Tex, a cowboy set in his ways, died hard. He emptied both six-shooters into a vampire before losing the fight.
Old habits die hard, too: in life, Tex had been accustomed to drinking Long Necks. No surprise, after being turned he preferred getting his daily fix of blood from giraffes.
John H. Dromey has had short fiction published in Gumshoe Review, Plan B Magazine, Plasma Frequency Magazine, and elsewhere.
James opened the cabin door and let it slam behind him.
“What’s the matter, dear?”
“People need to leave their kids at home when they go on a cruise. Swimming in the pool was impossible!”
“You better learn more patience with children; we’ll have two little ones in six months…”
Aubrey is an idealist with a fondness for writing, and all things culture. She sporadically has vivid dreams about her unpublished books being on the New York Times best sellers list.
Once upon a time, in a faraway land, lived a beautiful princess. She was bored.
She decided to write stories.
“Write what you know,” someone told her once.
“No one will ever read them,” she thought. Dragons, princes, talking frogs… Who would believe such madness?
She told them to children.
Peter Li-ping lives and works in the Northeast of England. He has a background in philosophy and computing and hopes that someone will one day want to publish his fiction.
I try to think things through, think things through, I always do. But no, they all know better, those big-shot managers. They don’t listen, they don’t care, no they don’t. But when it goes wrong, they look to me. They call meetings. Meetings meetings meetings!
Stuff ‘em; I’m going home.
Joey wasn’t interested in writing while at school but has been writing on his own in recent years. And yes, he hates meetings. Admit it, you do too.
“A grande Americano,” said the barista, smirking, “for…”
“Don’t say it,” I snapped, plunging my hand threateningly into the tip jar on the corner of the counter in the coffee shop.
“…A grande Americano.” He grinned broadly.
I withdrew the dollar I had deposited there earlier.
“Worth it,” he proclaimed.
A graduate of the Master of Professional Writing Program at the University of Southern California, Chad Greene experiments with twitter fiction at @TheShortCourse.
Granny Nanny’s mean.
She dances to pounding music then oils her knees.
I hide the oil can.
She creaks and freezes, right in front of the fridge.
I’m starving. I can’t reach the handle. I’m too small to push her out of the way.
Fine. I get the oil can.
Brenda Anderson‘s fiction has appeared in Andromeda Spaceways, A Cappella Zoo, Punchnel’s, and Penumbra. She lives in Adelaide, South Australia.
“A salad,” she ordered, waving the unopened menu.
“Certainly. Which salad would you like?”
She looked up, momentarily, then back to the phone. “I don’t care. A salad, with leaves and salad stuff in it.”
The waiter brought dandelion leaves he picked himself, from out back where the dogs go.
Stuart is absent without leave from the majority of life and finds that writing helps him remain that way. He occasionally blogs a story at diamondsanddross.blogspot.com.
In the castle dungeon, seven little men were strung up, waiting for a turn on the rack.
“All right,” said the Prince, flicking his whip, “anyone want to confess? No? Then let’s begin. You’re up first, Happy.”
After the birth of Princess Snow White’s half-dwarf daughter, things had gotten ugly.
Eliza Archer writes flash fiction and drinks too much coffee. She can be found at elizaarcher.com.
Being the world’s humblest man was hard work at the best of times.
Will looked back on his journey: the full page advertisements, the talk show appearances, the posters he had erected along interstate highways proclaiming his humility.
He was humble all right, and he’d fight anyone who thought differently.
Connell enjoys a good oxymoron. Unfortunately, this is not one of those. See more of his literary misadventures at paragraphplanet, home.wtd-magazine.com and postcardshorts.com.