Burgers and beer aren’t romantic, unless free-range and craft. The perfect test: casual pretense, maudlin subtext.
They caught each other blowing away their beer-burger burps discreetly. Infatuation.
They cut off each’s “Before this goes further, you should know” speeches with “I already know, and I feel just the same.” Love.
boomer trujillo is a TexMex son, parent to an anxious dog, and a perpetual student. He’s grateful for readers.
Gerald was in the unenviable position of having a pseudonym more popular than himself. He had submitted five stories and had none accepted. Mitchell Kent—Gerald’s middle name and favorite superhero—had been published twice. Gerald had to get rid of Mitchell. Murder or suicide? Either way it’d be messy.
Mark Konik is a writer from Newcastle, Australia. He writes short stories and plays.
She felt guilty for doing this, but Time waited for Zoe. Time tried to maintain her standards—a second had always been a second for everyone, no exceptions—but, captivated by Zoe, she found herself unwound. Time couldn’t stop herself.
Zoe wondered why her life seemed to move so slowly.
Iain Young once, mistakenly, thought Time waited for him, but it was just something he ate.
The story of the week for June 19 to 23 is…
Table Manners by Christina Dalcher
We had been going at it over a year before my wife found out.
She’s truly a remarkable person: compassionate, bright, dignified, highly restrained.
She said, I believe it’s time we let you-know-who go. I’ll answer your calls, do your bookkeeping, schedule meetings. It’s time I helped manage your affairs.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble.” His first novel, “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel,” was recently rereleased. Visit BobThurber.net.
The two old friends arrive at dawn, as they have every Saturday for sixteen years. Toting shotgun and shovel, the man slowly, lovingly leads his dog toward their favorite blind.
Ducks rise. Clouded, intelligent eyes and soft grey muzzle scan skyward.
Forevermore, the retriever anticipates the roar of the gun.
Lou is trying to write stuff that makes sense to dogs and ducks. He has given up on people with guns.
He was an older version of me. The years have not been kind.
“Don’t go out tonight,” he warned, before vanishing into thin air.
I guess I could invite my date here instead.
He reappeared and slapped me in the face. “The point is to avoid the girl, you idiot.”
Pontius Paiva has been published several times in the past and hopes to be published again in the future. If you have the time, travel over to pontiuspaiva.com to read more.
It’s so far up the beach, her first sandcastle. The bucket is too full. She stumbles. Water sloshes over the rim.
It’s scalding. Her leg blooms with pain.
A nurse prises the teacup from her knotted hand. He leads her slowly to a chair. It’s so far up the ward.
Tamsin wrote this story during quite a long walk.
A sickle moon is gleaming.
Legs on the ledge, nerves suppressed by drilling.
He jumps, engages the chute – a jerk, then slowing.
His time airborne quickly fleeting,
He glides down softly, never knowing
The danger waiting out of sight and hearing
In years to come, a source of nightmare screaming.
Victor Bort is a Russian lawyer and a former police investigator in Saint Petersburg, Russia. Being crazy about the English language, he is trying to write flash fiction stories in the language he really adores.
Mind your Ps and Qs at meals. Say grace, toast the cook, push potatoes and peas onto a fork. Never let your elbows feel the linen cloth. Smile. When Father’s hand brushes Aunt Kitty’s, lingering a moment too long, look at Mother and say, “Pass the butter, please.” Be polite.
Christina Dalcher wrote this story.