Andrew had never beaten his dad in golf. He’d been close; he’d faltered before.
Today, he had a 10 foot putt to win.
“Take your time,” whispered dad.
Andrew smiled. This was his time. He knew. His moment had finally arrived.
The Titleist rolled true.
Andrew smiled. Dad was proud.
Dave is living retired in California. He is completely new to writing. He credits Daniel Pink for the inspiration.
The boat rocked backwards and forwards, and I felt my stomach starting to churn. The day was hot and sultry as the gentle rocking continued. Then, as if a trigger was pulled, I vomited over the edge of the boat.
Dad didn’t mind. “Some berley for the fish,” he said.
Connell Wayne Regner had successfully avoided writing creatively since he wrote spontaneous lyrics to music many years ago. Although from a linguistic background, he has serendipitously succumbed to fiction after spontaneously creating bedtime stories for his children. His other dabblings can be found at paragraphplanet and wtdmagazine.wordpress.com.
“What do you think about him dating your little girl?”
“My little girl isn’t little anymore. You can take care of yourself.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Don’t be sarcastic with me, Jennifer.”
“Call me Jenn, Dad.”
“I named you Jennifer.”
“Mom named me Jennifer. You wanted a boy.”
An avid skier and hiker, Kevin Sheahan has an M.F.A. from Southern New Hampshire University, and is now pursuing an M.Div. at Reformed Theological Seminary.
Dad’s swollen suitcase sat in the back corner of his room. I saw it as I walked past his door.
He said he had to work; he’d be home late.
Say hi to your mistress, I thought. It was my birthday. And the last time he walked through that door.
Sara lives in Texas with her boyfriend, cat, and turtle. She is about to start work as a staff attorney for a non-profit law firm. Writing has always been her favorite way to convey information and inspire ideas. Now that law school is out of the way, she is thrilled to be able to spend time writing fiction. Sara has short stories forthcoming from Eunoia Review and Wicked Industries in the near future.
She literally stood on her head trying to impress Dad enough for one sincere compliment.
But he just smiled and said she was “gym-nasty,” so she jumped off the balance beam and tackled him and they both laughed, and he still didn’t seem to understand why she practiced so hard.
“How will the end begin?” my daughter asked me one night. “And I don’t want you make any jokes about the letters ‘T’ and ‘H’ or tell me I’ll find out when I’m older or change the subject!”
Just then, a billion trumpets sounded.
“Whoa,” she said. “Never mind, daddy.”
This story is based on a title suggested by @stealingzen.
I clutch the pink note in my sweaty hand.
My heart beats furiously.
The room smells like chalk.
“Welcome, Dads!” is written on a big blue banner.
The cruel children laugh at my shoes while I hand over the note.
It reads, “Dear Ms. Wheatley, Elena’s father died last year.”
This story was submitted by Elena Agnello.
I am four years old, returning home from grocery shopping with my father, when I realize I’ve left my imaginary friend, Betty, back at the store.
My dad, so patient and kind, drives me back there, where we greet Betty on the sidewalk and he offers her a ride home.
M. Elaine Moore is a North Carolina-based fiction writer and poet. She has completed one novel and is at work on another. She has had several poems published both in online journals and in print.
Dr. Snyder was a proud papa: his android, A.L.Y.S., was leaving the lab to join human society.
To him, she was the most amazing thing he had ever created.
He tearfully sent her on her way, only to watch her stop ten feet later to talk to a parking meter.
This is the seventh in a series of seven stories from King Kool, who has previously contributed the Bumbling Magician and Kissing Frog series.