Blaine scratched his head as the monitor stared at him in mockery.
Reducing his word count to below the allowed limit was practically impossible.
After inappropriately utilizing inordinate-amounts-of-hyphens-and-caffeine, as if that would help, he submitted his work, confident that he would win something.
Joey wasn’t interested in writing while at school but has been writing on his own in recent years, mostly to amuse himself. He has been published at The Story Shack and Needle In The Hay. He also likes roast cows.
James believes that animals don’t think ahead and simply allow things to happen.
Certain neighborhood dogs do seem to meet up at the same place at the same time each day. Their sheer punctuality has made James question as to whether he may be barking up the wrong tree.
Linda Nathaniel is a teacher from Sydney, Australia, who has had poems published in both Hemispheres and seen her play go from page-to-stage.
He revels in his mystic communion with wildlife.
Birds perch on his wrist and peck birdseed from his palm. A skunk visits his porch nightly to be petted. He hand-feeds squirrels, raccoons, rabbits, even deer.
Their trust in him is a blessing. He’s having rabbit stew tonight and venison tomorrow.
Alex Markovich lives in a suburb of New York with Jackie, his wife of 57 years and his toughest literary critic. His stories have appeared in 50-Word Stories, Blue Lake Review, Halfway Down the Stairs, Still Crazy, and other lit mags.
John awoke one day to find that all of his bones had been stolen.
Incensed, he painstakingly flopped his way to the house of his friend Jamal, suspecting he had something to do with it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Jamal, a bloody chainsaw in his hand.
Steven B. is a human being who lives on the planet Earth.
Cremated in December, he left a will directing the lawyer to scatter his ashes with his dog Coco’s.
A floral tin marked “Coco” arrived at the firm. The secretary, a bad speller, took it to the kitchen, glad that someone had finally sent a Christmas food gift she would enjoy.
Beth Tillman’s estate planning practice spawns stories both dark and humorous.
It was my turn to clean up. Everyone was so tense with the international standoff and all, so I was mopping under the launch control panel while everyone else went on lunch break. The special key was already inserted next to red switches, and I thought, “Oh heck, why not?”
Doug Mathewson writes and edits short fiction. He also builds stone walls and takes pictures of wild birds, and sleepy cats.
“How did you sprain your ankle, young man?”
“I was running from the shotgun.”
“Oh, a sports injury; you were playing football, right?”
“In that case you won’t be covered by your school insurance. How do you plan to pay for your medical treatment?”
“Will you accept watermelons?”
John H. Dromey has had short fiction published in Gumshoe Review, Liquid Imagination, MicroHorror and elsewhere.
“Hello, I’d like to borrow a book please.”
“Did you reserve it online, sir?”
“Have you got your Library Swipe Card?”
“Tried our search engine?”
“Touch screen app?”
“Sorry sir, but I can’t help you. Next.”
“Hello, I’d like to borrow a book please.”
Chris Redfern’s short stories have been published within a variety of magazines and websites. Find out more at www.aatwatchtower.com.
I rented a stairway landing.
Eight by six, the price was right.
Roped off a pedestrians’ passway.
Sold my etchings, then clothes,
next blood, one or two kidneys.
I shouldn’t have harvested
that poor man,
but once you buy the
and surgical tools…
Pricing studio apartments
Todd Mercer won the Woodstock Writers Festival’s Flash Fiction contest and took 2nd and 3rd place of the Kent County Dyer-Ives Prizes. His chapbook Box of Echoes won the Michigan Writers Cooperative Press contest. Mercer’s poetry and fiction appears in The Lake, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Thema, Blue Collar Review, Right Hand Pointing, Apocrypha & Abstractions, Cease, Cows, Dunes Review and Eunoia Review.
“Kill two birds with one stone,” Jenny had told me every day for a week. “Do it before it’s too late.” She grinned like a Cheshire cat when speaking these words on Saturday.
Unable to keep the secret any longer, I told her: “I already did. Took three stones, though.”
Anna is a fifteen-year-old writer, music lover, and high school student in New Orleans.