Finally, after four long years, I’m free!
I can use the bathroom and take a shower without a tiny partner. I can finish a cup of coffee while it’s still hot.
Oh, the possibilities! I could even read quietly or even watch a non-animated television show.
I miss her already.
Marcus Benjamin Ray Bradley grew up in Perryville and now lives in Versailles, KY, with his wife and daughters. He wonders if his wife will feel this way in three years.
We’re alone, for now.
Her dusty mane dances, muscles ripple in her neck, but her saddle remains unmoved.
Unleash the buckles! Cut the rope! every part of me screams.
My right boot scrapes against the gritty trail, refusing to lift.
Her rider returns, mounts.
Feeling the weight, I slump away.
A storyteller at heart, Sara fans the writing flames in young people as a BAWP Teacher Consultant at UC Berkeley. As founder of MindMyEducation.com
she helps students take charge of their education, so they can write the stories of their lives instead of simply playing the roles laid out for them.
From the very start the bear’s life had been miserable and brutal. Locked away in the dark for weeks without food and water. Brought out in public only to be beaten.
But now his torment was at an end.
He was taken to the charity shop with the other toys.
This is John’s very first attempt at a 50-word story. When he was teaching English last year in Lithuania, the 50-word story came up in a study book. He asked his students to try (with varying degrees of success), and to encourage them he wrote this one. He is not a writer of any sort but is attempting his first novel, based on his experiences in Lithuania. He is now back in the UK, living in Scotland and working as a Tour Guide.
Newsflash: the plane has crashed; no survivors.
Gradually it dawned on her. Twenty years of tension, arguments, entrapment: over.
If he was dead, she was free!
Tears of relief welled up. Sweet release.
The front door opened. “Thank God I missed that plane!” he said, brushing away her tears.
Joan is an educator in Australia.
In the shadow of a lesser mountain under thick pine camouflage by pond of melted snow, I sleep, impervious to the calls of well-meaning search parties, content to finally feel free, at home, exhausted from trial and error improvisations, making good, making up for time spent so wildly off course.
Lee DeAmali resides in the Los Angeles area.
Cool grasses cradle my back. Fireflies flicker. I inhale the sweet, damp air, at peace for the first time in five years, three months, and nineteen days.
I could lay here beneath the black sky for eternity. Instead, I rise and kiss my husband’s tombstone before slipping into the shadows.
Mandie Hines writes in the Rocky Mountain region. She’s driven to create pieces of fiction that capture moments of human vulnerability. Visit mandiehines.com for more.
She is a dancer, twisting her lithe grey body through the air as rivulets of water streak along her slender flanks.
At the peak of her flying pirouette, she can just make out the other dolphins playing in the distance.
Then her vision falls behind the stalls.
The audience applauds.
Jordan is a twenty-something writer and MA student from Telford. He has lots of aspirations, half hobbies, and musical instruments, but not enough time. If you like this, why not check out his blog
A cockatoo gnaws at the twisted wire holding his cage shut. Upstairs, humans hurl insults and furniture. Again.
These bars, their anger: a prison within a prison. Enough.
Snap! A puff of feathers, an open window. The sky, foreign but irresistible, challenges his wings to embrace a new, dangerous freedom.
After chasing his muse from Virginia to Manhattan, Richard Day Gore settled in Southern California, where he spends his time pushing around words, paint brushes, and guitar strings. See more at richarddaygore.com
“How much?” the hairdresser asked. Delilah remembered how Sam would run his fingers through her hair. Never cut it, he’d say.
When it was done, Delilah smiled at how strong she looked. As she walked outside, cool air caressed her nape. The world breathed as if for the first time.
Kristen VanBlargan lives in Queens, New York. Her fiction has appeared in Timeless Tales, and she blogs at kristenvanb.wordpress.com.
His fork clatters against the plate. He lets out a choking sound, then grabs my arm. His fingers dig in too hard. More bruises to add to my collection.
Ever so slowly, I raise my darkened eyes to his. Panic keeps him from speaking, and I smile.
I am safe.
Growing up, D.C. Menard was always fascinated by the strange and fantastic. She spent her days lost in the worlds of her favourite authors. Her greatest hope is to create worlds that her readers can get lost in.