Stretched at a fire with crackling log
Brimful saucers of creamy eggnog
Treats under the table
Perhaps a catnip mouse
Joy and laughter fill up the house
Coloured ribbons for me to chase
Beaming smiles on every face
Fur-stroking pats
From hands old and new
Yes, cats love Christmas too
Mia Yow is a writer, artist and animal lover (especially cats). Her present cat was a stray which arrived at her door on Boxing Day (The Feast of St Stephen) many years ago.
Santa came on Christmas. I was four years old. He put a stuffed Cookie Monster in my stocking.
A week later, I returned to school. I kept getting yelled at by an authority figure.
The next year, I politely asked Santa for a monster that would eat my Kindergarten teacher.
John has interests that range from guitars to the Incredible Hulk. He was born and raised in St. Louis, Missouri and still lives there to this day. You can hear him on the weekly podcast at www.comicbookshowdown.com.
Tom retired to Florida to play hopeless golf with wife Trish marking his scorecard.
In the Christmas tournament Tom swung and missed.
He swung again and the ball smacked into a tree then bounced back into the hole.
“What was that?” queried Trish.
“A par, Trish, and a pear tree.”
John B Sinclair is a much-travelled Scot who has now returned to Scotland, where he enjoys freelance writing on a variety of subjects.
Maddie had gone absolutely overboard. He couldn’t tell her that the baked noodles studded with candied fruit, “Fruitcake Kugel,” was a nightmare. The pile of potato cakes laid horizontal, covered in gravy to form a Latke Yule Log, was beyond inedible.
Instead, he feigned illness for the boss’s Chrismukkah potluck.
Jennifer Hrovat is an Ohioan who once majored in English in the hopes of becoming a best-selling novelist, but became a counselor instead. She enjoys running long distances, cooking, and reading about murder. Her cat stepped on the keyboard twelve times as she was trying to write this, so it was more difficult than the average submission.
“Only half a world away,” she mused. “He said he wants to see me.”
Ignoring every germ of doubt, barely even daring to breathe, she sat in the metallic cylinder that carried her through the skies to the place where he lived.
Twenty-four hours later, her phone refused to sing.
Deepa is a full-time writer who occasionally gets to write for herself.
Today is Tuesday, and you are cold. I curl up behind you and nuzzle your ear. I remember when we were young and stupid and immortal, before the doctors, before the sentencing. In the sunlight your skin feels alive. I breathe, smell your scent.
Please don’t leave me here alone.
Rio Santisteban is a college student living in New York City. She writes because she can’t possibly do anything else.
Newly settled in the suburbs, Toki invited her next-door neighbors the Conrads over for lunch.
Opting for simplicity, Toki served sushi on a table decorated with origami.
Later, Mr. Conrad complained to his wife, “The fish was undercooked and I nearly poked an eye out using those weird paper napkins.”
John H. Dromey has had flash fiction published in a number of anthologies (print and electronic), as well as online at The Fast-Forward Festival, Liquid Imagination, three minute plastic, and elsewhere.
The umbrella’s plastic penetrated darkness through the girl’s clammy fingers, hissing wicked commands. Nora’s eyes adjusted; she was now aware of the undead body she greedily consumed.
Desperate for rain’s icy kiss, she tossed the umbrella and started running.
Her voice echoed, “I’m coming my love,” down the hollow alleyway.
Vanessa Henderson is a freelance writer and graphic designer living in Seattle with her husband and dog. Most days you will find her feeding a caffeine addiction while chasing after characters she can swoon over. She writes young adult fiction and blogs from www.youngatink.wordpress.com.
Lee noticed the thinning during halftime—a fuzz of movement to the left of the TV, colour desaturated, like something was pushing against the air.
The pusher came through during penalty shootout, a sunken, watery stare from behind the plasma screen. Only then did Lee find breath enough to scream.
Jennifer K. Oliver is a British writer and web designer who requires regular doses of speculative fiction to function properly.
The Hatfields and McCoys destroyed each other’s families. They tweaked the law and made the rules.
Two powerful leaders fought their own civil war. Killing and saving face, these patriarchal rulers let no one stop them.
Peace came, but at a considerable price.
Family histories differ as to who won.
Pat St. Pierre is a writer of fiction, poetry, and nonfiction. Her 2nd poetry book “Theater of Life” was published by Finishing Line Press. You can find her fiction work published in a variety of places. Some are: Fiction 365, Dew on the Kudzu, Fifty Word Stories, The Feathered Flounder, Daily Love, A Long Story Short, etc. Her blog is www.pstpierre.wordpress.com.
Editor: Based on a true story!