“I need more money,” he said and ordered a book on computer programming. He sat in cafés each night, hunting and pecking for opulence. At first I shook my head, but soon became curious.
“Did you make any money from that book?”
“Depends. How much will you pay for it?”
Peter Burns grew up in Appleton, Wisconsin. He currently lives in Daejeon, South Korea and is an associate professor of English at Joongbu University.
We raised our eyes to the ceiling in unison.
Thump, thump, thump.
“Storm?” my brother said.
Mom indicated the windows: dark but clear skies.
“The cat?” my sister said.
“Downstairs,” I said, my knees wobbly.
Mom drew her gun. Our family huddled together, shaking.
The clowns had escaped the attic.
Crimson Blackstone writes fantasy and horror, and is especially proud of her former students’ incurable addictions to books.
He loved nothing more than to embarrass her.
Her face, blushing bright and scarlet, belonged in a museum: mortified among the masterpieces.
That’s why he told the security guard in the Contemporary Art gallery, when he was caught kissing his lover inside the dark art installation: “I’m painting my masterpiece.”
Ashley Naftule is a writer/performer living in Phoenix, AZ. He bears an uncanny resemblance to country singer Vince Gill.
Sunday I spotted an elephant destroying my cabbage garden so I shot the monster dead. Moments later, six clowns in midget cars bumped onto my lawn. They were armed with rainbow parasols.
“I’ve had this dream,” my wife said.
I cocked my rifle. “How’s it end?”
“Not good,” she said.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble”. Visit BobThurber.net.
His hands shook, spilling vodka. Thumping came from the small hotel wardrobe.
He’d hoped to spend quality time in Berlin, but had caught her on the phone with her BFF. He examined her scrawled itinerary map again: “Shopping” and “Spree” were still predominant.
He suddenly reddened. “Oh… The River Spree.”
Irish writer Perry McDaid lives in Derry close to the Donegal hills. His diverse writing disciplines and genres appear in international multimedia, recently with entropy2; Amsterdam Quarterly; Flash Fiction Chronicles; Plotters Ink; Alfie Dog; and 50wordstories. He has one imaginary cat, Stinky, mostly nailed to a board above a ruined allegorical flower bed.
Easter came with a furry furor.
Their padded toes marched two by two and on the streets of capitals, the blood ran sour and crimson.
Eggs spattered and bucked teeth sank deep into ankles, then thighs, then more.
The homo-sapiens now languish in their runs and suckle at their bottles.
David Wing was desperately awaiting Easter. (But the Editor had too many submissions, so he didn’t get this one up in time for the holiday!)
Your plot and
Too many words,
Or not enough words is
Really the hardest part.
Stocking the story’s last line with a whole lot of extra, unnecessary fluff until I reach fifty words.
Ronald Chilcutt is a 44 year old High School Special Education Math Teacher who lives in the greater Chicago area. He lives with the lady love of his life, their two kids and a dog. Ronald has always believed that there is a great American novel buried in him somewhere but has not found the right shovel to dig it out.
Her eyes are like shimmering pools of living fire.
I lean closer and feel their heat radiating against my cheek.
Mesmerized, I stare into her widened pupils, flames flickering in ever increasing circles.
I’m lost, I’m lost; I’m falling in.
“They look painful,” I say.
“Painful and infectious,” she replies.
Alan is a primary school teacher working in south London. He doesn’t like where he works.
“Aunt Trudy’s going to become a scarlet woman,” Jen announced.
Her mother was shocked. “Why would you say such an awful thing?”
“She told me she’s knitting a sweater and I saw her bagful of red yarn.”
“Oh, Jennifer, you shouldn’t judge a person by the color of her skein.”
John H. Dromey has had short fiction published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Stupefying Stories Showcase, and elsewhere.
Of all the despots, megalomaniacs and common or garden dictators, Fluffy was the least objectionable. Her demands were few: a little salmon here, a subservient bow there, and as an afterthought, the total and complete dominance of the Human race.
It was for their own good, after all, wasn’t it?
David is a creative writing student and recently won two flash fiction competitions back to back. He’s rather pleased with himself.