Big Gerald wanted to show Little Jerry that there were no monsters, so he locked his son in the basement.
An hour later, Gerald let Little Jerry out. “See? No monsters.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy, there is a monster. It’s very hungry!” Little Jerry sobbed. “I told it you were bigger.”
Harry Demarest wrote this story. The first draft was 1836 words.
“How you get here?”
“Businessman—sold weapons and made a pile. Some collateral damage, but that’s life. Wife drowned me. You?”
“Dictator. Started war, made much money, killed millions until execution. This Hell not so bad.”
Their black carapaces reflect distant mushroom clouds as Earth’s latest inheritors scuttle for shelter.
Viv Burgess thinks her muse needs a pep talk and possibly a good holiday.
Karma. The good kind.
When we moved into our first home, our pitbull, Wally, kept finding his way into the neighbor’s yard to play with their dogs. Well, Wally passed away a few weeks ago and now our new neighbor’s dog, Jackie, is digging into our yard.
We’re not complaining.
Mathew Allan Garcia lives in Hesperia, California with his wife, his three dogs, and his bear-dog hybrid named Zansa. He serves as the managing editor at Pantheon Magazine (www.pantheonmag.com), and writes a bi-weekly column entitled Funeral Songs at Parable Press. His work has been published at Shotgun Honey, Absinthe Revival, B O D Y Literature, Swamp Biscuits & Tea, among others. Sometimes, between it all, he has a chance to breathe.
Leroy, the toughest guy in Chunktown, stole a gun and robbed the Central Bank.
“Gimme the money, punk,” he said like on TV.
Leroy fled with the loot up the middle of Main and collided with a bus.
The city paid for the funeral. Leroy ain’t so tough no more.
Gary Clifton, forty years a cop, has over sixty short pieces published or pending with various venues. He has an M.S. from Abilene Christian University.