Mom cuts a pepperoni pizza into eighths. “Your two slices together make a quarter,” she says, serving one slice to each of her young twins. “Still three quarters left. That’s almost a whole pie!”
The boys chew in silence. Three quarters of a family feel nothing like a whole one.
Maura Yzmore writes short-form literary and speculative fiction, as well as humor. Find out more at maurayzmore.com or @MauraYzmore on Twitter.
Tweety Bird smokes, skinny legs crossed, cage door ajar. Sylvester the Cat is unconscious on the floor — Tweety’s skilled at wielding the frying pan.
Tweety takes a long puff. Life’s good here with Granny, but far too boring. Looking at Sylvester, Tweety grins and decides that Granny needs a dog.
Maura Yzmore writes short-form literary and speculative fiction, as well as humor. Find out more at maurayzmore.com or @MauraYzmore.
Joe strips his first-date clothes.
Mouth open, he pulls down his tongue, unzips his skin suit, head to crotch.
He reaches inside and pulls out his heart. The heart looks like china—shattered, then glued back together. More than once.
Joe sheds the skin. A young man emerges, heart intact.
Maura gets paid to be a nerd and writes short fiction so she’ll be less of a pain in the neck to those around her. Read her publications at maurayzmore.com or come say ‘hi’ on Twitter.
I pick up a brush or place hands on the keys; the ghosts come out to share.
They’re bored, they’re lonely, with stories to tell.
They fib, omit, exaggerate.
They dream, they yearn, imaginate.
My hands are possessed. Others say I make art.
My beloved ghosts and I know better.
Maura’s ghosts are behind some cool microfiction published in 50-Word Stories, The Drabble, and Microfiction Monday Magazine, and some hot flash published in The Fiction Pool, Zeroflash, and The Dirty Pool. The ghosts also maintain a website at maurayzmore.com and tweet as @MauraYzmore.
Wayward Willie was warned—woods were worrisome.
Wayward Willie walks woodward, whistling.
Werewolf wanders, weary.
Werewolf whiffs, wonders. “Whistling wimp, walking woodward? Wonderful!”
Werewolf wallops wayward Willie. Willie whimpers.
Werewolf Willie wakes.
Werewolf Willie whiffs.
Werewolf wanders, weary.
Werewolf Willie wanders, whistling, wayward.
Maura Yzmore’s day job involves quantum mechanics, dry-erase markers, and bad puns. She lives with her family in the American Midwest. Maura’s short fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in The Fiction Pool, Storyland, Microfiction Monday Magazine, The Dirty Pool, and 50-Word Stories. See more at maurayzmore.com
I hear a noise in my kitchen and come down to find Brad Pitt guzzling chocolate milk straight from the carton. He says his motorcycle broke down en route to Missouri. Brad, if you left me without chocolate milk before breakfast on a school day, I will have your head.
Maura Yzmore’s day job involves quantum mechanics, dry-erase markers, making bad puns, and lots of technical writing. She lives with her family in the American Midwest, where she also writes, draws, and indulges her love for coffee, driving, and kickboxing. See more at maurayzmore.com