Calamity. The world will never be the same.
I wipe sweat from my forehead. I have to tell everyone, but how will they take it?
Too late. The black eye of a camera glares at me, ready to listen. I clear my throat and square my shoulders.
“My fellow Americans…”
Luke Swanson is a fledgling author from Oklahoma City. He has a novel and a handful of short stories featured in anthologies from Limitless Publishing.
In the event of:
1. Flood – Assemble food and first aid kit. Be ready to evacuate.
2. Fire – Leave immediately. Once out, call emergency services.
3. Earthquake – Stay indoors. Prepare for cracks to appear in foundations. Do not involve passers-by. Subsidence is inevitable.
4. Marriage – Follow procedure in step 3.
Jo Withers writes micros, flash, and poetry from her home in South Australia. Recent work has appeared in Molotov Cocktail, Ellipsis Zine, Flashback Fiction, Spelk, 24 Unread Messages, and Mythic Picnic.
The smoke pushed towards our home. When orange glow appeared behind the hills, we filled the car with our favourite things.
I packed the photo albums, hesitated, then added the camera. We’d need it, I vowed. The fire could have the house, not our joy.
The happy snaps would continue.
G.B. Burgess wrote this while watching a bush fire inch ever closer to her home.
The photographer captured it all in high definition: the bride’s tumble down the aisle, the flower girl bawling through the service, the cake collapsing at first cut. No one had wanted a slice, anyway, after the groom’s wet sneeze.
If only I’d remembered to give the not-so-happy couple the horseshoe.
Rachael is an English teacher in Scotland.
She smiles, legs dangling carelessly from the roof. Blue eyes reflect an array of glittering galaxies.
Another speckle dots the black.
How I wonder
Her eyes widen, stomach tightening.
Hands clasp ears over the meteoric roars
Sirens. A mother’s horrified scream.
Fifteen-year-old Megan lives in Florida with her family and her cat named Luna Petra Zane. This is her first “plunge” into the realm of 50 word fiction.
The typhoon decimated the village.
Huts were razed to ground level; palm trees had snapped like matchsticks. Rotting corpses and flooding were giving rise to disease and more death. Post-disaster survival was paramount here.
Across the globe, a starlet with handbag Chihuahua was complaining about her caviar and lobster bisque.
Melanie Cranenburgh wrote this story.
Last drop of oil
Last chunk of coal
A healing earth
Cheap power for all
He climbed into his all-electric
Entered the coordinates to the Zero Carbon Celebration
Sat back for the ride
The first solar flare hit
And all hell broke lose
Paul Hock is from Fergus, Ontario, Canada, and is a writer of historical fiction. See more at paulhock.com.
My girlfriend’s face is frozen. She’s squeezing my hand like a vise grip. The screeching gets worse. Passengers press call buttons, while flight attendants buzz around like bees willy-nilly, hovering over them. I look out the window. White. Everywhere.
The screeching is deafening, and now blue smoke fills the cabin.
Debbie L. Miller writes from Brooklyn, New York, where she writes short stories, plays, monologues, personal essays, memoir, flash fiction, feature articles, and humor pieces.
I approached the director from behind, apprehensively. I had ruined his play, injured one actor, and sent the crowd screaming from the theatre and the flames.
He sensed my approach and turned, his face a melting wax figure of tears and rage. “Son, he said, hands shaking, “that’s strike two.”
Jamie Murphy works for the Toronto Public Library.
Brad thought he might find tools or supplies in the old mine shaft. The last thing he expects is a cave in. Brad knows there are other exits miles away. After two long days Brad finds daylight.
Now if only he could get his ship fixed and get off Mars.
Denny E, Marshall had had art, poetry, and fiction published, including fiction in Black Petals #73, October 2015. See more at dennymarshall.com.