I can’t turn my back on you, even though we’re now strangers.
Once you were brave and clever. Your body gave me pleasure, comfort and delight.
Now your limbs tremble. Your mind wanders. The strong man is a lost boy.
In sickness and in health. Until death do us part.
Lucia Saja wrote this story.
Years later, on a strong day, they retrieved the grey shoebox from the back of the closet and arranged the pictures on the living room rug. They smoothed and flattened curls, mended tears with tape. Then they sat silently, back-to-back, lost in memories of the child who never grew up.
Mark Farley writes novels, flash fiction and the occasional poem. See more at mumbletoes.blogspot.com.
A hot wind beats against the coffee shop window where I stare at a foam smiley face. The Fires are coming. Recently evacuated, alone, and unsure of the future, I found solace, with many others, in a steamy cup of caffeine.
Admiring great Mother Nature, I sip as I cry.
Hayley has been an amateur writer her whole life. She has a degree in English and spends most of her free time diving into the realms of her imagination. Her stories touch the hearts of her friends and family. She lives in Southern California where wildfires are currently raging. She looks forward to many more years of creating memorable stories.
The story of the week for December 11 to 15 is…
Hopeful by Maura Yzmore
Smoke was erupting from his engine. One more press of my trigger and his Messerschmitt would be no more.
I had won the fight, but it was the wrong time to deny a family their son for Christmas.
I banked hard right and into the clouds. The fight could wait.
Chris is a Network Manager involved in many aspects of IT. He has a love of writing short stories and technical articles, photography, and playing the guitar. He is from Dudley in the Black Country. He is also a member of The Oldbury Writing Group.
I came off the slopes to join my mother in the lodge.
Instead of cocoa, she bellied up to the bar, ordered a beer, and took it to a high-top. She winked at me from her perch as I looked on from the threshold.
My very first lesson in cool.
Margaret is an amateur writer, but her mother thinks she’s WONDERFUL. She resides in Indianapolis.
Trying to outrun his pursuer, the terrified man scrambled and stumbled. It was too late; gigantic spiked forearms grabbed him. His captor was the size of a car.
Inside the Rhinoceros Beetle’s underground lair, human specimens of varying ethnicities were neatly arranged and labelled—each impaled with a giant pin.
Melanie cringes with horror when recalling the time she was made to stick pins into arthropods for a science project.
I took Maggie Christmas shopping. We bought clothes for the little girl in our adopt-a-family and a Wonder Woman figure for Maggie.
At bedtime, I asked Maggie about her Wonder Woman toy.
“Please don’t be mad at me, Mommy. I snuck it in with the clothes for that little girl.”
This story was inspired by Meagan’s son Kaden.
Joe strips his first-date clothes.
Mouth open, he pulls down his tongue, unzips his skin suit, head to crotch.
He reaches inside and pulls out his heart. The heart looks like china—shattered, then glued back together. More than once.
Joe sheds the skin. A young man emerges, heart intact.
Maura gets paid to be a nerd and writes short fiction so she’ll be less of a pain in the neck to those around her. Read her publications at maurayzmore.com or come say ‘hi’ on Twitter.
“Bargaining with the Sidhe is dangerous. They can’t be trusted!”
I ignored her.
“I want to live forever,” I told them.
“Then we’ll give you a form that will last through eternity,” they replied.
Now I stand here in the circle, one stone among many, watching the aeons drift past.
Bill lives in Aberdeen, Scotland. As he rises to the top of his profession, he awaits with morbid curiosity his inevitable fall from grace.