To Church on a wet and stormy day in November. Father and daughter together.
On the way there, an oncoming truck rushes madly around a sharp curve – hydroplaning.
Head on crash. Trapped for hours.
Days later, the daughter wakes. “Where’s my Daddy?”
Alone, the girl wonders, “What of God?”
Kimberly Hausbeck wrote this story.
About to drink her non-alcoholic communion wine, Jane thought she was certain of exactly two things.
God loved her,
God is in the details.
However, if both those things were true, why did her husband leave her at the altar to be with Greek Leon from the HR department?
John is an English and Creative Writing graduate who splits his time evenly between writing, reading, and procrastinating. He very much hopes that one day the burden of reading his work will be taken off his family and friends and placed onto the general public.
He stumbled headfirst into the river.
The clouds opened up, light shone forth, and a voice said, “Believe in me, and let go.”
Then there was fire and brimstone and another voice said, “Clutch at these straws!”
“Bugger this!” he thought and swam to the shallow side and walked away.
Read more of Connell’s fractured words at paragraphplanet, home.wtd-magazine.com, and postcardshorts.com.
The skies darkened. Rain pelted. The waters rose. Fast.
Through the opening, Noe saw the screaming masses paddling towards the Ark as it lurched in the foaming surge.
He sighed, but nonetheless searched for encouraging words, then shouted, “God still loves you. Oh, by the way, I told you so.”
Joey reckons many of us haven’t got long to live.
Hector heard God, when least expected but most needed, the unmistakable voice dripping intravenously into his brainspace, booming, “Stop! Don’t end your life!”
Hector stepped back, flabbergasted, dizzy with adrenaline and rapturous bafflement as the unexpected unbalancing cocked him over the edge of CityPoint. He fell: weeping, laughing, screaming, praying.
Shark Trager lives in North London and has been writing and blogging 50-word stories erratically for five years. He is a novelist in progress as well as a jobbing copywriter and ghostwriter.
Broke and broken, he returned. His father’s lavish reception did nothing to shake the demons chasing him.
The grace shamed him, the flattery embarrassed him, and the wine reminded him.
Let’s go back, they whispered.
That night, he left.
His brother scoffed, his suspicions confirmed.
His father is still waiting.
Jason Hart manages a Christian bookstore in South Carolina. He enjoys writing short stories in his spare time. You can read his other stories at jasonlhart.blogspot.com
Their insignificant lives were in her hands now; she felt no mercy. How oblivious of them to invoke her wrath by trespassing. She’ll effect a flood and watch them drown in pleasure. She was their god.
“Maria, lunch!” her mom called.
She left the ant-infested candy jar open.
Yassi has won numerous titles in her lifetime including “tempestuously capricious” and “absurdly ineloquent”. She has also twice broken the Guinness World Record in Procrastination: once was in college during submission of her thesis, and the other, unfortunately, is taking place now, working on her writing assignment. Sad, really…
“Is this the end?” I asked, hot and sticky in the heat of a dying sun.
“Of course not!” she exclaimed. I think she was annoyed at my lack of faith in her.
We sat in the air car and watched the sky burning. I kissed her one last time.
Stuart is absent without leave from the majority of life and finds that writing helps him remain that way. He occasionally blogs a story at diamondsanddross.blogspot.com
God said, “I give you life!”
The Devil said: “I want more than life!”
Then the sin of pride sent the demon
tumbling like crooked dice
down the stairway to heaven.
One question the Devil still asks:
“Did I fall or was I pushed?”
The fight to know consumes him.
Fred Zackel teaches literature at Bowling Green State University in Ohio. He is the author of COCAINE AND BLUE EYES and MURDER IN WAIKIKI, and these and other writings are available on Kindle.