When I was younger, my dad taught me how to play chess. If I made a bad move, my dad would let me take it back. He also taught me that a man never cheats.
But I cheated. And that broke her heart.
Nobody’s letting me take that move back.
D.B. Robertson is a Psychology major from Indiana who has rediscovered a love for creative fiction after taking courses in creative writing. When not busy with writing or theatre, D.B. works as a writing tutor at university.
I don’t know
what I said.
I only know that
it was wrong.
I’m not sure why,
but the pillow in my arms
says that it is so.
I’m well acquainted with my couch these days
–but there I’ll stay.
I love life way too much
to sneak back in.
E.O. Hargreaves recently misplaced a really comfy feather pillow and wishes he knew where the heck it went.
Beware of Ifs. Onlys follow them. They will lead you down dark alleys where Regrets will ambush you. You are sure to be kneecapped by Paralysis and blinded by Sorrow. And there, you’ll remain for the rest of your life. You’ll never find your way home where Hope keeps vigil.
Kamalinii is a prisoner of Ifs.
What seemed like an infinite amount of time passed in about three seconds. She experienced the glorious sensation of what seemed to be flying. All of her worries vanished, except that for a split second, just before she hit the tarmac, she found herself asking, “Wait, why did I jump?”
Hannah Stevens has always had a passion for reading and writing. She is fifteen years old and has a weakness for words.
Rounds chambered. Safeties off.
We face the wall.
No one’s innocent. Still, one looks twelve, another an old padre… Their stares tear through the blindfolds.
Our weapons rise. I glance at a fellow corporal. He looks away.
Wars are messy, but I didn’t expect to shoot—
Joey thinks he’ll probably be the one to be lined up against the wall when the time comes… Meanwhile, you can visit him at joeytoey.com.
Holding the colorful bracelet, Ellie remembers: its green beads had matched his eyes.
In the car, they’d laughed, hearts beating for tomorrow. Her wrist wrapped in sky.
“The next jewelry’ll be for your finger.”
Now, scraping red—paint? blood?—from the bracelet, Ellie regrets ever wanting more than him, then.
Kerry Graham lives, teaches, writes, runs, and photographs in Baltimore, MD. Connect with her on Instagram
I wake up in a sweat and remember.
Their hollow, hopeless eyes.
I see the guards, grinning while they torture thousands.
I hear the screams, as if they were today.
I remember the commander, watching and smiling, and I cringe every morning when I see his face in the mirror.
This is Harry Demarest’s 17th 50-word story to be published.
They’re telling the truth when they say that life is short. I could see that early on.
But they don’t tell you that life is also very long. It’s long enough to start over, and it’s an eternity to live with the person you’ve become.
Survival isn’t what you’d think.
Rachel Peters is a writer, teacher, and swimming pool operator who lives in Richmond, VA, with her husband and their dog, who looks like he might be part chow and part lab. Her work has been published in the Bristol Short Story Prize Anthology and is forthcoming in Boston Literary Magazine.
The weapon cut to the bone with precise, brutal force. It was aimed at the most vulnerable area.
The target was hit dead center with a destructive power that surprised even the sender. It had been dispatched specifically to wound, not to kill.
If only the words could be recalled.
Linda McMahon works as a Transaction Coordinator for a California real estate company. She is constantly busy pursuing paper by day and words by night.