I don’t really pray. You couldn’t offend my god because I have never had one.
But now, I see it dying, to a thousand cheers, and likes and shares, and my rage feels almost devout, my wrath, suspiciously religious.
Art is the prayer we offer at the altar of humanity.
A. Guha Deb is a writer, a student and a chronic procrastinator who writes best on an approaching unrelated deadline. He is currently juggling a dozen hobbies along with the tiny problem of figuring his life out.
When my car breaks down, my mother reminds me that bad things come in threes. “Be extra careful,” she says. She means, Fate’s watching you.
“How will being careful help?” I ask. I mean, If we can’t change our fate.
I buy a new canister of mace, just in case.
Larina Warnock works at a large school district in Southern Oregon helping young people prepare for work or college. She enjoys writing for 50-Word Stories while tossing a squeaky for her fetch-obsessed Boston terrier.
On the slope to the river a deer leapt across their path. Barely ten feet in front. Everyone froze. A big buck. Graceful, nimble, terrifyingly quick.
Some of the boys lost their breath. They had all seen. Yet nearly half didn’t believe.
Very often the forest dreamed its own dreams.
Bob Thurber is the author of “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel” and two collections of stories. A celebrated master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in 60 anthologies, received dozens of awards, and been used in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts where, though legally blind, he continues to write every day. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
“If I told you I was going to save the world, would you believe me?” I asked her.
“No, I wouldn’t. Don’t be so silly,” she replied.
I stepped to the door and opened it.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
I turned and smiled. “I’m going to save the world.”
Salmir is a university student, studying Computer Games Design. He also does some video reviews and webcomics.
“Look at that!” says Bandylegs.
“I know. Children don’t believe anymore and now the grownups are melting us down and squeezing us into those!” Pinknose says, pointing to a bottle. “And look, they’ve even put our names in plain view!”
Next to the sink is a bottle of Fairy Liquid.
Martin Shone is a cleaner who is getting very close to being fifty, but he’s only twenty-eight, really.