They call it astral projection. Plane-walking. Body-jumping. I’ve been doing it for years: I’m the master, the sensei.
To float above your body, your anchor to the world, is quite the trip. Most of the time…
That’s me down there, lying so still.
And I’ve lost my key.
Kevin G. Bufton has been writing flash fiction for nearly eight years and still hasn’t got it out of his system. He lives in Birkenhead with his wife and kids, who seem to tolerate him. He writes his darkest stories wearing his brightest shirts, and believes the world could do with more rum. He blogs on an irregular basis at kevinbufton.com
At each corner, she read the street sign. She studied the shops and houses, examined the faces of passersby, searching for someone or something that looked familiar. She squeezed her brother’s hand. He was too young to remember anything except their mother. Maybe the next one, she said each time.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble.” His first novel, “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel,” was recently rereleased. Visit BobThurber.net.
“The buildings outside look bizarre, different. The people we pass look… odd. Whose idea was this?
“Let’s take the bus to the terminus. See where it goes!”
We’ve been driving for hours now. It’s dark outside, but there are two moons in the sky.
I just want to go home!
Bill lives in Aberdeen, Scotland. His campaign to be crowned King of the World has yet to really take off.
Temperatures soar in the day and plummet at night, here in this God-forsaken desert. Stretching to the unimaginable horizon are miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles.
Don’t leave your car, they said.
Our rations are finished. Our water is finished.
I love you, we tell each other.
Mary Steer enjoys writing stories of all lengths, from fifty words to fifty thousand and more. More of her stories may be found at marysteer.com
Camping! The family hadn’t done this since Arrow was a pup.
His tail wagged wildly as he sniffed every tree.
He was digging—something smelled exciting—when he saw his family was gone.
They’d be back. He was a good boy.
Tail still, Arrow waited by the road, forever loyal.
L.L. Madrid has an overactive imagination and a short attention span. Naturally, she writes flash and microfiction.
The Kingdom of Lost Things hides away, as you’d expect. Its borders are shrouded in fog. Shifting, fluid.
Sentinels at its gate are Time and Place, the agents of loss. Their form fades and twists, mingling and separating, allowing through only the treasures desired by their rulers, the lost Kings.
Dean Marriner is a production director at a design company in Newcastle, UK. He spends his spare time drawing pictures on old books to create new artworks.
“Jimmy, keep practicing that paradiddle, loud and in time.” It was up to the boy now. Dave lay back exhausted.
The boy banged that hollow log, eyes closed, finding comfort in the rhythm.
He played and played, his cheeks wet with tears.
The rescuers heard the call.
Was Dave alive?
Feeling optimistic after the success of her first submission, Anmari decided not to kill Dave off.
How do I get out of this?
Stuck in a sinkhole. Middle of the desert, broken leg, no water.
Great, I’m screwed.
Thirty-six hours and I’ve screamed myself hoarse.
Come on. You said you liked puzzles. Solve this one!
…A flash-flood has me treading water. For six hours.
Born in Dublin, Ireland, Kerry spent most of his life in the UK, and now lives in Brittany with his long-suffering wife of thirty-six years. He has three children, three grandchildren, and no pets. Kerry has recently released The DCI Jones Casebook: Ellis Flynn, available on Kindle from Amazon US or Amazon UK. A paperback will be available soon.
He crossed the ocean, filling the water with blood and the hold with gold. Ever onwards to a new horizon, ending fortunes and lives just as easily. Never satisfied and never slowing.
“What is he searching for?” the crew would whisper in the dark below deck.
He would find her.
Ruaridh Buchanan is making his first forays into writing down the thoughts and stories that whirl through his head when he should really be concentrating on something more important like earning a living. Doubtless this will result in bankruptcy or at the very least a blog at some stage in the near future.
“I think I dropped it over here somewhere. It might’ve rolled under something.”
“You should be more careful.”
“I’m sorry! I don’t know how it happened!”
“You’re so absentminded… What did you lose this time, anyways?”
“What? Are you out of your mind!?”
“No, it’s out of me!”