Never one to live within the boundaries of convention, Silas stood in the center of his attic.
As a bulb swayed from the cyclone’s winds, his shadow mimicked each whip crack.
Rearing back, Silas bellowed, “Down, Samson, down.”
The inflatable lion complied with a short bark and a prolonged hiss.
Craig Holzschuh is unpublished, unemployed, and unavailable for weddings or Bar Mitzvahs. He is currently contemplating a run for political office or just a trip to the fridge.
“Did you hear me? I’m leaving you.”
“Yes, dear. Can you make me something to eat before you go?”
“Are you dense? I said I’m leaving you!”
“Mmhmm. Will you be gone long this time?”
She dropped her suitcase and leaned against the open door. “Is a tuna sandwich okay?”
Margaret Glover is an RN and writer of short stories, drabbles and poetry. She has had work published in Familius, 101Fiction, The Were-Traveler and Writers Haven. Her passions are reading, writing and traveling the country.
At age 5, Brody required less of my doting. Horsing around on the monkey bars, he slipped. His embarrassment outweighed his pain.
Bath time, I asked if I could take a look. Reluctantly, he agreed. As I kneeled in for examination, he turned his head, rolled his eyes and said, “Awkward.”
Shelly Eady is an emerging writer with an abundance of faith and a heart’s desire to enrich, inspire, and encourage others to dream through the art of creativity.
Our house made scary sounds in the storm. Ma said don’t worry; the house is complaining about the rain.
Our house made scary noises at night. Ma said it was settling down to sleep.
Aunt and uncle came to visit. The house made scary sounds. Ma said it was eating.
Joe Malone is living alone in Africa in a mud house. His blog is here: http://joem18b.wordpress.com/.
It would eventually come up after a few dates, the women wanting to know family details.
“You poor thing, so sad your mother died during childbirth.”
“Yes, sad,” I’d reply, and save the sadder story that my father is in jail for blowing her head off in the delivery room.
Jerri Clayton is a freelance writer/editor and also works full time at Southern New Hampshire University as a copywriter and editor of fundraising communications. Jerri received her MFA in nonfiction from Southern New Hampshire University. She is concurrently dabbling in fiction, working on a series of essays about runners, and continues revising her memoir, In the Long Run. Visit her website: JerriClayton.com.
Our love story was awkward.
We were a nerd’s fantasy or a geek’s real-life-RPG.
But the way our fingers brushed on the calculator had more electricity than Bella and her vampire boy, and the tears we cried when Dumbledore died were saltier than Romeo’s.
We weren’t fiction. We were real.
Emily Ramser grew up in the Sacramento’s gay district, or at least experienced puberty there, but later moved to the southern Bible belt to finish out high school. Rather than average society, she prefers to surround herself with furries, Baptist students and high school dropouts. Tweet her @ChickadeePoems.
Who are they to call me wicked?
I may look different; my green skin may startle some. But what is the difference?
I have chosen my side, and it is with the talking animals of Oz.
People will fear me.
Not Elphaba Thropp.
But the Wicked Witch of the West.
Cali Chambers is a high school student who is currently attending her last year. She usually writes amusing little stories for her younger family members and has not done any successful creative writing for over the last four years (due to the increasing demands from her teachers.)
The crowd swelled, so she climbed onto the mailbox to see. Flags waved from every window. Men cried openly.
When the dead man’s car slowed, she saw him in the back. There was makeup on his face and his suit didn’t fit right.
He looked a lot like her grandmother.
Gianni Jaccoma was born and raised in New York City, and would really like to do some urban exploration before he leaves. He divides his time almost equally between writing stories about monsters, reading about history and watching adorable animal videos on the Internet. His website is www.gianniwrites.com.
“You will be featured on tomorrow’s front page,” the reporter says, switching on his tape recorder, “so you understand the national significance of this interview…”
“I do.”
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
“As a resident, do you support the beach’s privatization?”
“Nope.”
The reporter switches off the recorder.
“An opening quote!” he grins.
Kate Burnham is a pastry chef and writer who can type eighty words a minute. She lives in Toronto, Ontario, with her cat and too many things. She finds people fascinating and longs for library books, but knows she’ll never return them on time.
Their Chevy, laden with two week’s necessities, idled in the driveway.
“You turn off the coffee pot?”
“Yes. You get my make-up bag?”
“Yes. But, I think I forgot something.”
“Mail held, neighbors reminded?”
“Yes, yes, something else…”
“Keys, wallet, prescription?”
“With all these questions, I forgot where we’re going.”
Joan Raymond is pursuing a degree in Creative Writing and English from SNHU. She enjoys watching her cats run around like maniacs at night and eating dark chocolate to stimulate her creativity.