“My remarks will be brief today,” an absentminded professor told his class. “I’m suffering from short-turn memory loss.”
“Don’t you mean short-term?” a student asked.
The prof shook his head. “I had the top down on my convertible. When I turned a corner really fast, my lecture notes blew away.”
John H. Dromey has had short fiction published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Betty Fedora, Crimson Streets, and elsewhere.
Brass blazed, strings sang, and timpani boomed the finale to Venet’s Concerto, but when the orchestra lulled for the star instrument, there was silence.
The xylophone player lay unconscious under a fallen stage light.
“Don’t move him,” said the conductor. “He might have percussion.”
Not even the piccolo player laughed.
E. M. Eastick is an Australian writer currently living in Colorado.
For months, Calum convinced his mother there was no problem. She ignored the signs at first, the spandex stockings, the growing pile of comics, the cape he wore around the house…
But when his mother found Wonder Woman under the bed, she realised it was time to call an intervention.
Guy is still waiting for his invitation to join the Justice League. This is his twelfth 50-word story.
Craig is fond of the saying, “Two heads are better than one.” As head of the personnel department, he would emphasize this to employees. Craig would say, “It’s all about teamwork, and two heads are better than one!”
A two-headed alien walked in one day and said, “Heard you’re hiring.”
Denny E. Marshall has had art, poetry, and fiction published, including fiction in Black Petals #73 in October 2015. See more at dennymarshall.com.
“Aunt Trudy’s going to become a scarlet woman,” Jen announced.
Her mother was shocked. “Why would you say such an awful thing?”
“She told me she’s knitting a sweater and I saw her bagful of red yarn.”
“Oh, Jennifer, you shouldn’t judge a person by the color of her skein.”
John H. Dromey has had short fiction published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Stupefying Stories Showcase, and elsewhere.
When asked if I am retired I respond:
“Although I draw Social Security, I get up rested in the morning, I enjoy my work through the day, and I become tired.
“Next morning, I’m rested. Though I enjoy my work through the day, I become re-tired.
“That is my retirement.”
Larry Darnell worked as a Manufacturing Engineer, then in sales in different fields. Now he is working on a book titled How I Evolved From A Chicken Into An Eagle, along with various other projects. He doesn’t think of himself as being “retired”; he just has more freedom to choose what he does during the day.
Secret Ops briefing.
“Our suspect is addicted to tanning salons. His getaway dogsled team was one husky short, so he substituted a gnome.”
“Sir, in mushing, haw is left, right?”
“Right, but the replacement was on the right.”
The sergeant pressed on.
“Welcome to the Hue Man Gee Gnome Project.”
John H. Dromey has had short fiction published in Gumshoe Review
, Plan B Magazine
, Plasma Frequency Magazine
, and elsewhere.
I rented a stairway landing.
Eight by six, the price was right.
Roped off a pedestrians’ passway.
Sold my etchings, then clothes,
next blood, one or two kidneys.
I shouldn’t have harvested
that poor man,
but once you buy the
and surgical tools…
Pricing studio apartments
Todd Mercer won the Woodstock Writers Festival’s Flash Fiction contest and took 2nd and 3rd place of the Kent County Dyer-Ives Prizes. His chapbook Box of Echoes won the Michigan Writers Cooperative Press contest. Mercer’s poetry and fiction appears in The Lake, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Thema, Blue Collar Review, Right Hand Pointing, Apocrypha & Abstractions, Cease, Cows, Dunes Review and Eunoia Review.
“I wasn’t really expecting it to work.”
The door hangs off its broken hinges.
“I thought that she’d be so grateful.”
Elixir soaks into the discarded bandages.
“Why do women always leave me?”
The gilded sarcophagus is empty.
Tears are streaming down his face.
The professor really misses his mummy.
Deborah thinks: least said, soonest mended. Find her on her blog: Deborah Walker’s Bibliography.
“Eat up!” said Mom.
Victor stared at his plate. Yuck. What was this slimy, moldy, mushy gunk?
“Don’t you like it?”
“Gross!” said Victor. “Is this rotten food?”
“It’s your winnings,” said Mom. “The ones you gloated about after Monopoly. Like you said, to the victor go the spoils!”
I’m happy to announce the birth of my second son, Victor! This story is for him.