The Mad Colorist turned the sun green.
Gently, God said, “Change it back.”
“Never. I’m talented, see?”
“Fine. Your choice. You need a bigger canvas. My choice.”
The Mad Colorist fled from an exploding nebula, while God changed the sun back Himself.
“Talented? Ha. Flash in the pan.”
Brenda Anderson wrote this story.
His muscles ached. His bones, too. Years of building railroads did that.
“Got something lined up?” asked the officer.
He merely nodded. The word “innocent” mattered less now.
Minutes later, he got out of his truck where rails gleamed in the sun. A man waved. “So, you’re our new foreman?”
Joey doesn’t like being railroaded, even if it’s nothing to do with jail. He can be found at joeytoey.com
An outdoor shower was an infatuation for Jennifer. She insisted on this feature at the cabin. The idea of showering naked outside was thrilling. It spoke of freedom, and other things missing in her life.
She never did disrobe. But she could.
If Charles kept acting this way, she would.
Bill Diamond is a writer living in Evergreen, Colorado. Recently, several of his initial stories have been published.
At the high tide line, where the waves don’t reach,
Where the wind tangles my hair.
Salt crystals on my lips, sand between my toes,
and the golden sunset on my skin.
It’s strange they said I was lost at sea
When here I am
On the beach.
Jennifer M. Smith is a long-distance offshore sailor and a pretty good swimmer, too.
I would rather look at the sky than at a screen. I would rather walk than drive. I would rather drive tree-lined roads than highways. I would rather be alone than at a party. I would rather meet someone one-on-one than try to tell in 50 words who I am.
Jennifer L. Freed was recently irritated by a form that asked too many such questions. She mostly writes poems, sometimes writes short fiction, and always wishes she had more time to write anything at all.
Cemetery boss said, “Check out the old homeless Vets’ activity. The hole dug yesterday’s been disturbed. Make sure the casket’ll fit.” A gravestone was erected: “Herbert Sendall 1932-2017.” Later inscribed: “Also Henry.”
He heard a Vet say, “We put old Henry down. Free of all the hullabaloo.” He saluted sharply.
Tom Sheehan wrote this story.
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.