After her mother’s untimely cremation, the witch pulled down their gingerbread house. In its place she built a new home, using slices of turnip for the roof tiles, runner beans for floorboards, and stems of cauliflower for the walls. No child, she was sure, would ever again bother their family.
Mark Farley writes novels, flash fiction and the occasional poem.
“Show, don’t tell,” you told me. “Use action to illustrate your point.”
Of course, you were right. I’d failed to get what I wanted to say across.
“I really do love you,” I said. Then I picked up my socks from the floor and put them in the wash basket.
David Rae wrote this story. See more at davidrae-stories.com.
Everyone lived happily ever after…
That’s what should’ve happened if Jane hadn’t screwed up. Now we’re behind bars and it’s all that idiot’s fault.
But I’m getting ahead of myself, rambling on without introduction. My poor mam’d be rolling in her grave.
Let’s try again. Hi. My name is Jane.
Jenny Han feels older and acts younger than her age.
He wondered, first, why it hadn’t died.
Grey fur, scarce, in patches. Full of fleas, and two tender red eyes. Worms. Some bones broken, limbs bent.
Loaded the gun. Shot it. “Rest, now.”
But when it raised its head again, he realized:
Perhaps it was never alive to begin with.
Uzair Shahed Islam is an economics and mathematics student at the Lahore University of Management Sciences who writes fiction and non-fiction in his spare time.
I couldn’t take it any longer. The subtle shaking of the head, the constant belittling, the never-ending criticisms.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he squawked.
“Give me a break.”
Truth is, I was the one to blame.
I put the cover over his cage.
Peace at last…
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She enjoys writing poetry and short stories.
Panicked screams rang out, but Mylo didn’t register them. He took another bucket from the human chain and poured it onto the flames swallowing the barn. Destruction and chaos enveloped them. Mylo glanced at his tiny pet and had no regrets.
No one ever said it’d be easy breeding dragons.
Beth Gaydon is a work-from-home mom in Tennessee. She raises dogs, but they rarely set the barn on fire.
“Check under the bed.”
“Nope. Maybe it’s in the dryer.”
“I hope not.”
“It wasn’t there. Where else could it be?”
“I don’t even know. The yard?”
My wife was right. There, playing by our curbside mailbox, sat my toddler niece, proving how woefully unprepared we were to be parents.
Scott is an author and writer living in DFW, Texas, with his wife and their two boys. In his spare time he collects antique cameras. He has never intentionally misplaced a child, for the record.
He had always dreamed of having a vegetable garden. A place where tomatoes, beans and corn could be kissed by the sun and caressed by the rains.
Meticulously, he weeded and watered, hoed and harvested, until the loudspeaker murdered his tellurian bliss: Inmate B18763… report to the Exercise Yard, immediately!
If killing plants was a crime, Melanie would have been incarcerated for the term of her natural life.
I stumble in, drunk, parking myself at a table in the corner. “Scotch,” I yell to the blonde. “Neat,” I add.
She refuses to take my order, insisting that I keep my voice down. I raise a stink, demanding service.
Long story short, I’m no longer welcome at the library.
Pontius Paiva pours himself into his craft, hoping to raise the bar with each piece. Visit pontiuspaiva.com to see the complete library of merry microfictions and sobering short stories.
None could hope to understand her, to survey the mystical topography of her desire’s terrain. Lamenting her ponderous depths, he hoped never again to cross the enigmatic path she trod. He couldn’t bear it.
She nodded coolly as he repeated the dozen modifications to her unique salad order.
Jake Greenblot wrote this story.