Aladdin rubbed the lamp and a Genie popped out.
“I want wealth, women, and immortality,” said Aladdin.
A caravan appeared, with camels laden with gold and silver, and thirty beautiful women.
The Genie smiled. “Now for the immortality.” He stuffed Aladdin into the lamp and rode off with the caravan.
Harry Demarest likes to write 50-word stories while he procrastinates finishing his novel.
First thing out was my suit. Next went my helmet, violently followed by my books.
She’d always had a good arm and a bad temper.
Obviously I’m next, which would be bearable if we were on Earth rather than a spaceship.
Well, at least I won’t hear her screaming anymo—
Joey doesn’t mind travelling through space even if there is a risk that she’ll blow him out of the airlock. You can visit him at joeytoey.com.
“How’d you get that shiner, Angus?”
“I visited a haunted hieland castle at the witching hour to ken what haints wear under their sheets.”
“A ghostie hit you?”
“No-o-o. In the near darkness, I lifted the wrong hem… I discovered the laird of the manor wears nothing under his kilt.”
John H. Dromey was born in northeast Missouri. Although he has some Celtic roots (in Ireland and Scotland) he does not wear a kilt.
The shadow worshipers performed their unholy rituals, but when the lunar eclipse came, nothing happened.
Confused and crestfallen, they looked to the elderly shaman, who was already riffling through the pages of his grimoire.
After rereading the ancient texts, he suggested they try again, next time under a solar eclipse.
Pontius Paiva sacrifices sleep and sanity to appease the writing gods. Visit pontiuspaiva.com
to find out if the spirits of storytelling reward him with the gift of publication.
Over coffee, an op-ed writer quizzed his newspaper’s sports reporter.
“It would have been a great Cinderella story if only that promising filly you told me about could have won her maiden race. She started as an odds-on favorite, yet she finished last. What went wrong?”
“She threw a shoe.”
John H. Dromey has a 100-word story “Twelve O’Clock Hijinks” online in the Spring/Summer (Issue No. 19) of Quantum Fairy Tales
Editor: Now I’m just wondering whether there could be any worse invention than a set of glass horseshoes.
“I’m fed up with this music.”
“Hush! You’ll upset the other opera-goers.”
“I don’t care. This infernal tune keeps me awake at nights, swirling round my head. It’s driving me mad.”
“Mother, you must get used to it. After all, it is the national anthem, and you are the Queen.”
PJ is a British writer living in Switzerland with his wife and Parson Russell Terrier. He sees the Alps every day but misses the Cairngorms. The music swirling round his head is usually Linkin Park. Follow him @Tweeting_Writer
As I rounded the corner, he shot out. Nearly the size of a small dog, running like he was headed for the border.
Terrified, I screamed and ran the other way.
Armed and determined, I returned, roach spray in one hand, shoe in the other.
He never stood a chance.
Susan is a Curriculum Developer at a mortgage company. She is widowed with two grown daughters and two stepsons, and four awesome grandchildren: two boys and two girls.
Life can be excruciating. Death can be a welcome release.
A light of comforting and joyous brilliance pulled him on, yet when he heard her call his name he stopped, and decided he must return to try again.
He didn’t know there was a reception committee (and they had cookies).
From a darkened room in Madison, Wisconsin, Bill writes about reanimated mummies, intelligent golems, and all things that frighten him in the hopes that someday they might not.
“Is the temperature of your experimental tank okay?” the alien inquires.
“It’s fine,” I reply, words bubbling up through the strange pink liquid.
“Want to watch Twilight Zone re-runs while we test?”
“Have to ask,” he explains. “New regulations.”
I sigh, remembering that I work tomorrow.
“Just probe already.”
A sci-fi micro story written by Hargreaves called “Maybe Next Time” is forthcoming in Daily Science Fiction
“Three months a castaway on a remote Pacific island, struggling to survive, when a crate washes ashore. The language is Chinese but it’s obviously beer. My luck is finally turning, he thinks. He glugs it down.
On the side of the bottle, written in Mandarin: “The best-tasting non-alcoholic beer ever!”
Bill is from Aberdeen, Scotland. He writes for fun, but really wouldn’t object if someone wants to pay him a shed-load of cash to carry on, or a shed-load of cash to stop now. Both work for him.