I’ve been collecting things since I was very small. Conkers, feathers, snow globes. Then onto stamps, butterflies, coins.
It was only natural for me to progress to larger, more beautiful and precious things. Hard to find, harder to keep.
People demand their freedom in a way that stamps never did.
Charlie Swailes writes short and very short stories when not teaching English or looking after her two small boys.
Kit hopscotches her age over the trash in the parking lot where her friend was last seen more than a month ago.
The happy little jingle is distant at first. An ice-cream truck.
A rusted white van with tinted windows.
Cecilia Dockins lives in Tennessee and spends most of her time wrangling words and parrots. She is a graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop. Her fiction has appeared in Sanitarium Magazine, HWA Poetry Showcase Volume I and III, and various anthologies. For more about Cecilia, check out her website at ceciliadockins.com.
They fed the talking lawn gnome Burger King in the backseat, heads swirling. Half-hour later the radio announced an amber alert—missing two-year-old girl taken while playing in front yard. They stared at the odd being and wondered, isn’t it strange how she ate all those fries? Isn’t it strange?
Caitlin McGill is the 2014 winner of the Rafael Torch Nonfiction Literary Award, and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in 48, Crab Orchard Review, The Cypress Dome, Digital Americana, Prairie Margins, The Southeast Review, Solstice, Sphere International, and Spry Literary Journal. She is also a writing instructor at Emerson College, where her students continually remind her of the power of language.
“I thought you said you wanted a kid.” Brandon plopped the chubby little brown-eyed toddler into her lap.
“Yeah, but…” Marie looked nervous. She ran her fingers through the boy’s curly brown hair.
Marie lowered her voice to a whisper. “I didn’t know you were gonna steal one.”
Sara Jacobelli lives in New Orleans, where she tries to avoid vampires, Bourbon Street and tourists.
He came in the night and had his way, leaving evidence in the trunk. Yet, by popped tire and flipped car, he woke to find her gone.
Through the trees he ran, catching fleeting sight of pale gown. Swallowed by the dark, he found only silence, and her cold embrace.
Born in the Blue Ridge Mountains of West Virginia, J. Chris Lawrence spent much of his life traveling, exploring the various cultural facets of American life. With a love for dark fiction, he fancies himself a writer, and hopes to make a profession of it. He currently lives in Georgia with his wife and two sons. Find out more at jchrislawrence.com or follow him on Facebook at facebook.com/JCLFiction
In Theo’s experience, when you showed someone a blindfold, they tended to interpret it in one of two ways: it represented either a game, or kidnapping.
The interesting part, to Theo, were those few wavering moments, as he tied it on, while they tried to decide which one it was.
This story was based on the prompt “a blindfold” at TypeTrigger.