A blur. I’m running. Life in danger. He’s after me. Gotta run. Through the trees.
I’m away. I think I’ve lost… whatever that thing was.
Rest. I lie down against the tree. Take a drink. Safe.
BOOM: he appears.
“Nothing personal, kid.”
Those were the last words I ever heard.
Jake the hedgehog wrote this story.
Back at the prison, they are devouring their tasty dinner and cuddling on soft bedding, but I prefer eating from trash and sleeping in sewers.
Hairless skin and an ID ear tag make me look like a lab rat. But I’m not. Not anymore.
Now I am a free rat.
Olga Klezovitch is a scientist who lives in Seattle. Her previous work has appeared in 50-Word Stories, Necon E-Books, and A Story In 100 Words.
The congregation were aghast upon learning his wife had left. Imagine! During his Christmas sermon!
She’d gotten the boys dressed and out before the alarm sounded. “Where’s Santa?” they’d asked. “Surprise!” she’d said.
She’d always imagined their escape in black and white, their taxi chased by those terrible French sirens.
Mary J. Breen lives in Peterborough, Ontario, where, among other things, she teaches memoir writing. She is a retired ESL and literacy teacher, and the author of two books about women’s health. Her fiction, articles, and memoir pieces have appeared in national newspapers, essay collections, travel magazines, health journals, and literary magazines.
My legs beg me to stop but we must keep running. Sharp winds cut and pierce my skin. The snow makes this difficult.
“Keep running! Save yourself!”
An entire pack approaches: thundering hooves, glimmering eyes. His grip loosens. Menacing eyes and white breath envelop me.
I know what comes next.
Estefania Jomant is a student studying Advertising with a minor in Psychology at the University of Miami. Her website is: www.estefaniajomant.com.
Wind blowing through my ears. Finally, I’m free!
“Get back here!”
I can eat real food and be away from the horrid lady.
“Let me dress you up and make you beautiful for all to see again!”
Oh crap, she’s so crazy! Wait, no!
“Hello, Kitty.”
Ah rats, caught again.
From Cerritos, CA, Julio Rosales is a high school student in creative writing. Quick, simple, and to the point, he’ll delighte any willing candidate. Writing outside of his comfort zone, he continues to improve with each piece of work.
Pet World was eerily quiet that morning.
The opened hamster cage doors hung limp and broken, the aquarium fished of all within, bird seed scattered and spotted feathers dotted upon the floor. All quiet, but for the contented purr of Pancho the puma, recent, felonious escapee of the nearby zoo.
Alex Sinclair was born in the winter of 1973 in Nottingham, England, and, on the cusp of his 40th birthday, is still trapped there. He longs for a looser, more liberal society where his own shaky morality and absurd beliefs could find succor and praise. Until that day, he bides his time, waiting to pounce like a graying and jaded ocelot. To amuse him and occupy all available time for the next 40 years of his life, he has just become father to twins, who, though but 3 months old, are acutely aware that daddy may not be quite right in the head. This small matter is overlooked as he can expertly and lovingly feed, burp, and nappy change each baby in just 15 minutes, whilst also attend to cooking duties downstairs with good humour. He lives with his long-suffering partner Shona, and cats David and Mogwai.
I covered my eyes, hoping I’d miraculously become invisible, like a child playing peekaboo, trying to deceive myself into thinking, “what I can’t see can’t hurt me.”
Neither worked. The creature that’d been chasing me for days was, despite my hopes, still fast approaching.
There was nowhere left to run.
Bernadette Woods is an English Literature student who in addition to writing as part of her studies also writes purely for enjoyment. When she is not busy writing she also enjoys both painting and photography, or essentially anything that involves creativity and imagination.
Thirty lashes for a kiss, yet words cut deeper. Still, the sting of her travel clothes brings a smile as he pulls her aboard the boat.
Tousled by the morning tide, she spares a brief farewell to the stolid house she once called home, free now to feel his touch.
Born in the Blue Ridge Mountains of West Virginia, J. Chris Lawrence has spent much of his life traveling. With a love for fiction, he fancies himself a writer, and hopes to convince others of the same. He currently lives in Georgia with his wife and two sons. Read his blog here.
“I need a vacation.”
“Oh? Where to?”
“Into my own brain, I think. An imagination vacation.”
“What are you going to do while you’re there?”
“Just relax.”
“Lucky you. My imagination doesn’t let me relax. Always an adventure going on.”
“That must be difficult.”
“Actually the hardest part is escaping!”
This story is based on a title suggested by @Zzenkrad.
“As I suspected, Gling, the human aliens are paranoid and aggressive. He ‘killed’ the dummy in order to escape.”
Gling gargled. “But this one had a weapon. We must test others.”
Kling shrugged.
They watched as Herbert Cralston flung the hospital doors open and sank to his knees in despair.