The Mad Colorist turned the sun green.
Earth reeled.
Gently, God said, “Change it back.”
“Never. I’m talented, see?”
“Fine. Your choice. You need a bigger canvas. My choice.”
The Mad Colorist fled from an exploding nebula, while God changed the sun back Himself.
“Talented? Ha. Flash in the pan.”
Brenda Anderson wrote this story.
The predawn light filtered into the 24-hour diner as the paramedic finished up her supper. The entry bell chimed, alerting her to the sleepy construction worker’s arrival. She was determined to say “hi” this time.
Her radio crackled to life just as he sat down for breakfast.
Every darn time.
Kelsey Josephson is an introvert who enjoys connecting with others through writing and mixed media. She lives with her husband, two young children, and a very sensible cat. She can be found blogging about planning, journaling, creativity, and how those three things tie into self-care at simplykelseyjo.com.
None could hope to understand her, to survey the mystical topography of her desire’s terrain. Lamenting her ponderous depths, he hoped never again to cross the enigmatic path she trod. He couldn’t bear it.
She nodded coolly as he repeated the dozen modifications to her unique salad order.
He’d quit.
Jake Greenblot wrote this story.
She could hear a piano and recognised the tune and lyrics
“You must remember this,” repeated in her ear.
She tried, but could not speak.
Next time, she thought, “I must say those words ”
The doctor smiled. “Play that song again.
“Your mother’s responding. She’s out of the coma.”
John B. Sinclair is a much-travelled Scot who has now returned to Scotland, where he enjoys freelance writing on a variety of subjects.
Consuming the drug, Michelle felt herself float from her body, into this new world.
Felt good at first: clouds wet, aerial freedom.
But now the monsters were here. Big, rotund, black eyes. Tiger teeth and clown lips. Acid breath. Peeled her skin like wet tissue.
And the tether floated, broken.
Uzair Shahed Islam is an economics and mathematics student at the Lahore University of Management Sciences who writes fiction and non-fiction in his spare time.
The heart of the great scientist had beat its final defiance. The ganglionic sparks had begun their exodus from the bland greyness confined to the mind which the world had so treasured.
Their energy encountered an embrace beyond description.
“So what’s this crap about me not existing?” the Creator posed.
Irish writer Perry McDaid lives in Derry under the brooding brows of Donegal hills which he occasionally hikes in search of druidic inspiration. He even finds it on occasion. And sometimes he barges in on subjects a tad too soon… where angels fear to tread.
The story of the week for March 19 to 23 is…
Sidewalks by Arlene Antoinette
Who would win: a bear or a man with a baseball bat?
Ralph and I want to liberate the animals from pens and slaughterhouses. But after liberation, we think they should participate in humanity’s deranged games, like cage fighting. We think it will, oddly enough, promote understanding between the species.
Wim Hylen’s work has appeared in Four Chambers, Café Irreal and McSweeney’s Internet Tendencies, among other places. He lives in Phoenix, Arizona with his wife and daughter.
Jack shifts his weight off his walking stick.
An 8.5-inch blade gleams. So this is the respect a pensioner gets.
He squints at the young man with the knife. Punk.
Jack raises his walking stick. “I was a weapons engineer for fifty years. And this is Wally, my homemade 12-gauge.”
Joey doesn’t have a walking stick and if he ever does get one, he probably won’t call it Wally. He can be found at joeytoey.com.
Tex is old school, still uses snail mail. Today, instead of going to the post office, Tex will try the latest technology.
After the message is sent, Tex feels confident. Now all he has to do is wait for a reply.
Tex will go back to the telegraph office tomorrow.
Denny E. Marshall had had art, poetry, and fiction published, including fiction in The Stray Branch Spring 2017. See more at dennymarshall.com.