I stumble in, drunk, parking myself at a table in the corner. “Scotch,” I yell to the blonde. “Neat,” I add.
She refuses to take my order, insisting that I keep my voice down. I raise a stink, demanding service.
Long story short, I’m no longer welcome at the library.
Pontius Paiva pours himself into his craft, hoping to raise the bar with each piece. Visit pontiuspaiva.com to see the complete library of merry microfictions and sobering short stories.
You see these small roadside memorials occasionally. This one was a white cross with silk flowers tattered by blowing rains, a frayed ribbon, a dog’s collar.
She was Abby. Her dog was Rex.
The drunk, just out of rehab, was leaving another bar, squinting woozily as I pulled the trigger.
Jim Purdy is a retired engineering manager who lives in Oregon and spends his day with his faithful dog who never gives him disparagement. She wags her tail as he reads her whatever he has just written.
He was drunk. Staggering drunk.
I was the only guy, so I walked him to the bathroom, holding him up every step of the way. And every step I wondered just how much help he would need.
Fortunately, not much. I held him up while he peed on his shoe.
Harry Demarest has retired after careers encompassing scientific research, teaching at a university, software development, web application development, and voter database compilation and distribution. He is now spending his time with his grandchildren and writing memoirs and short stories.
Lying down on the grass, feeling comfortable, I close my eyes and start to drift away.
A warm feeling enters my hair then flows onto my body. My whole body is filled with warmth.
A cold breeze interrupts my dream.
My brother shouts, “Dude! That’s my brother you’re peeing on!”
Richard Phan is currently a senior attending Cerritos High School. He is both passionate and enthusiastic about everything he does and his work is guaranteed to make you a Phan.
He loved Halloween and mingled unnoticed with other crazies dressed in outlandish costumes. He rested two nights saving himself for an all night party on Saturday where he drank too much.
As dawn broke he felt unwell and his body slowly disintegrated.
Unfortunately Dracula never really understood Daylight Saving Time.
John B Sinclair is a much-travelled Scot who has now returned to Scotland, where he enjoys freelance writing on a variety of subjects.
Editor: I was supposed to put this story up just after Halloween, but I forgot. I still think it’s funny and worth posting a month late, though!
“What’s wrong?” asked my tattoo artist.
I took another swig from the bottle. “Ann left me.”
His bloodshot eyes said he knew the feeling. “Zita walked out on me,” he confessed.
I blinked, shared the bottle.
When I woke, I found a swirling, black ‘Z’ forever inscribed on my chest.
Alexis A. Hunter specializes in short stories and flash fiction. Thankfully, she types her imaginings out now instead of scribbling them in notebooks like she did as a child. To learn more about Alexis visit www.idreamagain.wordpress.com.
An usher discovered Delbert laying across three seats. “Sir, you only get one seat. You gotta move.”
When Delbert only groaned, management called police. “You appear drunk, sir. Your name?” the cop asked.
“Delbert,” he croaked.
“You got ID?”
“Nooo…” Delbert managed.
“Okay wise-guy, where’d you come from?”
Gary Clifton, forty years a cop, has an M.S from Abilene Christian University and short fiction pieces published or pending on over thirty online sites.