The first time the beast came to the village was by accident. He had simply lost his way.
However, once he learned the townspeople were willing to feed him one of their own each year, gradually incorporating more festivities and rituals into his visits, the beast vowed to keep returning.
Ran Walker is the award-winning author of seventeen books. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University in Virginia.
“Overturned!” cried the judges. “You’re free!”
Our first tram ride home in years echoed with their warning that we remember this mercy should we ever catapult into power.
We didn’t. After the coup, we scorched our enemies out of dirt and mind.
Of course, the judges had to go, too.
Evan McMurry’s fiction has been published in more than one dozen journals, including Post Road, Euphony, Arcturus, Oddville Press, Lotus-Eater Magazine, Palaver, Mulberry Fork Review and more. His story “Nothing Kinky” won the New Millennium Fiction Prize, and his story “Nixon in Heaven” won Exposition Review’s Flash Fiction contest. “The Fall of Rabbi Gold” was selected as a finalist for the Al-Simāk Award for Fiction from the Chicago Review of Books.
We used to talk for hours about films and art, but now you just deliver monologues about your boring job, your arthritic toe, and the awful weather.
I’m shocked by how quickly you changed closeness into carefully manipulated distance.
Now you’ve unfriended me. I only wish I’d got there first.
Juliet is an adult education tutor, crafter, and conservation volunteer based in Edinburgh, UK. She blogs at craftygreenpoet.blogspot.com and tweets at @craftygreenpoet.
As the clock struck midnight, ushering in my fiftieth birthday, the friends I’d been playing D&D with since middle school learned I was no longer the same person.
To be fair, one of them wasn’t surprised. I absorbed him first, while the others thought we were still playing a game.
When last I saw them, they were down by the river. They were holding hands. No surprise there; she’d always been possessive.
On this occasion, she seemed especially reluctant to let go. She professed to love his mind and body, while her rival’s interest was strictly physical…
The crocodile prevailed.
John H. Dromey has a 10-word story, “Paranormal Household Survey,” on the Potato Soup Journal website.
Her lip curled like a snake on Medusa’s head—curled as if to say someone who still lived in our hometown couldn’t possibly allude to Greek mythology.
She’d had her hair done at some city salon, and she dared to insult me on my home turf at the Piggly Wiggly.
Alison Yong is the office manager of a cemetery in Boston, Massachusetts. She may be the only presenter in the history of the world to have her recorded speech at the Harvard Graduate School of Education censored for filth. She loves green tea lemonade.
Mark had waited sixty years for revenge.
Searching the retirement home, he found Ben snoozing, feeble. But Mark felt no sympathy for his old enemy.
“For what you did to me at that party,” Mark sneered.
He raised a magic marker, and marred Ben’s face with a moustache and glasses.
G.B. Burgess is a graphic designer. She is occasionally commissioned at parties to create moustaches and glasses.
Word was out that there would be animal abuse and drinking. Definitely drinking. Children would be welcome.
Cars started arriving with little ones spilling out. Smiles, hugs, and greetings abounded. Despite the predictions, everyone was happy. A stout stick was issued to the children.
Time to swing at the piñata.
N.T. Franklin writes after his real job hoping one day to have it be his real job. He writes cozy mystery short stories, nostalgia short stories, and Flash Fiction. When not reading or writing short stories, you might find him fishing or solving crossword puzzles.
“When I was little, I dreamed of being a mermaid,” Emily said, “with shiny scales and silky, long, blonde hair. Such a silly fantasy.”
She smiled, revealing fangs, then she lurched away with a flick of her tail, passing beneath the “Beware: Bunyips” sign and slithering back into the billabong.
G.B. Burgess resides in bunyip-infested swampland where she runs a drop bear sanctuary with her pet Thylacine.
Watching Big Sister play baseball, Roberta scraped her knee. The lady she asked for a bandage gave her one, and said, “You walked past three other ladies to get to me. Why didn’t you ask them for a bandage?”
“They have little purses,” said Roberta. “Big purses always have bandages.”
Thomas A. North has a batting average of zero, and therefore hopes he is better at writing than baseball.