A spoonful of steaming red richness and she beams…
I smile back, happy I discovered this little café. “Fourth grade: you found the tomato soup unsatisfactory and hurled it at the wall.”
Her eyebrow raises. “We weren’t even friends then.”
“You were nuts! But aren’t you glad I remembered anyway?”
Joey wasn’t interested in writing while at school but has been writing on his own in recent years. Despite being a jerk, he does have friends. And some are crazy about their tomato soup.
Some heartless monster had stolen my car’s antenna, but misfortune is for the idle.
I spotted my quarry in a crowded Target parking lot. With casual purposefulness, I pilfered the replacement part. The hastily scrawled note I left on my victim’s windshield said: Tag, you’re it!
My conscience was clear.
J. Ian Manczur once entered a small Oklahoma town in search of a gas station only to be immediately driven out by armed rednecks.
I try to think things through, think things through, I always do. But no, they all know better, those big-shot managers. They don’t listen, they don’t care, no they don’t. But when it goes wrong, they look to me. They call meetings. Meetings meetings meetings!
Stuff ’em; I’m going home.
Joey wasn’t interested in writing while at school but has been writing on his own in recent years. And yes, he hates meetings. Admit it, you do too.
The hunter: you get kicks from their fear, enjoy asserting your masculinity.
Doe eyes lock with mine, mirroring my vulnerability, my defeat.
You raise your gun but I find the trigger first. I smell your blood on my fingers, on my soul.
Now she can run free, into the woods.
Vikki Gemmell lives in Renfrewshire, Scotland, and enjoys writing short stories, flash fiction, and novel-length pieces. Her work has appeared in The Puffin Review, The Bohemyth Literary Journal, FlashFlood Journals, Postcard Shorts, and the WordswithJAM anthology, An Earthless Melting Pot. She likes to blog about observations of life at throughthelookingglass-vikki.blogspot.com.
The locksmith challenged me to a duel.
He escaped the room quickly, and warned me from the other side to make it out before midnight.
“I can’t,” I conceded.
Only when the clock struck twelve times and the creature climbed through the window did I realize it had been open.
Anna Jones is a Louisiana high school student who enjoys short stories and musical theatre.
Back at the prison, they are devouring their tasty dinner and cuddling on soft bedding, but I prefer eating from trash and sleeping in sewers.
Hairless skin and an ID ear tag make me look like a lab rat. But I’m not. Not anymore.
Now I am a free rat.
Olga Klezovitch is a scientist who lives in Seattle. Her previous work has appeared in 50-Word Stories, Necon E-Books, and A Story In 100 Words.
“A grande Americano,” said the barista, smirking, “for…”
“Don’t say it,” I snapped, plunging my hand threateningly into the tip jar on the corner of the counter in the coffee shop.
“…A grande Americano.” He grinned broadly.
I withdrew the dollar I had deposited there earlier.
“Worth it,” he proclaimed.
A graduate of the Master of Professional Writing Program at the University of Southern California, Chad Greene experiments with twitter fiction at @TheShortCourse.
Friendship masked their rivalry.
Planned truancy, a bridge, and beer cemented the plan.
Rick muttered her name. Craig smirked: he had obtained the prize.
Rick, envy’s puppet, ignored his conscience. He would reclaim her.
Drunkenness settled; Rick’s hand to Craig’s back; a shove, and the end of a bitter contest.
Nicole J. Simms is a UK horror writer who also likes to explore other genres, such as crime and fantasy. She has been writing stories for over two years, and has so far had four short stories published, including “Caught up in Murder”, which can be found in the Dark Bard anthology. You can visit her at nicoles-designs.co.uk/NicoleJSimms.
The knock at the door in the middle of the night caught her off guard. When she answered the summons, the person on the other side said, “Guess who.”
“I don’t know who.”
“Guess.”
“Um…”
“Give up?” the person asked.
“Yeah.”
“Nobody.”
She pulled the door open. Nobody was there.
Kymberli Roberson lives in Illinois where she is currently hunting down the goblins of writer’s block.
When my mom remembers, she refers to me by both my first and middle name, Carol Ann. When she forgets, she asks for her daughter.
Sometimes I forget what a great mom she had been. Sometimes I remember, and give her an extra long embrace before leaving the nursing home.
Debra Danz was born and raised in Brooklyn, NY, and now resides in Switzerland with her two children. She is currently writing a book, which will be dedicated to her late husband and composed of short stories inspired by his photography. Debra participates in a club called The Writing Women of Zurich and contributes to their blog. One of Debra’s Short stories is forthcoming in The Bookends Review.