“Do you believe in magic?” she asked. “Charms… enchantments… love potions?”
He laughed. “Of course not. Do you?”
“Oh, no. But your grandma does. She told me.”
“Grandma believes in fairies, too. Don’t take her seriously.”
“You’re right.” She smiled. “Here, drink your tea.”
She watched for fairies.
B.C. Nance is a native of Nashville, Tennessee where he works as a historical archaeologist. In his spare time he writes fiction and poetry and has published several of his short stories and poems.
“Bargaining with the Sidhe is dangerous. They can’t be trusted!”
I ignored her.
“I want to live forever,” I told them.
“Then we’ll give you a form that will last through eternity,” they replied.
Now I stand here in the circle, one stone among many, watching the aeons drift past.
Bill lives in Aberdeen, Scotland. As he rises to the top of his profession, he awaits with morbid curiosity his inevitable fall from grace.
The soft glow of dawn
covers my room in rainbows.
Young eyes try to capture them.
My mother’s figure appears in the doorway,
I ask her to join me,
catch her own rainbows.
She simply shakes her head, eyes glassy.
Maybe another day, I think,
Or maybe not.
Lauren loves creative writing and can usually be found in her room writing a poem or short story or on the beach reading. She struggled to stay within the 50-word limit since she loves to talk!
She beckoned to me with a crooked finger.
I stepped into her tent, dropping coins in a box.
Fanning the cards in front of me, she smiled an evil smile.
I chose a card then, hopefully, held it up.
She reached into the box and handed back my coins.
Candace Kubinec wrote this story.
Rabbits escaped her hat; their itchy feet ached for dry dirt over dry-cleaned velure. Her sleeves cried pigments of cheap pretense. On the mortician’s table, her final trick was unveiled: a heartless ribcage—a taunting gimmick—was the oldest trick in the book. The coroners still queued for the show.
Alex Creece is a snow poff.
Normally she’s safe in her hutch, munching carrots, but today there’s only a swinging cage door and tufts of fur snagged on the wire. He hopes the fox granted her a quick death.
At the evening meal, he prays for her soul while his mother smirks and serves the stew.
Mark Farley is attempting to write 1,000,000 words in 2016. Please wish him luck! See more at mumbletoes.blogspot.com.
Jars of lights filled the Big Top. Hanging from the ceiling, they were an illusion in themselves: no wires, no batteries.
The noise from the Ringmaster was too loud; no one heard the knocking.
If anyone looked closer—as close as they could—they’d see small, tearful faces peering down.
Ellie is a twenty-year-old student who still believes in magic.
“Dark and gloomy has no place here,” remarked the dusty-looking editor as she returned Tony’s manuscript, entitled No Living Allowed.
“I understand,” he replied calmly. While the thunder clapped overhead, Tony raised a hand in his signature departing wave.
After turning to leave, He listened carefully for the satisfactory “thud”.
Hillary knows more about rejection than she ever thought possible but hasn’t let that stop her from turning out the macabre when the urge strikes her.
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!”
“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.
My friend Lisa is scared of mirrors. She heard that mirrors were gateways to evil, alternate worlds. She feared her evil self would pull her through, take her place and no one would ever know.
I hoped she would.
Lisa hadn’t noticed when I took her friend’s place, after all.
Robyn Smith is a young writer currently working on a series of novels while attending Charlottetown Rural High School.