Four AM, there’s the garbage truck. Every other morning it wakes me up. I wonder if he’s as tired as I am.
Hopefully he doesn’t notice how big that darn bag is. It’s heavier than I had expected. I always told her she should diet.
Then I forgot the T.
James P. Spitznogle is an aspiring writer from the early yet dark hills of West Virginia
Grandpa’s pain stops with his heart. Amid brilliant white light and the fury of a whirlwind, he is lifted and flies rejoicing to God.
He wakes joyously. “Lord, I’m saved!”
His angel smiles. “Only just. It’s a miracle you got to hospital in time. We had to send a helicopter.”
Viv Burgess says her inspiration has been absent without leave, and she is not a-mused.
She’d hummed it at home, at the park, and on date night, too.
As wide as on their wedding day, her husband’s grin dwarfed her frustration of being unable to place the song.
Realisation came on her way to work: her last victim’s ringtone, in the trunk of her car.
When someone asks Tony to stop whistling, he promptly begins humming instead.
An uncle told me TV laughter was dead people—It’s canned, he said. For years I couldn’t eat tuna, soup, or beans.
Until the bombs.
Now, canned food is all that’s left—hoarded in caves and holes. And let me tell you, no one’s laughing anymore. Not even the dead.
Daniel DiFranco lives in Philadelphia. He graduated from Arcadia University with an MFA in Creative Writing. His words can be found in Smokelong Quarterly, LitroNY, and others. Full list of pubs and miscellany can be found at danieldifranco.net
One cold winter’s morning,
not so long ago,
the knights grumbled and complained,
as they strapped on their protective armor.
Boots, gloves, chest protectors, and hats.
They mustered by the door, reluctantly ready.
The trumpet sounded,
dad opened the door,
and watched the kids race to catch the school bus.
John Fowler served twenty years in the US Air Force before retiring and starting a second career in the IT field. He is also a Lay Pastor serving a small church near his home in Texas. His hobbies include reading, golfing, writing, and now oil painting.
Jai had decided to be completely honest with his wife. He shared his past with an understanding Nisha. When Vandana came wanting her letters back, he unhesitatingly returned these, while Nisha dreamingly looked on.
That night, Nisha snuggled up to Jai and whispered, “I also want to tell you something.”
Vijai Pant is a language teacher in a school in India. He is also a freelance writer.
“He fell. Hard. We’ve called 911.”
I was terrified. His eyes were closed.
“Severe concussion,” they say. Serious head trauma.
“CT is clear. No bleed. He needs rest.”
No contact sports. No TV. No colouring.
“Physical and cognitive rest.”
How do I possibly keep a six-year-old boy still?
Michelle is a freelance writer; who writes both fiction and non-fiction. She is a regular contributor to the Briar Crier Magazine, and has had her work featured recently in the Voice of the Farmer newspaper, and the Focus 50+ newspaper. In April 2016, she was shortlisted as a finalist at the Ontario Writers Conference Story Starters Contest
After eight long years and twenty-four hours of hard labour, he finally arrived at his destination. Cold, and with no clothes to call his own, he screamed at everyone in the room. His demands were food, warmth, and love.
“Come on, wrap baby up nice and warm,” said the nurse.
Chris is a Network Manager involved in many aspects of IT. He has a love of writing short stories, technical articles, photography and playing the guitar. He is from Dudley in the Black Country. He is also a member of The Oldbury Writing Group.
Shelly had known they were her husband’s white socks on sight; she’d cleaned them often enough. She recognized them immediately, dangling at eye-level just past the hotel room balcony, with Roy’s feet still inside them.
What she hadn’t recognized was the voice of the girl weeping above.
Cal lives in Hillsborough, NC where he writes experimental fiction, reads detective novels, and talks to his houseplants.
He likes listening to music, so the choice was easy for his birthday: a Bluetooth speaker!
Right now, I regret it. The music is way too loud! I can’t handle it anymore.
I go to his bedroom, open the door, and shout: “Please, dad, can you turn the volume down?!”
Noé Colle is a 17-year-old student from Chimay, a town in the French part of Belgium. He saw the website 50WS during his English lesson and wanted to give it a try. Noé is a composer and a DJ: music is his passion.