“Eight, please,” I said politely to the old man standing next to the control panel as I entered the elevator. He pushed the top button, instead. Suddenly, I was scrunched flat to my knees from an immense upward acceleration.
“We’re way past the moon, now,” the old man said, calmly.
Dave and his lovely wife, Kate, and their two hungry rescue cats live in the Pennsylvania countryside, where he enjoys working on his novel about distant planets and flying saucers.
Homeless, he roamed the streets aimlessly, each day a looming uncertainty.
Kindness sought from strangers was elusive until a chance meeting outside a laundromat. Finally: someone who saw beyond his very rough edges.
These days, “Ben” lives cozily, his tail beating a joyous rhythm whenever his new Dad is near.
Lisa Chambers is a Texas girl and writer who loves happy endings.
The dime-sized hole in my bathroom ceiling has grown.
Eyes closed, I lather my hair.
At night, my neighbor’s unlatched gate bangs; roof joists creak. Childlike fear creeps in.
The water runs hot. Pipes wail.
I smile at the truth now.
Above me, pushed tight against the gap, something blinks.
Keely O’Shaughnessy is a fiction writer with Cerebral Palsy, which she sometimes writes about. She is Managing Editor at Flash Fiction Magazine. Her short fiction has appeared in both, anthologies and literary magazines, and her most recent publications include, Pretty Owl Poetry’s Spring 2020 issue and NFFD’s Flash Flood. Her story “When Naked Plants Renew” will be featured in this years Solstice Shorts Festival 2020, Tymes goe by Turnes.
Through sliding glass doors, we marvel at the magnificent, royal-blue sky. The wind-rippled ocean beckons, inspiring dreams of lounge chairs and exotic cocktails beside the water’s edge.
One almost forgets the cities drowned beneath it, and that if we stepped outside, the sun would cook us in under a minute.
Michelle Wilson graduated from Bennington College with a degree in literature and creative writing. Her words have appeared in Friday Flash Fiction, Entropy Squared, 50-Word Stories, 101 Words, Literally Stories, Flash Fiction Magazine, Mr. Beller’s Neighborhood, Healthcare in America, The Miami Herald, and elsewhere. She lives in Miami Beach, Florida.
I was asleep, darkly dreaming. There was suddenly a scream from my little sister, whom I could hear tearing down the hallway, and next thing I knew, I was scurrying on all fours into the nearest corner, bristling with fear.
“Mom,” she sobbed, “there’s a huge rat in his room!”
Michael B. Keane is a London-based writer of dark fiction.
We didn’t have enough bullets for everyone, so we had to draw lots. I lost. Typical.
“You should be glad,” they said. “You’ll get to live longer. In a way, we are the losers, right?”
Joke’s on them: I’ll eat their faces as soon as I turn into a zombie.
Rodrigo Ortiz Vinholo is a Brazilian fiction writer based in São Paulo. His short fiction work has been featured in over a hundred collections in Brazilian Portuguese, exploring a wide variety of genres. His latest books are ‘Sinônimo de Rancor’ (2018, self-published), ‘Os Dias em que Rubia Viveu no Futuro’ (2019, Lendari), ’33’ (2020, Casa Literária) and ‘Poemas Chatos para Pessoas Ruins’ (2020, Darda Editora). See more at rodrigoortizvinholo.com.br (in Brazilian portuguese)
Humans, givers of food, thought the large dog, bounding to the man sitting against a wall. Since the time of the great light, the wind and fires, it had eaten little.
But the human had no food and was very weak.
Humans are food! thought the dog, trotting contentedly away.
John Young is an old chap grappling with themes of limits, longings, and finitude. He lives in St Andrews, Scotland, an ancient town with an ancient university, home of golf, home also – allegedly – of many ghosts. (He has not met any yet.)
The gate swung easily. The elderly couple on the porch chatting quietly. He glanced around. A perfect lawn. No weeds anywhere. Roses blooming everywhere. The house looked immaculate. Who called social services? Quick check and I’ll be gone.
“Excuse me, can we talk?”
The couple turned. Glowing crimson eyes glared.
Bob is retired and busy caring for his 5 dogs. After retiring, he began bartending but has since switched to writing. It may not yet be as financially rewarding but there’s a lot to be said about sitting and writing with a good cocktail! Bob is a big sports fan that lives outside Philly. A website is coming.
Sam can be so stubborn… most recently, his refusal to wear a mask.
I begged him. He scoffed, said it was silly, too confining.
“It’s not all about you!” I snapped. “Think of our friends. It’s expected, after all.”
Grumbling, he finally relented.
He’ll make a great Yoda this Halloween.
Lisa Chambers is a Texas girl who loves writing (and reading) short stories.
Editor: But actually though: wear a mask!
Waves lap the shoreline. Palm trees rustle, muffling the snores of the men round the spit-roast, whose spices linger in the salt air. Logs flicker. The last captive looks out from his cage and prays.
Then clouds part, and the full moon’s light glides over him. He grins, fangs lengthening.
Michael B. Keane is a London-based writer of dark fiction.