I pulled over, rolled down my window.
“What’s up?” I asked my mind.
“Waiting for a bus. Can’t wander far enough by foot.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Good luck.” I drove away.
That evening, I returned. “Done waiting?” I asked.
“The Boston bus doesn’t stop here, does it?”
Iain Young doesn’t let his mind wander without a round-trip ticket.
My pumpkin pie sat on the table, untouched.
I’d followed the directions explicitly.
I properly preheated the oven.
I took great pains with the crust.
I’d anticipated delight, feigned or otherwise, once consumed. It was not meant to be.
“Bring a dessert,” they’d said.
Turns out everybody brought pumpkin pie.
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories, poetry, and the occasional song.
The floor glistened with its fresh coat of lemon-scented mop water.
He entered by the kitchen, stumbling through the sliding glass door. Covered in mud and with grubby hands wrapped tightly around three grass stalks, he beamed.
And then her heart melted when he said, “Mommy, I picked you flowers!”
Jess works in fiscal, studies biology and English, and vanquishes Laundry Monsters on the weekends.
Amy dragged her feet and luggage. The 22-hour flight was a killer. She needed food. Bad.
Bright, colorful photos lined the overhead menu.
“How much damage for Burger Meal #4?” asked Amy.
Behind the counter, the skull in a black, hooded cloak grinned. “Four years.”
Amy sighed. “Upsize it, please.”
Joey always upsizes it. He can found at joeytoey.com
Sitting in his laboratory; the phone rings. Puzzled, Alexander Graham Bell picks up his prototype.
“Hello sir, we understand you recently had an accident. Have you thought about seeking compensation?”
Further calls follow for solar panels, magazine subscriptions, and double-glazing.
He does the world a favour and destroys the prototype.
Bill lives in Aberdeen, Scotland. His dreams are long dead but his nightmares remain in robust health.
“I can do this,” Hannah said in a voice so small it was barely audible.
“I can do this.” A bit more convincing the second time, but not much. How could anyone handle this?
Hannah repeated the words (this time with conviction), opened her eyes, and threw off the blanket.
Philipp M. Selman is an artist, songwriter, athlete, and professional copywriter. His work has been published in Dark Fire Fiction and Fifty Word Stories, and examples of his art, music, and writing can be found at pmselman.com
She should have paid attention to the warning signs, but single men were scarce.
When he said his name was Count Christoph in a drawling European accent,
she thought he was being eccentric.
He didn’t smile much so she hadn’t noticed his dentistry.
In hindsight, she really should’ve swiped left.
Jo Withers writes stories and poetry for children and older, less interesting humans. Her middle-grade, sci-fi adventure will be published in 2018.
You put me on the cake and light my wick. I want to make you happy.
But then you huff and puff to extinguish my flame. I cannot grant your wishes this way.
Then you relight me because someone else “wants a go”.
Fine, I shall now purge this party.
Joey is not a fan of birthday cakes, with or without the candles. You can visit him at joeytoey.com
They met on Tinder and their relationship blossomed on Snapchat and Instagram. But when she watched a concert he live streamed on YouTube, she saw him kissing her BFF.
She unfriended them and blocked their Twitter feed.
But Facebook is still recommending them as friends. What’s App with that?
Damhnait Monaghan is a Canadian now living in the UK. Her stories, real and imagined, can be found in Understorey Magazine, The Fiction Pool, Spelk Fiction and Flash Frontiers. She’s on Twitter @downith
My cousin, a dentist, became bored with mundane extractions, fillings, and teeth whitening. So he decided to specialise in crafting vampire fangs for niche clients.
I asked him, “Why the change?”
His response? He’d simply grown tired of working in a soulless job that sucked the life out of him.
Melanie has a greater fear of visiting dentists than she has of vampires.