I’ve always been told to trust you. But you only entice me to make bad decisions, like eating Taco Bell after midnight. Then you spend hours punishing me!
And now you’re telling me to quit my job to become a novelist?
This isn’t working. I’m leaving you for my Head.
Diana Wagner loves to write and read and watch and think about stories.
Georgi, by 15 months the older brother, would say, “Bori, bring the toys,” and Bori, heeding authority’s voice, hastened to comply.
Now, in their eighties, their relationship has not changed.
When Georgi thinks it’s time for lunch, Bori, though slowed by age, limps to the kitchen to bring the sandwiches.
Catherine Mathews is a State Department retiree formerly stationed overseas in Paris, Rome, Tel Aviv, Athens, Frankfurt, and Istanbul. She is now living in Northern Virginia and writing about her life.
A chap started speaking to me on the train this morning. He told me he had just killed his wife, shot her twice in the head, and was off to Bristol to kill again.
I turned to the sports section in the newspaper.
England Lose By Six Wickets.
Anton lives in Durham, U.K. He writes fiction and poetry while trying to finish a PhD, all fueled by numerous cups of tea. Find him at antonrose.com or @antonjrose.
The white gold, worn thin by years, cut her grandmother’s cold finger as Julia removed it. Her tears caught the diamond’s fire.
“She wanted you to have it,” Pops said.
“I miss her already.”
“Me too, Babe.” He held Julia close and kissed her head.
“…How much is it worth?”
Frank Solomon retired from the University of Kentucky after 30 years as a Systems Programmer and now pursues his many passions from his home in Kentucky. http://www.franksolomon.com.
I woke from my nap soaked in sweat, shivering. I felt chest pain.
In the kitchen my wife had my heart on a cutting board. I watched as she jabbed a fork in and sawed with a steak knife.
“Whoa,” I said. “Easy there.”
The whole marriage was like that.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and appeared in 30 anthologies. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled Nothing But Trouble. Visit BobThurber.net.
The spider spun her web, studiously ignoring the brooding human so intent upon her labours.
Suddenly resolute, the figure raced away, his wake almost dislodging her.
“What was that all about?”
“Nothing, Wallace,” she responded casually, dispatching her mate in an act of post-coital whimsy, unaware of the ironic parallel.
Derry man Perry McDaid is currently fiction editor with Liquid Imagination and on the board of silverpen.org. Widely published, his poems, stories, reviews, and articles have appeared in diverse and international magazines, anthologies, and websites. A prize-winner with short stories, poetry and articles, the Irishman’s work can be found both in hard copy and online. Eschewing demands for one “voice”, and spanning genres, he writes from many perspectives on subjects from the comic to the profound. He lives with his family beneath the mostly misty Donegal Hills, walking back roads where he can inhale the mystic inspiration of long-dead bards and druids to concoct the weird, wonderful, and downright disturbing.
Limited point of view poses a challenge for writers.
Ouch! I just experienced a sharp pain in my shoulder.
I need your help—you, the viewers.
I’m dying to know who stabbed me in the back.
I’m exaggerating, I hope. Should the wound be fatal, I’ll stop my narration immed—
John H. Dromey has had short fiction published in Black Denim Lit #7, Gumshoe Review, Plan B Magazine, and elsewhere.
She asked me to catch her a squirrel. It was a crazy idea, but I got her a squirrel.
Now she loves me. She even kissed my cheek. I know it sounds insane, but maybe she’ll even marry me now.
She’s happy; I’m happy.
Wait, is that squirrel’s mouth foaming?
John Mark Goforth lives in rural Pennsylvania, where he spends his time writing and being enamored with the blonde girl at school. One of these things is bad for his mental health, but he is not sure which one.
The control room breathed a deep sigh of relief. They’d succeeded in venting the noxious gas from the room.
The facility was safe.
A man sniffed, then another, and they turned. I reddened and pretended it wasn’t me as the alarm sounded again.
scribbles stories and, when not unconscious from his dog’s fumes, he laughs.
“Look at my engagement ring, Granddad.”
“You are betrothed.”
“You have pledged your troth.”
“You should’ve consulted me first. I’ve been engaged five times.”
“Yes. Once in grade 1… Twice in grade 2, again in grade 3, and finally when I was 27, to your lovely grandmother.”
Barry O’Farrell is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia. He’s enjoying the challenge of writing in 50 words.