The zebra butterfly clung to the glass pane. His black and white wings drew the attentive fingers of the little boy on the window seat inside. Could he cradle this wonder in his hand?
The butterfly clapped his wings and lifted away. He carried with him all the toddler’s joy.
Gary Thomson lives in Ontario, where in his quiet moments he blows Beatles tunes on his Hohner harmonica.
Wallace sat on a bench in the garden, a bag of Skittles in his hands. The EnChroma glasses were a gift from his grandchildren. They’d asked him to identify colors he was only recognizing for the first time.
Now alone, he sat gazing at the English violets, lost in purple.
Ran Walker is an award-winning author and creative writing professor who lives in Virginia. He can be reached via his website, ranwalker.com.
The soft glow of dawn
covers my room in rainbows.
Young eyes try to capture them.
My mother’s figure appears in the doorway,
I ask her to join me,
catch her own rainbows.
She simply shakes her head, eyes glassy.
Maybe another day, I think,
Or maybe not.
Lauren loves creative writing and can usually be found in her room writing a poem or short story or on the beach reading. She struggled to stay within the 50-word limit since she loves to talk!
The train slowly churns away from the platform. From the front car, sitting on the left-hand side, I see the entrance to a world below the surface, its green glow eating at my curiosity. Just as I’m imagining what lies beyond, we’ve picked up speed, and the next song plays.
AC Baldwin is primarily an author of fantasy and science-fiction. This is her third published piece of micro-fiction. She is also currently funding a space-fantasy novel on Inkshares called The Traveller’s Cup
In a movie I saw as a boy, there was a mystical cave hidden behind a waterfall. I remember how eagerly I quested that summer, how I found nothing but slippery rock faces.
Lying here, cold and tired, I sometimes wonder… What would I have found behind the next one?
This story was based on the prompt “waterfall” at TypeTrigger.
The ancient bard settled more comfortably into his furs and breathed in deeply. The air held the scent of pine needles, campfire smoke, and eager anticipation.
His audience held their breaths with rapt attention, awaiting the bard’s words of adventure, beauty, and wisdom.
The bard opened his mouth to begin…
@gameking218: “I forgot the Smores,” he said. Everyone up and left.
@VikkieTheMimm: …but alas, he’d lost his voice. Darn that Mage Flu.
What happens next? Write your own conclusion to this story and either write in a comment or send it to me via Twitter at @50wordstories. Your conclusion must be ten words or less!
I’ll add in responses as I receive them, though I may make some edits of my own before including them.