After applying for many years he made it into Mensa. Finally, he was among the most intelligent people of his time. Cerebrally unmatched yet socially awkward, he wondered what he’d be doing there until he was told to put on some overalls, get a bucket, and mop out the toilets.
First thing out was my suit. Next went my helmet, violently followed by my books.
She’d always had a good arm and a bad temper.
Obviously I’m next, which would be bearable if we were on Earth rather than a spaceship.
Well, at least I won’t hear her screaming anymo—
Joey doesn’t mind travelling through space even if there is a risk that she’ll blow him out of the airlock. You can visit him at joeytoey.com.
“I’m fed up with this music.”
“Hush! You’ll upset the other opera-goers.”
“I don’t care. This infernal tune keeps me awake at nights, swirling round my head. It’s driving me mad.”
“Mother, you must get used to it. After all, it is the national anthem, and you are the Queen.”
PJ is a British writer living in Switzerland with his wife and Parson Russell Terrier. He sees the Alps every day but misses the Cairngorms. The music swirling round his head is usually Linkin Park. Follow him @Tweeting_Writer
My mother enjoyed researching our family tree – searching through census data, sending off for birth certificates, the lot. She painted a fruit tree on the wall, adding names and photos to its branches.
Then she discovered Great-Grandpa was a member of the KKK.
We burned his picture on the lawn.
writes novels, flash fiction and the occasional poem.
“Isn’t Darryl joining us?” I ask my host.
Otis grunts, gnaws on a BBQ rib. Should ribs be that big?
They’d argued… I heard thuds. This is hillbilly country!
A bruised Darryl appears. “Dang, Otis! Don’t freak our dinner guest.”
Then he stage whispers, “You know fear spoils the meat!”
Mary Sheehan hails from southern Ireland and is vegetarian…
“We need to talk.”
“I’m sorry!” he shouted, thinking he knew what she wanted. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I can’t be the son you want. I’m sorry I can’t get my life together. You want perfection… I’m only human.”
“Ah,” she said, smiling sadly. “But you’re not.”
is, in fact, only human. She makes up for this about writing stories about people and things who are not.
She felt guilty for doing this, but Time waited for Zoe. Time tried to maintain her standards—a second had always been a second for everyone, no exceptions—but, captivated by Zoe, she found herself unwound. Time couldn’t stop herself.
Zoe wondered why her life seemed to move so slowly.
Iain Young once, mistakenly, thought Time waited for him, but it was just something he ate.
The centurion realized they were doomed
surrounded by barbarian hordes
Not his choice, being sent to Germania
To die on foreign soil, in this supposed adventure
For the Glory of Rome and Gaius Cornelius Tacitus
He marked the time on his Rolex
The professor was wrong
Time travel… really sucked
Paul Hock wrote this story.
Visiting a dark church, I notice a bowed head in the front pew, haloed with rainbows from stained-glass saints in leaded windows. I respect his need for peace and soulful prayer.
Quietly tiptoeing to the altar, a sidelong glance reveals his cupped hands radiating light, and that he is texting.
Viv Burgess likes writing, it’s the thinking that is troublesome.
He cared more than words could say. All the signs were there. One day, she was depressed; another, enthusiastic. He experienced her life in snapshots — health, sickness, good times and bad ones — more devoted than any husband.
He lifted his leg, left his reply, and proceeded to the next hydrant.
Philipp M. Selman is a graphic artist, musician, historical martial artist, and professional copywriter. His art, music, and writing can be found at pmselman.com