Flashing silver, the fish wiggled on Dad’s line, rippling with life. So beautiful. “Hurry, Emma,” Dad said. “The net.”
Luckily, Emma had snipped tiny cuts in the new net’s fibers last night. She hid her smile as the fish slipped through.
“What the…” Dad’s shoulders sagged. “There goes another one!”
Joanne R. Fritz lives in West Chester, PA and writes poetry and fiction for children and adults. Her short fiction and poetry have appeared in various magazines. She blogs at My Brain on Books.
You didn’t see
the last selfie I posted,
bitter wind whipping my hair across my face
as I balanced on the narrow edge of the roof,
because you were too busy
updating your status
for the seventieth time that week
and waiting for the likes and comments
to pour in
Joanne R. Fritz writes poetry and fiction for both children and adults. This is her seventh Fifty Word Story. Unlike her young protagonist, Joanne doesn’t believe in taking selfies.
The handsome patient grinned. “What’s wrong with me, doc?”
Ignoring her aching feet—and his devastating smile—Maria checked his vitals. Normal. How odd. “Must be a virus. Rest. Drink liquids. You’ll get better.”
“But it’s so strange.” Gently, he touched her arm. “Everything glows.”
Then… she saw it too.
Joanne R. Fritz lives in West Chester, PA and writes poetry and fiction for children and adults. When she wrote this story, she’d been suffering from a mysterious virus that lasted six weeks. Her vitals were normal but she experienced constant vertigo. She wished the virus had been the glowing kind instead.
Marco found a magic pencil only he could use. Everything he wrote happened—to others. Broke and desperate, he started a nightclub act, scribbling audience members’ desires.
“A million dollars!”
“Diamonds!”
“Make me beautiful!”
Greedy people. They didn’t deserve any of it.
Gripping the pencil, Marco wrote, “The audience disappears.”
Joanne R. Fritz lives in West Chester, PA. Her short fiction and poetry have appeared in various magazines. She blogs at My Brain on Books.
The searing heat drove them inside to rest. Scavenging could wait until nightfall.
“Gran,” Caleb said, “tell me a story.”
She licked her dry lips, remembering other Octobers. “Leaves turned bright colors and fell from trees. We raked huge piles and jumped in.”
Caleb frowned. “Leaves? Trees? What are those?”
Joanne R. Fritz lives in West Chester, PA. Her short fiction and poetry have appeared in various magazines. She blogs at My Brain on Books.
As war dragged on, Saleema wrote a story about white doves bringing peace.
Her sister scoffed. “This would never happen.”
Fighting tears, Saleema ripped up the paper and let the wind grab the pieces. They soared skyward, multiplying, sprouting feathers and wings.
People on both sides looked up and wondered.
Joanne R. Fritz lives in West Chester, PA. Her short fiction and poetry have appeared in Vine Leaves Literary Journal, Fifty Word Stories, Every Day Fiction, and Twisted Endings.
In every job she ever had, she’d always been an assistant, never the boss. This had to change.
But clawing her way to the top took such a long time. Better to sit back, read her magazine, sip her large latte.
And wait for her boss to open the package.
Joanne R. Fritz lives in West Chester, PA. Her short fiction has appeared in Vine Leaves Literary Journal, Every Day Fiction, and Twisted Endings.
Brandon watched them roaming inside the fence. “Cool.” He climbed higher, ignoring the torn sign that flapped in the breeze: “You assume the risk of—”
“Get down,” Dad said. “You’re much too close.”
“Aw, Dad…” Brandon threw one leg over, heel kicking the post.
The aliens turned at the sound.
Joanne R. Fritz lives in West Chester, PA. Her short fiction has appeared in Vine Leaves Literary Journal, Every Day Fiction, and Twisted Endings.