Here’s the thing. I was good. All year. Check your records. Consult your list. Check it a third time. I minded my manners. I was consistently polite, even when I wasn’t in a particularly cheery mood. And not once was I nasty.
So what happened? Weren’t you looking?
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.
I believe in vampires. I never used to but then, one day, I filed for divorce. I saw my wife turn into a blood-sucking member of the undead, right before my eyes.
We have been divorced many years, yet she still phones me to ask for money.
Oh yes, vampires.
Barry O’Farrell had a 950-word sci-fi story published in the December issue of Cyclamens & Swords
The Mustaches hovered. Khakis and clipboards. Counting down time. Lost production.
He needed the job. Medical benefits. A twice pregnant wife.
Guard bolted back into place. His finger hovered, balked above the start button. The press bucked and settled into a steady metallic heartbeat. A hollow thumping matching his own.
Randy Simons spends his days working the floor of an ammunition factory and his nights at the keyboard. His work can be found in The Los Angeles Review, Whitefish Review, and Memoir, among other places. He lives in Idaho.
Tim and Kate had an unemotional relationship. They both used each other for convenience.
One day during an encounter when Tim was taking advantage of Kate his heart failed. She felt no emotion. In his wallet she found $3,000.00.
She kept it but gave the church a donation on Sunday.
Pat St. Pierre has been writing poetry, fiction, and nonfiction since her college days. She tries to capture small vignettes of life and turn them into poems. Her 2nd published chapbook “Theater of Life” by Finishing Line Press contains such poems. Her fiction has been published in many places: Dew on the Kudzu, Fiction 365, Daily Love, Joyful, A Long Story Short, etc. She also has a love of photography and can be seen carrying her camera wherever she goes. She takes photos and then tries write her titles which also describe “snapshots” of everyday occurrences. Some of her photos can be viewed at: Ken*Again, Ramshackle Review, Pond Ripples, The Shine, The Camel Saloon, A Days Encounter, etc. She considers herself a literary “jack of all trades” and thoroughly enjoys what she does. Her blog is www.pstpierre.wordpress.com
In the beginning, Emily was born a hunger baby, who ate anything and everything—even non-edible treats like small plastic toys.
Halfway through her life she owned a restaurant—became rich, got married, enjoyed outdoor activities—and traveled the world.
In the end, she ate all her money and died.
Devon Carey joined the National Guard in September, 2010, and is getting deployed to Kuwait in 2013. He is going to wait until after his deployment before he makes the decision to go Active duty. Right now, he writes and reads a lot, and works out on his spare time.
When I scored the first goal, my confidence went shooting through the roof.
When I coughed the ball up, resulting in a goal against, my confidence went plummeting into the earth.
When I was handed my big fat paycheck after the game, my confidence wasn’t really affected in either direction.
This story was based on the prompt “went shooting” at TypeTrigger.
When we finally summited Mount Kilimanjaro, the last thing we expected to see was a withered old man in an all-terrain wheelchair, surrounded by ten burly sherpas.
He looked at us with pale, watery eyes and said, “Remember, friends: money can buy you neither happiness nor salvation.”
Then he smiled.
This story is based on a title suggested by Jeremy Quinn.
A merchant found an old oil lamp. Amazingly, a beautiful genie was summoned as he rubbed it.
“For freeing me, I will grant you one wish,” said the genie.
“I wish I didn’t have to worry about money,” the merchant said.
“So be it,” the genie said, and killed him.
This is the third in a series of stories from King Kool, who has previously contributed multiple other series.
“That’s twenty pounds, thank ye sir,” burbled the bumpy-faced imp of a man behind the counter.
“Twenty pounds?” protested the customer. “For some hole-ridden leather that hardly deserves to be called a boot?”
The shop assistant slammed and locked the door.
“Twenty pounds,” the imp cackled, “in currency or flesh.”
This story was based on a title suggested by @HBird_James.
After long days of deposits, withdrawals, and balance inquiries they often felt dirty when they got home, so they liked to race each other to the bathroom to play the “Who Can Get the Cleanest?” game.
She always claimed she had won, but he liked to make her prove it.
Editor’s Note: Did you spot the double pun in the title?