Unspeakable darkness, slowly illuminating into an alley with dipping gutters. Tenement houses, three mismatched shoes on each doorstep. Girls hawk their wares, calling out over the cobblestones, flirtatious, looking for customers.
God is forever hiding somewhere among the gargoyles.
I fall in love a lot, always with the same woman.
Jim Doss has published two books of poems: Learning to Talk Again and What Remains. He also published a book of German translations entitled The Last Gold of Expired Stars: The Complete Poems of Georg Trakl 1908 – 1914. In his spare time, he is an editor for the Loch Raven Review.
Effie tells me she’s uploading herself to the cloud. “It’s for work.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’ll be like a bot.”
She tells me our minds are the future; our bodies are too slow.
I take her slow hand and say I love her.
She says she’ll send me a meme. :-\
Michael Mau wrote this story.
Who would win: a bear or a man with a baseball bat?
Ralph and I want to liberate the animals from pens and slaughterhouses. But after liberation, we think they should participate in humanity’s deranged games, like cage fighting. We think it will, oddly enough, promote understanding between the species.
Wim Hylen’s work has appeared in Four Chambers, Café Irreal and McSweeney’s Internet Tendencies, among other places. He lives in Phoenix, Arizona with his wife and daughter.
Eternity Press Announces Titles for 2018
- How It All Began
- When The Creator Shouted
- And the Earth Trembled
- When Life Was Born
- And It Grew (er What Grew?)
- Until We Became Human
- Oh, No, Not That
- And Now Look At The Mess We Are In
- Save the Polar Bear
Joy Manné links flash fictions into short stories, writing usually in parts: solos, duets, choruses; different views of the whole experienced by different characters as the story builds, arcs, and reaches its ending. Find more at joymanne.org
A void sits in between his rib cages; he lacks the beating bit of flesh that makes humans human. So, she fills the emptiness with memories of overgrown moss and poisonous flowers, along with false promises of eternity.
It is the closest thing to her heart that she can give.
Penny Senanarong is currently an A-Level student who grew up in the bustling city of Bangkok. Although Thai is her mother tongue, the world of English language and literature fascinates her, and she wishes to be a part of it through writing fiction.
Engineers created robots that wrote music based on brainwaves.
We wanted to hear thoughts of wonder, imagining a new wave of ‘sub-conscious’ brain-raves.
Exhilaration turned to panic as a deeply buried sorrow filled our ears. A dying world screamed within our minds, and we had turned the volume up loud.
Alex Massey is a writer and the editor of Story Seed Vault
. They can be found hiding behind decorative foliage at parties or on Twitter
Beneath the majestic Tora Bora Mountains he pulled the trigger, then trailed his quarry into a nearby cave. He leaned over and peered into the man’s dying eyes, and was startled when the Arab’s bloody hand rose slowly and gently touched his cheek.
He decided this was his last kill.
Henry F. Tonn is a soon-to-be-retired psychologist who once wrote an excellent novel about a woman with multiple personality disorder who became a serial killer. It had all the qualities that the reading public would presumably like. He webs at henrytonn.com
“Hey! Stick your head out, Yank. Need some target practice.”
“How ’bout this, Reb?”
“Dang! You got ham?”
“Reckon. Whatchew got?”
“Meetcha middle the creek.”
“Hold your fire! Ham for tobacco!”
“‘Preciate it, Reb. Been dyin’ for a smoke.”
“Yup. How’s Mama?”
“Sends you her love.”
Henry F. Tonn is a semi-retired psychologist who has written a sterling novel entitled “Ascent to Madness, Zelda Fitzgerald’s Gilded Cage” which is is having a great deal of difficulty finding a home in the publishing world.
“We need to talk.”
“I’m sorry!” he shouted, thinking he knew what she wanted. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I can’t be the son you want. I’m sorry I can’t get my life together. You want perfection… I’m only human.”
“Ah,” she said, smiling sadly. “But you’re not.”
is, in fact, only human. She makes up for this about writing stories about people and things who are not.