he stops taking notes,
and stares at the pretty girl just in front of him.
With each stroke of her pen,
the fine downy hairs on her tanned forearm quiver,
just below her left earlobe,
on the side of her tanned neck,
one perfect freckle.
Matthew writes and takes classes in Maine. Sometimes he gets bored and looks around.
Third day. Sam sat in the cafe twirling his coffee mug. Just quick glances, and neck scratching.
No more pretending to check for messages when she looked up.
Sam rose, pulse racing.
She craned her neck suddenly. She shook her head.
Deflated, Sam resumed his seated position. “Well, never mind.”
Stephen Crowley has written fiction for Flash Fiction Friday, a short fiction magazine, and currently writes short tales for his collections. His fiction writing blog is stephen-crowley.blogspot.co.uk.
“I’m kind of crazy,” she told him when they first met.
“I’m kind of crazy. Lots of guys have a problem with it, so I figured I’d tell you up front.”
“Okay, sure. Thanks, I guess.” He looked down at his hands. “Combo number five? Your total comes to $6.74.”
E.D. Martin is a writer with a knack for finding new jobs in new places. Find more of her stories at http://www.edmartinwriter.com.
Her fingers and toes were short, like she was, but she grew her hair extra long to make up for it.
She was terrible at English, but always did great in Biology.
Her vision was 20/10, but she was red-green colour blind.
An average girl? Well, maybe in the mathematical sense…
I am four years old, returning home from grocery shopping with my father, when I realize I’ve left my imaginary friend, Betty, back at the store.
My dad, so patient and kind, drives me back there, where we greet Betty on the sidewalk and he offers her a ride home.
M. Elaine Moore is a North Carolina-based fiction writer and poet. She has completed one novel and is at work on another. She has had several poems published both in online journals and in print.
Daniel earned runner up honours in the Valentine’s Day contest with this story:
I am a robot in love with a human.
One day she walked past.
“Level of fine: incalculable.”
She be like, “Oh please, honey, you a robot.”
I said, “Be my Valentine, and I will love you always and forever.”
I pinched her booty and she left me.
Daniel Watson graduated from Florida State University last April with a degree in English creative writing and philosophy. He now lives in Greenville, South Carolina, where he is a project proposal editor for a corporation called Fluor.
Editor’s Note: For the best experience, try reading this story out loud to someone while doing character voices!
The girl cries in the subway station. I leave my friends to themselves and go over to her. We have a couple of drinks while she talks her sorrow away. The next morning I leave her, knowing she’ll be alright.
That’s what I should have done.
Please forgive me.
Jonas has written this story a couple of times before in different formats for different purposes in different languages.
Grampa rolled his rocking chair back and forth, back and forth.
He rubbed the twin barrels of his shotgun with the polishing rag, up and down, up and down.
He spit a wad of chewing tobacco into a jar, stood, and said,
“Missy, don’t you never–ever–kiss no boys.”