I rolled him onto his back.
His eyes were wide open.
Blood trickled from his mouth.
I touched his throat, feeling for a pulse.
It was a dumb thing to do.
Cold as he was, there remained a warmth in his eyes,
as though some reflection had gotten trapped there.
Bob Thurber is the author of “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel” and four collections of short fiction. Regarded as a master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in Esquire and other magazines, been anthologized 60 times, received a long list of of awards, and been utilized in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
She reads quietly in the corner, sublimely beautiful. Serene. Her soul surrounds her, highlighting every motion, drawing me like a moth to a flame. I’m not worried that I’ll burn, only that she’ll never notice my tiny spark against her brightness.
Smiling, she looks up from her book. “Hi, there.”
Raven Corinn Carluk writes dark fantasy, paranormal romance, and anything else that catches her interest. She’s authored five novels, where she explores themes of love and acceptance. Her shorter pieces, usually from her darker side, can be found in Black Hare Press anthologies, at Detritus Online, and through Alban Lake Publishers. Keep up to date with her and enjoy many free reads on RavenCorinnCarluk.blogspot.com, or join her on Twitter at @ravencorinn for daily microfictions.
That summer the churches stopped selling religion.
You had to know a guy who knew a guy.
I was living by the ocean with a sea captain’s daughter.
He brought home boxes of the stuff.
We shared holy communion. We wept through miracles.
Her and me. Us and the sea.
Bob Thurber is the author of “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel” and two collections of stories. A celebrated master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in 60 anthologies, received dozens of awards, and been used in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts where, though legally blind, he continues to write every day. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
He found the note taped on his refrigerator.
I’m leaving this note to inform you I’ve stolen your soul for a scavenger hunt. I don’t believe you’ll find this news troubling, seeing as you weren’t using it anyways. Send inquiries to Hell if you want it back.
Andrea Allison currently writes and resides in a small Oklahoman town. You can follow her on Twitter at @sthrnwriter.
Last night, the Devil came knocking. I invited him in for a cup of coffee. He said he was looking for a soul to make his quota. I looked at him; he looked at me. I said, Take my wife. She’s all I got but she’s yours. He left happy.
Originally from Tennessee, Gail L. Winfree is a writer and author currently living in Germany. He has written and published two novels and a book of poems and short stories.
Sweet fallen angel, cast away for undone crimes. He cannot return to Heaven; now burns in hellish flames. Only with true love can he be freed from aching bonds.
To help, my last breath must fade, so I can take his place.
To rid his pain, I’ll give my soul.
Natasha McNeely currently lives in Germany and spends most of her time reading, writing, and playing video games. She has lived abroad since she was seven years old and has taken a liking to foreign languages as a result. Now, she speaks four languages and recently graduated as a Multilingual Secretary with hopes of becoming a translator. Her website is http://natashamcneely.wordpress.com.
The soldiers made him pull the trigger, bury a bullet in his mother’s forehead, watch his village burn.
Some day, he thought, I’ll kiss a girl and see skyscrapers.
His knees collided with now-sacred ground. He gagged on the ashes of his soul.
Through smoky tears, he prayed. Some day.
Salena Casha’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Stymie Magazine, Bete Noire, The Quotable, Silver Blade and others. Follow her on twitter @salaylay_c.
Because I am an angel, you said you believed in them, and so I believed in you.
Yet here at the door of death who should come for you but Him.
The light of your love for me outshone the darkness in your soul.
And for that we are doomed.
Editor’s Note: This story grows on me a little more each time I read it, as I start to tease out more meaning from each sentence. At first it was an enigma, and now I find it appealingly haunting. I recommend coming back for a repeated read later, so you have time to explore and digest it.
Tammy’s poem “Twas the Night Before Blood Moon” will be published in Pill Hill Press’s Leap Year Edition of Daily Flash 2012: 366 Days of Flash Fiction, and she is a proud mother whose son is the joy and light of her life.