December. There is no turning back.
For a working musician, December means less choice in what to play. Not that their ears are more attuned, not at all.
Mine are.
I dare not enter malls: the oppressiveness of yet another version of whatever will rob me deaf of my peace.
Ian Hanchet (aka Boy Blue) is a professional musician/songwriter/recording artist from Montreal, Canada. He teaches music to children in an elementary school.
Mum came tumbling down the stairs. “THERE’S A GHOST!” she cried.
Dad got up and went upstairs to investigate.
Dad came running down the stairs. “IT’S TRUE!” he cried.
I ran upstairs.
I came back down to comfort Mum and Dad.
“APRIL FOOLS!” they yelled.
“Guys, it’s December,” I said.
Yves is 16, and wrote this because he took a day off school and his dad wouldn’t get off his back until he did something creative.
Ratta tap tap tap. Ratta tap tap tap.
“John, that’s not centered.”
Ratta tap tap. Ratta tap tap.
“The tree needs to be perfectly in the center of the window. Planked by the lights and frosted glass.”
Ratta tap. Ratta tap.
“That’s still not centered… What will the neighbors think?”
Holly Jeffries is a southern city girl who spends the bulk of her time crunching some numbers. When she’s not working with an excel spreadsheet, she’s usually thinking up her next short story.
His name was Will.
He really enjoyed spy work. The group of people he was monitoring for three weeks was interesting, and everybody loved him.
But he couldn’t say a word. He had to pretend, like his master had told him.
Nobody could know that he wasn’t a teddy bear.
Agata Ratajczak reads more than she writes, but when she writes she want to share her literary passion with others. She’s about to graduate high school.
At a Munich park, we sat and laughed together, as lonely travelers do. He bit an apple, and I took a bite of bratwurst. We toasted, clinking the sweet red apples on our juice jars, chorused “apfel,” and took a swig… then spit, and spewed… and hooted!
Deutsch: Essig!
Vinegar!
Casey Robb’s careers have included physical therapy and civil engineering. Her creative non-fiction has been published in “Texas Magazine,” and her poetry has won numerous awards and several trophies, and has been published in a variety of journals, including “The Classical Outlook,” “Ekphrasis,” “The Edge City Review,” “The Comstock Review,” and “The Lyric.” Her first short story was recently published in “Menda City Review”.
For Sale:
Slightly used lamp, Genie included. Two wishes remaining. Rub with caution. Stand back when lit. Resident is temperamental, prone to scratching and biting due to late-onset dementia. Perfect for small fantasies and unimaginative people.
Warning: love and power wishes are exempt.
Price is negotiable. Will trade for PS4.
David is an avid writer and recently won his first competition.
Five men lined up, all with greasy moustaches and wearing dark blue shirts.
I scanned. Not him. No… No…
I turned to the sergeant beside me. “The last two are identical twins. How am I supposed to tell?”
He shrugged… But then I noticed the thin cuts below his nose.
Joey has never participated in a police line-up. Instead, he prefers to line up some potatoes, peel them one by one, cook them, and then eat them. And he also tries to write a little.
Editor: Joey is the winner of the Moustache Memoirs contest and the $15 Amazon gift card! His story also wins this week’s Story of the Week.
“Private Robertson!”
“Yes sir!”
“Where’s your moustache?”
“It’s under my nose, sir!”
“I can’t see it.”
“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough, sir!”
“I won’t have insolence or insubordination!”
Robertson brazenly drinks some of the captain’s milk, “Here sir!”
“Dismissed, Robertson!!”
Sporting the unit’s best ever (milk) moustache, Sally leaves.
Connell believes that it doesn’t matter if you are male or female: if you’ve got it, flaunt it. Read more of his fractured words right here at 50WS or at paragraphplanet, home.wtd-magazine.com, and postcardshorts.com.
His perfectly groomed mustache announced that he was a true gentleman. And gentlemen stayed awake past sunset to enjoy the quiet, finer hours of life.
He tugged at the lady’s arm, demanding her attention to convey this fact.
His mother looked down and startled. “Get that worm off your face!”
Sophia Netterfield is a first-year university student studying psychology because brains are bizarre.
She didn’t walk, she glided to the far end of the bar. She had a body most women would kill for, plus flowing blonde hair, aquamarine eyes, high cheekbones, and a dazzling smile.
Moving closer, it became clear to me that she was a natural blonde: her moustache revealed it!
Jim Purdy is a retired engineering manager who lives in Oregon and spends his day with his faithful dog who never gives him disparagement. She wags her tail as he reads her whatever he has just written.