The television at the diner was gone. My waitress said that someone smashed it. It was hard for me to imagine who would do such a thing.
After I ate, I went to the parking lot. I heard the sound of breaking glass. The manager was breaking someone’s car windows.
John Kujawski wrote this story.
The fire raged in the downtown office block.
Flames danced angrily, a seething mass of hatred,
Ruthlessly punishing with every inch they consumed.
From a distance, he watched his handiwork.
The fire raged within him. Still.
White hot and all encompassing
Equally violent, fuelling the next part of his revenge.
From the North West of England, Jon works in local government, with a background in newspaper journalism. He is currently enjoying experimenting with short forms of writing, likes to think he can do so creatively, and quite often has to delete everything he has written and start again.
“Dark and gloomy has no place here,” remarked the dusty-looking editor as she returned Tony’s manuscript, entitled No Living Allowed.
“I understand,” he replied calmly. While the thunder clapped overhead, Tony raised a hand in his signature departing wave.
After turning to leave, He listened carefully for the satisfactory “thud”.
Hillary knows more about rejection than she ever thought possible but hasn’t let that stop her from turning out the macabre when the urge strikes her.
Some heartless monster had stolen my car’s antenna, but misfortune is for the idle.
I spotted my quarry in a crowded Target parking lot. With casual purposefulness, I pilfered the replacement part. The hastily scrawled note I left on my victim’s windshield said: Tag, you’re it!
My conscience was clear.
J. Ian Manczur once entered a small Oklahoma town in search of a gas station only to be immediately driven out by armed rednecks.
It’s midnight and I still can’t sleep. I imagine lying down beside you, your arms around me. You slowly lull me to sleep, making me smile all the while. But in the end, it’s just an imagination. You’re still ten feet below me, sharing an eternal embrace with your mistress.
Le-an Lai Lacaba is an eighteen-year-old girl from Tacloban City, growing up in between everyone pressuring her to grownup and wanting to be a kid. She fills her blog, Imperfect is Beautiful, with her poems and short stories. Le-an has won multiple essay-writing contests in both local and regional competitions. She is studying for a B.A. in Communication Arts at the University of the Philippines, and struggling to become the writer she dreams of being.
“I should’ve did this the first time I caught you,” Angie said.
She cut up Ben’s underwear. The ones too ugly to hide. The ones he loved. She threw the tattered pieces to her Rottweiler. He needed another chew toy.
“That’ll teach you to eat the last piece of chocolate.”
Tamra Artelia Martin received her MFA in creative writing from the University of Central Florida. An overachiever at heart and a glutton for academic punishment, or academic joy depending on the day, she’s currently earning her second MFA in stage and screen writing at Lesley University. Check out her blog on writing at http://writerschai.blogspot.com/