Life is about winning the prize. He thinks nothing can stop him but always ends up back where he started. Get after it again. Success requires dogged determination, and he has it aplenty.
Again he attains the prize. Again it’s tossed away.
Never give up. Never.
Squeak squeak. “Fetch, Boy.”
David Henson and his wife reside in Peoria, Illinois. His work has has appeared in numerous print and online journals. His website is writings217.wordpress.com. Follow him on Twitter at @annalou8.
The suit was too tight.
There was no air, his mouth dry like sandpaper.
The press looked at him like he had done something wrong, taking pictures and writing notes for headlines he could not respond to.
But he knew that when he got there, he wouldn’t have to care.
Dominic Bond has tried to write poetry among other things and have been published online on and in print in Driftwood Press, Poetry Birmingham and Kallisto Gaia magazines.
New Year’s Resolution: lose weight, join a gym, take up a hobby, learn to fly, quit smoking, quit drinking, go for an annual physical, stop biting nails, read a book, spend less, save more, get a job, quit swearing, submit to 50 word stories.
One down, twelve more to go.
Marjan Sierhuis loves reading 50 word stories.
Stepping between moments black and sublime
He remembers the hours before the Design
How to bring this Magician back home?
How to say “Brother, your work is now done”?
Your skill unmatched we agree
But in travels so complex timeless and broad
You have never once
Been unloved or alone
Peter Li-ping sees the attraction of living outside the Law but he remembers the words of that other (somewhat romantic) master: “To live outside the law you must be honest…”
Game, set, match.
After a four-hour battle, X has finally defeated Z. It is the first time in their long careers.
X walks to the net, outstretches his hand, but Z barely shakes it.
“First in a thousand,” Z disdainfully mutters.
“Maybe,” X says. “But the first of a million.”
Alice Cimino is a student who loves writing and thrives to improve. Does she have time? Not necessarily. But does time matter? It depends on how you see it…
Spring in Paris was really happening. The penny-pinching and missed social outings were bearable because Paris was her dream.
Finally, shivering in her dress coat, Janet gazed upon a glowing Eiffel Tower. It was her shooting star: shutting her eyes tightly, she wished fervently for a life spent less alone.
Susan Schwenk wrote this story.
Staring at the computer screen, wishing she were somewhere else.
The banks of the Euphrates, the moors of Scotland, the Australian Outback, the beach.
Anywhere but this cold, lifeless cubicle.
Flipping the screen, she looks at her bank account balance.
Back to the drudgery to one day earn her escape.
Susan is a Curriculum Developer at a mortgage company. She is widowed with two grown daughters, two stepsons, and four awesome grandchildren: two boys and two girls.
She often wept in mourning over a life she deemed wasted… unfulfilled.
She’d always had one singular purpose but at 43, that ship had long sailed.
Shame from decades of destruction and despair evaporated into rapture as she watched the positive result appear on the stick she’d just peed on.
Although Lisa struggled with severe mental health issues for many years, she worked tirelessly to rise above and find joy. She works part-time helping others dealing with mental illness while also soaking up the incredible joy she’s found in her beautiful, healthy 2 month old baby girl… her constant reminder that the Universe will always rise up to meet us.
Nobody saw the blood on her hands, as she walked out the door. She had only done him and herself a favour. They probably wouldn’t have had a “bright future” together anyway. It was for the best.
Back in the room, her inner artist child lay slain, bleeding to death.
Yassi Dooo believes the inner artist of each person is of the opposite sex. How else could one pro(actively)create?
When I visited my blind brother, he was sharpening his shooting skills. He was so embarrassed; he couldn’t hit a thing.
I pulled my pen out and placed it in his sweaty palm. I said, “Take this pen, brother, so that you may draw targets around the holes you make.”
George S. Karagiannis was born in Thessaloniki, Greece and is currently a PhD student at the University of Toronto in Canada. He enjoys writing science-fiction (in an non-professional level, so far) in the subgenres of hard science fiction, bizzarro and apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic settings.