Four boys parade the street naked, their dicks swinging this way and that. At first they try covering them with their hands but when the severity of their situation sets in, they fold their hands in prayer, pleading for mercy.
Behind them, cowhide whips cut through flesh, bone, and will.
Ifediba Zube writes from the University of Port Harcourt Teaching Hospital Nigeria. When she is not neck deep in clinical postings she is in hiding with a good book. She has been published in Hektoen International Journal of Medical Humanities, Windmill Journal, Bridge Literary Journal, Kalahari Review and Expound Magazine of Arts and Aesthetics.
The sun beat down on the young man as he waited behind a barred gate.
He was nervous; his mother told him not to go, yet he stood here.
A uniformed guard approached the gate,
released an older gentleman.
He hugged his father for the first time in twenty years.
Sean Bui spends a lot of time on the volleyball court with his teammates. He is a lover of pasta yet is always open to try new foods. Sean, along with his friend, enjoys crafting clothing as well as fabric design for their clothing company Undefined.
The smell of the chalk dust reminded him of some past dated food. He imagined thousands of others who would have breathed it in and eventually gone to their graves having never exhaled it entirely.
Ninety eight more lines to go.
He scrawled, “I promise not to daydream in class.”
Gordon Lysen resides in Manitoba, Canada, and spends his time between the city of Winnipeg and his true home at Sugar Point on Lake Manitoba. Retired from police work after some 27 years, Gordon co-authored the novel “A Deadly Blend of Souls” with his wife, Lisa. Writing and painting are Gordon’s relaxation methods when retirement becomes too stressful.
Cynthia had made a habit of sneaking cookies out of the jar when Mom left the room.
One day, Mom caught her, and Cynthia received a crisp slap on the wrist.
The next afternoon, Cynthia emerged from her bedroom with foam padding taped to her wrists, and took a cookie.
This story was based on the prompt “slap on the wrist” at TypeTrigger.