As I was peeling potatoes one got away and hit the floor. It disappeared.
Einstein says when one object strikes another there is an infinitesimally small chance the vibrations of each will cause them to pass right through each other.
I checked, but the potato wasn’t in the basement either.
Ginny Giraudi is a science writer living in Mississauga.
It was her eyes that drew him to her. They were odd looking and yellowish.
He whipped the dogs and the sled leaped ahead over the packed and frozen snow.
Fleet as the wind, she ran alongside, among the trees.
She turned, vanishing.
In the distance, the wolves were howling.
William Dart is just a retiree.
Left, right. Up, down.
He searches for the book. It’s still there. Relieved, but he still can’t afford it.
He walks away to the pens and picks a black one. Usually he just scribbles integrals to test the pen but this time he nonchalantly writes, “I’m gonna get her someday.”
Isaiah is a college student from the Philippines and is currently trying to salvage his semester. Please pray for him.
The knock at the door in the middle of the night caught her off guard. When she answered the summons, the person on the other side said, “Guess who.”
“I don’t know who.”
“Give up?” the person asked.
She pulled the door open. Nobody was there.
Kymberli Roberson lives in Illinois where she is currently hunting down the goblins of writer’s block.
On a summer night in the bayou, I wade through dark, brackish water for a rendezvous with my angel. The calm, silent water reflects the moon like a looking glass. Shimmering and magnetic, she draws me toward her in the moonlight, beckoning me, like a child to a candy shop.
Ed Baswell is a 40-something writer originally from Asheville, North Carolina, now residing in Southern California. Primarily a trainer and curriculum developer in the aerospace industry, Ed is trying to hone his creative writing skills.