When the quake killed thousands of his subjects, the king took it as a declaration of war by the Earth itself. Swearing vengeance on an ungrateful ally, he ordered cannon aimed at the soil. Soldiers stabbed their bayonets at the oaks, and sappers crumbled the mountains. There was no surrender.
Dave Bradley’s words have appeared in publications such as Best Of British Science Fiction and Dorling Kindersley’s The Screen Traveller’s Guide, as well as various pop culture magazines and websites.
Sunglasses-clad, the goat gnawed a bright red sari like candy. Shopkeepers bickered over whose festival idol it offended. Tourists snapped selfies; children clapped and whooped. I offered steaming chai. It licked my hand, blinked once, then trotted off, pausing only to nibble my neighbour’s winning lottery ticket. Chaos officially certified.
Susmita Mukherjee is an Indian author and former teacher at Army Public School, based in Kolkata. Her work explores human tenderness and oddities in everyday life. She writes with precision and empathy, finding humour and strangeness in ordinary moments.
Not a jealous bone in his body—robots are made of metal after all—Rob should have been the perfect bodyguard, an unlikely rival for the affections of Jim’s girlfriend.
Programmed to be charming, entertaining, and attentive, Rob stole both her heart and the tickets for Jim’s planned honeymoon cruise.
John H. Dromey has had short fiction, humor, and poetry published in many different venues.
I hired a private investigator to catch my wife cheating on me while I worked late.
She had become withdrawn, ignoring my questions, like
“Where were you tonight?”
One day I turned a corner to find my private investigator and her private investigator making out, forgetting to take any pictures.
Alex Pigeon is a law student in Saint Louis, Missouri. When she isn’t studying or writing, she’s playing board games and knitting.
Great hustle. Love the effort. Some notes.
Descartes, there are two Is in narcissism.
Laplace, there’s no time for tape review.
Maxwell, save the Goldilocks routine for the bedroom.
Searle, I don’t care how, just put some points on the board.
Alright, now get out there and give ’em Hell!
Nicholas De Marino only knew about two of those before reading up on this.
Driving a hearse and singing “Another One Bites the Dust”, Vivian turns onto the country road, accelerates. She’s late and preoccupied with life, as a plume of dry earth trails behind.
At least she knows not to hum the refrain in front of the family at the grave this time.
Lauren is an Assistant Professor of Mortuary Science. She enjoys writing poetry that leans into short fictional fragments.
A week after my son moved out of our basement into his first solo digs, he called.
“It’s going great. Come for brunch on Sunday. I’ll make eggs!”
Sunday morning, I zapped: “Over for eleven. Can’t wait 2CU! Can I bring some juice?”
“Yes please!”
“Croissants?”
“Sure!”
“Anything else?”
“Eggs.”
Writing coach Joanna Norland loves family breakfasts and will happily bring the eggs, every time. Click here to read her recent blog post about 50WS.
Fresh from Mount Olympus, the Gods’ new matchmakers dove straight into mêlée.
Hapless grasshoppers huddled in harmony. Rabbits hoarded their lucky feet. Lone wolves packed dens.
And humans? They shacked up, too, fleeing flexed claws and rustling feathers.
The switch from bow and Eros to falconry was swift and cruel.
Nicholas De Marino doesn’t trust pigeons, either.
I built a man from discarded parts, mostly found online. His brain was an alt-right podcast; his heart, an incel chatbot.
I charged his phone with a lightning strike. He scrolled with borrowed thumbs, demanding I build him a female. When the battery died he sat forlorn, staring into darkness.
Joe Pearson is a British fiction writer living in Paris. He’s trying to use his phone less. You can find more of his writing at joepearsonwriter.com.
“Good boy!”
Spot bounded from the forest, the disc clutched between his teeth. His tail wagged as he dropped it at my feet.
It wasn’t mine.
This disc was silver, metallic. And what strange markings…
The glass and the tiny, frantic green specks inside caught my eye.
“What on Earth…?”
David Albano enjoys reading, LSU Sports, and being involved in his church community. David has previously been published in 50-Word Stories, as well as Frontier Tales and Dark Moments.