Hi, I’m Jim and I’m here because of the damn judge. See… I sleep naked and don’t dress until after breakfast and coffee. So I took the coffee pot and griddle out of their boxes, new as they were, and got started. The people at that Walmart were sure mad.
David S. Atkinson is the author of “Apocalypse All the Time” (forthcoming 2017), “Not Quite so Stories,” “The Garden of Good and Evil Pancakes” (2015 National Indie Excellence Awards finalist in humor), and “Bones Buried in the Dirt” (2014 Next Generation Indie Book Awards finalist, First Novel <80K). His writing appears in "Bartleby Snopes," "Grey Sparrow Journal," "Atticus Review," and others. Check out his writing website
World leaders summoned the aging hacker to thwart a new form of terrorism. A subverted Pokémon GO was luring millions to their deaths. Hacker had inserted an avaricious agent designed to destroy them all within 24 hours.
The screens powered on; a single grinning character remained: Pac Man had returned.
John Trott wrote this story.
She couldn’t help thinking about the delicious taste in her mouth, the soft touch on her lips, the unparalleled, penetrating smell that consumed her senses and overshadowed her reason. She’d never be the same after this avid vacation in Paris.
Her passion for macarons had increased her weight a lot.
Claudia Ramalho lives in Maceio, Brazil, with her husband and their two daughters. She works as a legal analyst. She loves reading, travelling, cooking, and studying foreign languages.
“We are the best couple-matching agency in the entire country, Mr. Jones.”
“I have heard of your sterling reputation.”
“Ninety percent of the couples that we match marry.”
“That’s really impressive.”
“It is. Consider this woman that you have been admiring. This is her fourth time here in five years!”
Fillip Verdun has published numerous articles and a history book. Recently, he has completed a novel that is under consideration by a publisher.
Here we are in the middle of the tribune. The music sucks and the noisy fans bother us. Chayanne’s dancing; we can actually see his sweat.
What are we doing here? Oh yes, the tickets were free and we’re so young.
“It’s supposed to be fun, isn’t it?” I say.
Emiliano is a journalist who designs user experience. Fan of jazz and hard-boiled stories. Hardworking, loving husband and daddy-to-be.
I am Tutankhamen, Pharaoh and immortal. When I left the mortal world, priests provided me with a chariot, jewels, everything needed for the afterlife. They embalmed me, performed incantations, and placed me in a magnificent coffin. A coffin with a golden lid—a lid too heavy to lift.
Since he retired in 2009, Harry Demarest has published in Fiftyworstories.com, Festival Writer, Compassion and Choices, and Gold Man Review.
“My remarks will be brief today,” an absentminded professor told his class. “I’m suffering from short-turn memory loss.”
“Don’t you mean short-term?” a student asked.
The prof shook his head. “I had the top down on my convertible. When I turned a corner really fast, my lecture notes blew away.”
John H. Dromey has had short fiction published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Betty Fedora, Crimson Streets, and elsewhere.
Nothing small happens in her life. It has always been so, since as long as she can remember.
She checks her makeup, wondering: too much, too little? Lipstick, she decides, and chooses a scarlet shade, Estée Nectarine. Hair? Perfect. Outfit? A tailored black dress, neat, purposeful.
Here’s the bus.
Dermott Hayes is a writer. He has published three books; a biography of Sinead O’Connor, So Different, a crime novel, Tito’s Dead and Postcard from a Pigeon, a collection of short stories. He’s working on a new short story collection, another crime novel and a science fiction story.
Hey, Famine? Death here. Got your diary? What about the 17th?
No, it’s weight watchers on Tuesdays. Next Friday?
Darn! Forgot Plague is off sick until next month.
What about War?
Her diary’s always full. She’s usually out somewhere, dressed to kill.
Lord, looks like we’ll have to postpone. Again.
Viv Burgess got this idea from the usual 80-email marathons trying to arrange a date to meet with three other women friends.
She stared, blank; he gazed lovingly back. Perhaps it was true her skin hung a little loosely upon her bones. Perhaps it was true her hair was just a little sparse.
Yet his mother’s disapproval meant little. He loved her just the same.
After all, aren’t zombies just people, too?
Jenora Vaswani holds an avid fascination for the undead, and avoids horror movies like the plague, a rather unfortunate combination, really. Considering the gradual shifts in perception regarding the LGBTQ+ community, she thought it might be interesting to ponder the extremes of finding acceptance… within zombie/human relationships. Read more of her work at openingdoorsofperception.com