Something wasn’t right.
Detective Tift examined his suspect. Newlywed Scott Blanchett scratched the dried blood flaking his wrists, sobbing all the while.
This case was clear-cut. They had enough evidence.
“Why don’t you just admit it?” Tift asked.
A pause. A sniffle.
“I can’t admit to what I can’t remember.”
Autumn Lala lives in Ohio, U.S.A. where she writes fiction and poetry while dabbling in nonfiction and screenwriting. While earning her M.A. in Rhetoric & Composition and teaching college sophomores English, she occasionally works as a freelance editor and graphic designer. See more at autumnlala.com.
Her father noticed she was still playing with the pile of tea bags.
“Shall we put them away now, darling?”
“Leave them. They’re my friends.”
She had discovered beings that exactly resembled her true form, albeit of limited intelligence. Her next report would certainly create a stir on the mothership.
David Mark Williams lives in Scotland and writes poetry and short fiction. He has published two poetry collections to date: The Odd Sock Exchange and Papaya Fantasia. See more at davidmarkwilliams.co.uk.
I ate it. All of it. It was terrible.
My taste receptors burned with acid and salt. Still, my digestive system accepted it, converting the mass consumed into precious needed energy.
My next meal was twice as big, mostly blue and green, much more delicious-looking.
Third rock from the sun.
AJ Joseph gardens while waiting for inspiration to hit her. In the meantime, she occasionally writes at Words from Sonobe.
The architects studied the plans for the umpteenth time. There was something missing, but what was it?
Gabriel turned the drawings upside down and then Michael turned them sideways. “This won’t work. It will fall apart,” they both agreed.
“Just get on with it,” sighed God. “It’s not that important.”
Patrick Mc Loughlin is an English Language Teacher in Ireland who dabbles in writing. He also dabbles in painting and music and someday hopes to do more than dabble. He lives in the west of Ireland, where it’s hard to concentrate.
18: The pelican on my shoulder reminds me to slow things down, live calmly.
25: The snake slithering up my arm symbolizes willful and unapologetic action.
33: The rose on my wrist shows me that beauty can stem from new beginnings.
“Dad, what do your tattoos mean?”
“Nothing,” I say.
Jonah Ardiel lives and writes short fiction in Calgary, AB, Canada. To read some of his work, visit jonahardiel.neocities.org.
He loved her all his life. He waited, growing up knowing she was out there, even before he met and married her.
The sun settled behind the hills every day, but today had special meaning. He would be facing tomorrow alone for the first time. Now, she waited for him.
NT Franklin writes cozy mystery short stories, nostalgia short stories, and Flash Fiction and has been published in 50 Word Stories, Page & Spine, Scarlet Leaf Review, Fiction on the Web, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, 101 Words, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, and more.
in the afternoon
the trio of princesses
zips down the hill
skips across the cobblestones
to the village library
Why all the excitement?
The Harry Potter book club
Every princess knows
to the secrets of wizardry
hidden in books
Roberta Beach Jacobson is a humorist from Iowa.
Fibonacci was fascinated by spirals. Mathematical patterns in flower petals, repetitive details in seashells – Nature’s inescapable, infinite cycles.
As I hear you arguing with your father, drink-fuelled tempers curdling love to spite, I wonder: are we all like this? Caught in eternal circles, passing around the point where we began.
Jo Withers writes micros, flash and poetry from her home in South Australia. She is also author of the children’s science-fiction adventure 5 Simple Steps to Saving Planet Earth.
We’d ride uphill past the tavern in Poppy’s ancient Cadillac. I pictured a tuxedo-clad Ricky Ricardo crooning love songs to Lucy, twirling on the dance floor, backed up by a big band. I’d wave to the hollow-eyed scratching junkies slouched against the wall. They’d wave back, baffled by the attention.
Sara Jacobelli lives in New Orleans where she works in a public library and teaches writing workshops. Her flash fiction, flash nonfiction, and short stories have been published in various places, including the New York Times Metropolitan Diary.
I float beneath the ceiling.
On the red carpet, my body glows: satin, silk, jewelry worth ten times my parents’ house.
My body hugs cast members, producers. Gets felt up.
I miss home.
The afterparty. I ride a thick line of cocaine back into my body.
Feeling whole… doesn’t last.
Maura Yzmore is a Midwest-based writer of short fiction and a science professor. Find more of her writing at maurayzmore.com/stories/ or say ‘hi’ on Twitter @MauraYzmore.