I kiss my daughter; she twists away. “No,” she says.
“Don’t you hate that?” Margie sighs. “We do enough. We deserve kisses.”
I remember uncomfortable playground embraces. Unwanted subway pawing. Nights reluctantly spent.
“No,” I say. The word is whiskey. Dark, strong, medicinal. I smile and watch the girls play.
Ashley Scott lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest. She loves writing that packs a lot into a little. You can find her short stories and flash fiction in online literary publications, including On the Premises.
Her hands were a blur
of harsh bitten nails
smudges of ink
and the assurance that comes
On her arm there were
scabs and paint
and one ancient hair tie,
She was a mess,
and I loved her before my eyes ever
made it past her elbows.
Maria doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but her muse keeps trying to change her mind. She’s delighted to announce that her poem “Swept Away” was recently featured in The Coe Review.
“Rugged male seeks companionship. Loves outdoors, sharing dinners, cuddling. Eager to please. Not afraid of commitment.”
Sam and Beth were a perfect match. Eight glorious years together.
At the pet cemetery, she clutched his leash, holding it close to her broken heart.
Some happily ever afters end much too soon.
Lisa Chambers is a Texas girl who believes in happily ever after.
How I remember the day we met: my beagle strayed into his yard; Christmas lights; strains of music!
We became friends. Then lovers. He promised more.
Years later, his eyes welled as he took wedding vows. I stood behind his bride; relieved at not being deceived by promises twice over.
Mandira Pattnaik writes in India. Her work has appeared in Eclectica Magazine, Lunate, Runcible Spoon, FewerThan500, 50wordstories and elsewhere. She tweets at @MandiraPattnaik.
It has come to an inevitable and horrific end. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. Even though I’ve been previously diagnosed, I ignored the symptoms and completely missed the warning signs. A rough ride from denial to acceptance. There’s nothing more fatal than love.
Pontius Paiva hopes his stories might one day go viral. Cure your boredom by reading more of his stories at pontiuspaiva.com.
He stood her up on their third date.
Fifteen years and three lovers later, he finds her in Savenor’s Market. After exchanging greetings, he leaves. She studies the sirloin.
Suddenly he’s back, takes her face in his hands, passionately kisses her, and hurries away.
Stunned, she moves on to produce.
Carol Anne Harvey has been writing poetry and short stories since she was 5. Her focus now is on writing micro memoirs. “Unfinished” is her first submission to 50-Word Stories.
In the Earth I traced your name,
silent as my prayer.
Afraid that noise would make me insane,
afraid of judgement from the air.
My fingers danced to trace the date,
strokes placed with utmost care,
thinking maybe crazy is a better fate
than drowning in despair.
“I miss you.”
Elaine Koh is an avid reader and writer with a passion for all things furry and entertainment media.
She stands, trackside, holding his lunchpail. Bright blue dress, matching shoes, red lips, yellow hair, a permanent wave. The diesel rounds the bend same time daily, right after school, halts with that same sudden jerk.
She has her man, a real engineer. He has his girl, waiting for him alone.
Bradley Harris has: one swell girl to come home to, two prize-winning novels, three imaginary dogs, a quadruple bypass, five books to write, six thousand books to read, seven decades of consciousness, eight or nine people who act as if they like him, and ten thousand reasons to be grateful.
The eyewitnesses were children. Two. An eight-year-old boy and his ten-year-old sister.
They heard and saw more than they could comprehend.
Why was daddy so angry? Why did they have to call this new woman “mommy?”
They missed their grandmother. Why did “mommy” get to decide who they could love?
Bob Thurber is the author of “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel” and two collections of stories. A celebrated master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in 60 anthologies, received dozens of awards, and been used in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts where, though legally blind, he continues to write every day. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
I try to draw a flower, a forget-me-not. Nothing flows from my pen.
I’ll sketch one perfect rose, to declare my love. It turns out wilted, withered.
I let my pen have its way across an empty page. When it stops, all I have to offer
is a broken heart.
Candace Kubinec posts her stories at storydribbles.wordpress.com and her poetry at rhymeswithbug.com.