Mom, why am I not like other kids? / Because you are special. / Are you special? / I am if you think I am. / Mom, what are you made of?
I felt for a pulse — but couldn’t find one. Wanted to say dead volcanoes and lava flows, bit my tongue, said cheese.
Bojana Stojcic writes prose and poetry, and has her words published here and there. If she could fly right now, or ever, she’d most likely head for the moon.
They had the kind of love
that camped out in cotton shirts
Damp with perspiration from
Morning gardening
Afternoon lovemaking
Evenings with her back pressed against his chest
As they looked into an endless sky
And pondered how the love they shared
Felt bigger than the entire universe before them
Ran Walker is the author of 21 books, including the 50-Word story collection THE STRANGE MUSEUM. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University in Virginia.
First night back, I ditch duffel and boots and fall asleep on the floor by his bed.
A click in the dark wakes me. Beside me he sits, Nerf gun in hand.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Keeping you safe,” he says. Tilts his head at the darkness under the bed.
Graham Robert Scott’s stories have appeared in Pulp Literature, Nature, Barrelhouse, and others.
“I will make this bad week good,”
she says with the tenacity of a teenager
clinging to the lie of a broken curfew—
the tire flat; the phone dead.
Hunting and pecking key after key,
certain each stroke will not just create
a new world,
but wash away the old.
Cathrine Goldstein writes a whole lot of gritty, real-feeling “stuff.” Most of it takes place in NYC. She also eats boat loads of chocolate pretty much every day. To find out more about her bestselling novels, award-winning plays, and other writings including articles, short stories, and poetry, please visit CathrineGoldstein.com
Familiar kitchen sounds,
the blender’s roar and faucet’s trickle,
ground me here.
Illusory clouds of coffee
sting my nose,
an inescapable reminder
that summer is going fast
that vacation is nearly over.
I swallow hard,
and try to remember
how to not feel like a visitor
in my childhood home.
Maria is about to go back to college. She loves being home, but every once in a while, she’s overwhelmed by the understanding that things are changing.
David’s Gran smelled of urine and talcum powder, and her parrot always squawked when he visited her. He could not drink Gran’s tea or eat her cake.
“It’ll put hairs on your chest,” she said.
But David is still waiting for the parrot to sprout a fur coat and bark.
K. S. Dearsley’s stories, flash fiction, and poetry have appeared online and in print on both sides of the Atlantic, including in Fifty-Word Stories. Her fantasy novels are available on Amazon and Smashwords. Find out more at ksdearsley.com.
Open your eyes and ears.
Don’t make selections based merely on appearance.
Mix, knead and prove. It may take years.
If friendship does not rise, mix in more dough or start again.
May require variations depending on ingredients.
Joey believes there is at least one recipe for everything but many are not easy, especially if it’s important. But at least getting to his website, joeytoey.com, isn’t hard.
Scales shed by the monster as it attacked the city are thick underfoot. We make a covering path of them to traverse the glass shards and twisted metal filling the streets, seeking safety. The memory of a reptile’s gaze, my reflection so small in its mutant’s eye, haunts each step.
Brian Maycock lives in Glasgow in Scotland. His short stories have most recently appeared in 365 Tomorrows and The Weekly News.
There is no wind, yet the curtains move by the window.
Shadows shift languidly on the moonlit wall.
The night is warm, yet I am suddenly chilled.
I am alone, my first night in my new home, yet there are footsteps on the stair.
The bedroom door is creaking open.
John Young is an old chap, grappling with themes of limits, longings, and finitude. He likes spooky stuff.
The story of the week for July 27 to 31 is…
Kneel by Eric Persaud