I walked in to get a delicious sub sandwich. Behind the counter was a person who had a beautiful black moustache that could have been waxed and morphed like Salvador Dali.
I got my usual. I purchased my food. I glanced at the name tag of the sandwich engineer:
Becky
Garrett Pierce is a fun person who play a total of eight instruments.
A nightmare, a horrible, disgusting nightmare. It must be.
The idea of killing his adored companion, his partner, terrified him.
But he did.
Placing the razor on the counter, heart pounding, sweat dripping; the deed was done.
His top lip felt cold, naked.
Maybe the Mrs. would finally be happy.
Landon Fatino is a 12-year-old who enjoys baseball, theater, and other sports and activities. He is very funny and likes to make people laugh.
“What happened to your moustache?”
“It just got up and left.”
“What kind of crazy talk is that?”
“Look, all I’m saying is when push came to shove it got pretty hairy. I told her to choose between me and my moustache, and go figure, she chose the moustache.”
“Rrright…”
Connell acknowledges the sex appeal of the moustache in the 1970s and has dared to answer the question, “What if….?” in this disturbing and dubious tale of hairy proportions. Connell has requested that comments, if any, be kept as cheesy as possible in keeping with the theme.
This guy in the restaurant had actually drunk straight from his soup bowl, leaving a neat pea-green soup moustache. Rolling up his sleeves to attack the main course, he’d splattered food up to his elbows. Watching him in the mirror, I supposed I really should address his lack of manners.
Peter Li-ping has yet to see an attractive moustache. He feels, however, that they are better than tattoos because they can be shaved off. Except when someone tattoos a moustache on themselves, which is really weird.
I’ve always been told to trust you. But you only entice me to make bad decisions, like eating Taco Bell after midnight. Then you spend hours punishing me!
And now you’re telling me to quit my job to become a novelist?
This isn’t working. I’m leaving you for my Head.
Diana Wagner loves to write and read and watch and think about stories.
Georgi, by 15 months the older brother, would say, “Bori, bring the toys,” and Bori, heeding authority’s voice, hastened to comply.
Now, in their eighties, their relationship has not changed.
When Georgi thinks it’s time for lunch, Bori, though slowed by age, limps to the kitchen to bring the sandwiches.
Catherine Mathews is a State Department retiree formerly stationed overseas in Paris, Rome, Tel Aviv, Athens, Frankfurt, and Istanbul. She is now living in Northern Virginia and writing about her life.
A chap started speaking to me on the train this morning. He told me he had just killed his wife, shot her twice in the head, and was off to Bristol to kill again.
I turned to the sports section in the newspaper.
England Lose By Six Wickets.
Bloody typical.
Anton lives in Durham, U.K. He writes fiction and poetry while trying to finish a PhD, all fueled by numerous cups of tea. Find him at antonrose.com or @antonjrose.
The white gold, worn thin by years, cut her grandmother’s cold finger as Julia removed it. Her tears caught the diamond’s fire.
“She wanted you to have it,” Pops said.
“I miss her already.”
“Me too, Babe.” He held Julia close and kissed her head.
“…How much is it worth?”
Frank Solomon retired from the University of Kentucky after 30 years as a Systems Programmer and now pursues his many passions from his home in Kentucky. http://www.franksolomon.com.
I’d seen all the tricks. I’d been a magician, conjuror, illusionist for over thirty years. But this guy, I couldn’t figure it out.
“How do you do it?” I asked.
“Don’t you know who I am?”
“No.”
“God, you people drive me nuts.”
Then he walked off across the lake.
Ruby Ray has been a Jill of many trades and mistress of some of them. Anyway, she hopes to have mastered (mistressed?) a few more before she takes it easy for good.
I woke from my nap soaked in sweat, shivering. I felt chest pain.
In the kitchen my wife had my heart on a cutting board. I watched as she jabbed a fork in and sawed with a steak knife.
“Whoa,” I said. “Easy there.”
The whole marriage was like that.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and appeared in 30 anthologies. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled Nothing But Trouble. Visit BobThurber.net.