he’s happy to try his hand at working in the big city! But now things are getting tedious. Writing is always a good hand, no matter the game. Though that might not hold up in Texas Hold ‘Em, which Isaiah is practising.
The doctor looks at me with sad eyes.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” I gulp.
“I know I’ve been cheating death for too long. But doc, don’t tell me my time’s up when I’m just learning how to live.”
“Well,” he says, “it’s me who’s dying, not you.”
Sharon is a communications strategist and storyteller for companies ranging from technology start-ups to Fortune 500s. When she isn’t wordsmithing for her clients, she writes flash fiction and short stories and is also working on a novel, The Tiger Baby. She has a masters of professional writing degree from the University of Southern California and has been published in EastLit, Ethos International, and Reed Magazine, among others. Follow Sharon at Twitter or Instagram at @sharonysim.
The handsome patient grinned. “What’s wrong with me, doc?”
Ignoring her aching feet—and his devastating smile—Maria checked his vitals. Normal. How odd. “Must be a virus. Rest. Drink liquids. You’ll get better.”
“But it’s so strange.” Gently, he touched her arm. “Everything glows.”
Then… she saw it too.
Joanne R. Fritz lives in West Chester, PA and writes poetry and fiction for children and adults. When she wrote this story, she’d been suffering from a mysterious virus that lasted six weeks. Her vitals were normal but she experienced constant vertigo. She wished the virus had been the glowing kind instead.
Doctor Lorne Calder returned home to meet with Bert Ryan, a carpenter he’d hired to complete renovations at his home. Upon entry, he noticed a flaw in the foyer.
“You’re a master carpenter? Just look at that!” Calder complained.
“It’s easier for you,” replied Ryan. “You bury all your mistakes.”
Paul Finnigan is an Ottawa-based writer who has a collection of short fiction that has appeared in both Canada and the United States. Some previous publishers of his work include Boston Literary Magazine, Feathertale, Polar Expression Publishing, and Every Writer the Magazine.
“You believe in them?”
“Rubbish, there is no such thing as superheroes!”
The speeding truck that crushed him got away.
“Only a miracle can save him,” they said.
Five hours later:
“Operation successful,” said the young surgeon.
“I take back my words,” he said when he came to.
Andy believes in keeping her bio shorter than fifty words for this one. To follow her mischief, click on www.andypaula.in.
“Frederick, your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired.”
He turned to encounter Miss Stone, aged some, but sharp-tongued as ever.
“Your patient is my twin sister who fell ill yesterday.”
“B-B-But,” he stuttered.
“You thought it was me in the wheelchair?” she interrupted.
“Two of them?” he thought.
John B Sinclair is a much-travelled Scot who has now returned to Scotland, where he enjoys freelance writing on a variety of subjects.
Editor’s Note: This story is a sequel to Payback.
“Doctor, how to such certainty can you be so sure the man was dead?”
“His brain was in a jar on a shelf at the morgue.”
“Nonetheless, could he have been alive in any way?”
“It’s possible, counselor, if he is in fact living, he’s practicing law in this courtroom.”
Gary Clifton, forty years a cop, has short fiction pieces published or pending with over 60 online sites. He has an M.S. from Abilene Christian University.
“So you say you gave birth to a… dinosaur.”
“And that’s him, there? He looks quite normal to me.”
“He’s a dinosaur, really!”
“Well, if he is a dinosaur, when I place my finger in his mouth he should—HE BIT MY HAND OFF!!”
“I told you so.”
This was story was based on a title suggested by @Keab42
Hailey looked concernedly into Kimmy’s watery eyes and said, “You look as sad as a koala bear with strep throat.”
Kimmy coughed and winced.
Hailey reached up into the eucalyptus tree and took Kimmy in her arms. The ailing marsupial snuggled up.
This was why Hailey had become a veterinarian.
“Help me, Doctor!” yelled Harry.
“What’s the problem?”
“I can’t write 50-word stories.”
“I’ll check your head bumps. A-hah! Your Inflated Prose, Trivial Detail, and Superfluous Description bumps are too high. I’ll lower them for $300 cash.”
“Brace yourself. This is going to hurt. Nurse, hand me that sledgehammer.”
Michael A. Kechula’s flash fiction and microfiction has been published in 132 magazines and 42 anthologies. His four books of flash fiction are available from BooksForABuck.com.