I ate a slice of airport pizza while I waited for my flight. My dad whistled up to me.
He’d died years ago.
“You’ve got time to finish. I’ll see you at the gate.”
He whistled off.
The pizza tasted like dust. The light felt thin.
“Okay, Dad,” I said.
Iain Young prefers a window seat.
The Royal Ballroom was not accustomed to motorbikes careening through its windows, but the helmeted man had a message.
A red triangle on the seal told the King all he needed.
“A storm nears,” he said. “We must ready.”
“Hang on,” said the biker. “Is this not 93 Privet Drive?”
Ben Reynolds quit his job to be a writer. What an idiot. Find more at justpunchtheclock.com
“They die,” she whispered. “Everyone I love… They all die.” A tear; then she burst, unable to contain it anymore. She sobbed. “Why is this happening to me?”
My words stuck. I didn’t want to tell her, or admit I could see her clearly. “Layla, you… You’re a death omen.”
Hazel is a girl who aspires to write but doesn’t find much time for it.