After Jack and his friends had turns at the piñata, Liza’s father put the bat in her hands. “You can go without the blindfold, since you’re littler.”
Jack protested, so the bandanna went around her temples. But there was a gap at the bottom.
She swung; Jack yelped. Sweet release.
Anna Zumbro is a writer and teacher in Washington, DC.
Karma. The good kind.
When we moved into our first home, our pitbull, Wally, kept finding his way into the neighbor’s yard to play with their dogs. Well, Wally passed away a few weeks ago and now our new neighbor’s dog, Jackie, is digging into our yard.
We’re not complaining.
Mathew Allan Garcia lives in Hesperia, California with his wife, his three dogs, and his bear-dog hybrid named Zansa. He serves as the managing editor at Pantheon Magazine (www.pantheonmag.com), and writes a bi-weekly column entitled Funeral Songs at Parable Press. His work has been published at Shotgun Honey, Absinthe Revival, B O D Y Literature, Swamp Biscuits & Tea, among others. Sometimes, between it all, he has a chance to breathe.
As a writer, I feel the need to revise, to rewrite my life. I won’t ever get the chance: it is the first draft that gets published.
Upon my death, my life will be summed up in words.
I hope the words are kind. I hope the words are true.
Eileen McIntyre is a writer working on her first mainstream fiction novel. Eileen lives in Northern California with her ardent fan, her husband Michael.
“You will never learn,” my mama said to me.
She sat me down at the kitchen table with a sack of potatoes and a paring knife and told me to get busy.
But I did learn. So did she.
Never make a kid mad and then hand him a knife.
Joe Malone is living with a Wora woman and her three sisters in South Sudan. Read more of his writing at joem18b.wordpress.com.
He brought her two slices of blackened toast, apricot preserves slathered on like burn salve.
“I made breakfast. Sorry about last night.”
“It smells terrible.”
“And sorry I can’t cook,” he said, perched on the edge of the bed like an uncertain sparrow.
She smiled.
They went out for pancakes.
Amy Locke received her BA in English from the University of Iowa. Her fiction has been published by monkeybicycle.net, bewilderingstories.com, and crackthespine.com. She currently lives in Iowa with her husband, daughter, and two silly dogs.
When Stan dropped out to become a tattoo artist in Hawaii, Mom said he was in trouble.
Bigger trouble when she heard his customers were Yakuza thugs smuggling handguns back to Japan.
Mom was wrong.
Stan was really in trouble when he got caught kissing Momoko, the boss’s only daughter.
Katie Grotzinger is currently a student at St. Edward’s University in Austin, Texas, where she writes rhetorical criticism papers on gangster rap and cartoons.
In her ninety years, Mrs. Agatha Harder had never been kissed like this before.
Passionate, yes, but also exciting, forbidden! Her eyes closed blissfully, as she savoured the soft lips, pressing against her own…
“Miss, others are waiting.”
“A dollar well spent,” she smiled, walking away from the kissing booth.
Barrette Plett is an advisor at the 7 Oaks Met School in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. Every so often, he commits acts of fiction and subjects his students to enjoying them.
April 10:
The stone was polished so smooth it seemed almost without an edge. Its reflective surface simply dissolved into the image of the background.
April 29:
Once you see the stone you can’t pry it from your thoughts if you want to. The trouble will begin soon. Good luck.
Jedidiah Shepler believes varied interests build a strong and plastic mind. He completed a degree in Anthropology from the University of Houston, Texas (summa cum laude) and is fascinated at how difficult it is to “get a real job” with a social sciences degree. Luckily he doesn’t want a real job. Simply: a job. He occasionally writes crappy movie reviews at downthemoviehole.blogspot.com. This is his first fiction submission.
“You’re a naughty boy, Dr. Frankenstein, leaving all those body parts on the floor for me to trip over. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you wanted me to trip and kill myself.”
“Then you’d better count yourself lucky I’m building a car down here and not a monster.”
Connell Wayne Regner wrote this story as inspired by Alex Sinclair’s The Disgruntled Housekeeper. Connell’s other dabblings can be found at paragraphplanet and wtdmagazine.wordpress.com.
I am a very fortunate young man. I have the heart of an Olympic athlete and the kidneys of a vibrant young woman.
It is sad that these precious organs are available only through the tragedy of early death.
I keep them on my mantle next to an autographed baseball.