Jack shifts his weight off his walking stick.
An 8.5-inch blade gleams. So this is the respect a pensioner gets.
He squints at the young man with the knife. Punk.
Jack raises his walking stick. “I was a weapons engineer for fifty years. And this is Wally, my homemade 12-gauge.”
Joey doesn’t have a walking stick and if he ever does get one, he probably won’t call it Wally. He can be found at joeytoey.com.
Tex is old school, still uses snail mail. Today, instead of going to the post office, Tex will try the latest technology.
After the message is sent, Tex feels confident. Now all he has to do is wait for a reply.
Tex will go back to the telegraph office tomorrow.
Denny E. Marshall had had art, poetry, and fiction published, including fiction in The Stray Branch Spring 2017. See more at dennymarshall.com.
I once knew an absent-minded assassin who sent poisoned letters through the post. After a note had been anonymously deposited to be postmarked, she’d apply her favorite perfume and take herself out on the town.
Her career came to an end shortly after she mailed a letter doused in perfume.
Sarah Krenicki does not wear perfume. This could end up being a lifesaver.
I felt her shake me, but settled further into slumber.
I heard the shrill of the alarm, screeching like a siren.
I felt the fog grow thicker, although someone shouted, “Clear!”
I heard the paddles crackle, felt the jolt on my chest, but couldn’t wrestle weariness.
Just five minutes more…
Jo Withers sleeps with one eye open. Her middle-grade sci-fi adventure will be published in April 2018.
He swirled his spindly grey finger in the air before pointing randomly at the galactic charts.
“So where are we going for our vacation?” she asked, with bated breath.
He drew back his finger, revealing an isolated blue and green planet.
“Darn! Practice shot?” he asked.
“Practice shot,” she agreed.
Melanie Rees is an Australian author. She has published over 60 stories in markets such as Apex, Daily Science Fiction, Persistent Visions, and Aurealis. You can follow her on Twitter @FlexiRees or at flexirees.wordpress.com.
A merman wearing a seaweed waistcoat burst from the water and landed in our gondola, showering us with spray.
“Marry him, you idiot!” he yelled, then dived back into the canal.
Drenched and bewildered, Mary nodded weakly as I got down on one knee for the second time that day.
Mark Farley writes novels, flash fiction, and the occasional poem. Find him on twitter at @mumbletoes.
Help me, I’ve won the lottery.
My mother sued me, my father’s stalking me, my brother tried to poison me, all because of my money.
I’ve changed my name three times and lived in and fled from six continents in three months.
Someone please help me. I won the lottery.
Chelsea Roberts has not won the lottery. She spends her days writing fiction at pastpaperanswers.com.
She’d stalked him for months.
Fantasized about the intimacy of his bite.
About eternal life.
She imagined the momentary pain, and the rapture of desire.
She followed him to his lair and awaited nightfall.
His teeth grazed her compliant neck.
Backing away, he muttered, “Sorry, not my type.”
Alison does not like vampires. They are not her type.
Fabio the Fearless would perform a handstand on a chair, on the edge of a high building. The crowd grew silent, all eyes turned upward.
All save those of someone moving stealthily through the crowd. Job done, he disappeared, pockets filled with wallets that moments ago had not been his.
Answering the call of multiple muses, Edward W. L. Smith has previously published nine non-fiction books, more than fifty essays, memoir, magazine articles, short stories, and a good bit of poetry. He is an Emeritus Professor of Psychology, Georgia Southern University, and lives part-time on a small barrier island off the coast of Georgia.
He’d become predictable, springing through the patio doors unto the deck, BB gun ablaze whenever any squirrel touched a bird feeder. So this time they waited, massing along the edge of the roof overhanging the deck. When he sprang, hundreds of squirrels pounced, joined even (how ironic!) by the birds.
Tony Jasnowski teaches English at Bellevue University and tries to keep peace between all factions in his backyard and himself.