Every day was the same.
Soon as Mom got home they started.
Back and forth they went.
Around and around they went.
The volume of their voices fluctuated, depending on which room they were in.
Dad wasn’t working, wasn’t looking.
He talked about the life-changing phone calls he was expecting.
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, despite severe vision loss, he continues to write every day. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
On a downward spiral for so many years, I sit in the bath as it empties and watch the water suck down the plug hole. I should move; I should do something. It’s not too late to change, but I sit in the bath until all the water is gone.
From now on David is taking showers not baths. See more at davidrae-stories.com.
“I can do this,” Hannah said in a voice so small it was barely audible.
“I can do this.” A bit more convincing the second time, but not much. How could anyone handle this?
Hannah repeated the words (this time with conviction), opened her eyes, and threw off the blanket.
Philipp M. Selman is an artist, songwriter, athlete, and professional copywriter. His work has been published in Dark Fire Fiction and Fifty Word Stories, and examples of his art, music, and writing can be found at pmselman.com.
The first time I jumped I was trying to impress some kids my age who seemed much older. The second time I was in college, and I led the way because I knew how. The third time I had something to prove to myself, but now I can’t remember what.
Justin Hook is a comedy writer and coder living in Los Angeles. Visit justinhook.com.
It couldn’t be that hard.
Weeks of careful planning were in place.
She lacked one final step: action.
A glance at her watch told her she was out of time. It was now or never.
She put pen to paper, paused, digging deep, before finally succumbing to a consistent flow.
Hillary enjoys sending words to Tim’s house for consideration when her mind wanders away from the autobiographical words that most often claim all the blank pages at her house.
She stared out through the window, her eyes tracing and re-tracing the lines of the window pane, the branches of the trees outside, the curve of the mountains.
She knew she had to get up and make dinner, but she couldn’t escape the feeling that it wouldn’t make any difference.
Beth Buck’s work has been featured by Sukoon Magazine, Imperfect Fiction, and a couple of others. She lives in the Intermountain West with a bunch of noisy kids and a spinning wheel.