After Rapunzel donated her braid to Locks of Love, her head felt too light, like it might float away.
They called her selfless, saintly. They praised her for her sacrifice.
She couldn’t tell anyone the real truth—that she needed to learn who she was, without her hair defining her.
C.M.F. Wright writes sentences that occasionally turn into stories. Her short stories have appeared in Syntax & Salt Magazine and in the VSS365 Anthology.
The fairy godmother appears
The willow wilts, until another noon
Intimate details of a concealed life
Bright days encroach on moonless night
Yet, no prince knocks—
she never gave anyone shoes to wear.
You knew this wouldn’t last;
Then she lost her job at the dressmakers’.
Mandira Pattnaik is an Economics graduate who lets her degree gather dust while she word-weaves. Some of those pieces have made their way into Spelk, Lunate, Gasher, Star82, and fiftywordstories. She tweets at @MandiraPattnaik.
The giant’s theme song blared.
Vaulting over the ropes into the ring, he waved to the cheering fans and bellowed his catchphrase: “Fee! Fie! Foe! Fum!”
He grinned. Screw that thieving punk who’d chopped down the beanstalk and tried to kill him. Becoming a WWE Superstar was the best revenge.
Jen Mierisch draws inspiration from science fiction, ghost stories, and the wacky idiosyncrasies of human nature. Her work has appeared in Sammiches & Psych Meds, Potato Soup Journal, and Lighten Up Online. She lives, works, and writes just outside Chicago, Illinois.
A girl in a red hood skips along the forest path. A wolf beholds, entranced. His mouth waters.
He never hears two little pigs sneak up.
The pigs drag the unconscious wolf away, discuss rebuilding their flattened homes. They can afford brick now; the girl’s grandma has paid them well.
Maura Yzmore is a Midwest-based writer of short fiction and career nerd. See more at maurayzmore.comstories/ and Twitter: @MauraYzmore.
I swirl, dip, leap and step,
To the rhythmic, rolling, reverberating melody,
Of gleaming copper, and polished bronze;
A shivering note, long held in the air.
The deep, monotonous, shivering song,
of shining, gleaming, chiming bells.
I must leave before the twelfth gong.
Prepare my pumpkin.
I lost my shoe.
Ellen is a 12-year-old student at Crofton House. She enjoys making puns.
The upkeep was never-ending; it took a week to wash, a week to dry, a week to comb, a week to braid; just so she could dangle it out the window for an afternoon, like a fishing line among the thorns, a temptation to witless boys spying from the brambles.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble”. Visit BobThurber.net.
She skipped contentedly, ignoring the gnarled trees with knotted braches that clawed at her. Her rich, scarlet cloak rippled in the bitter, icy wind, trailing behind her.
As she bounded joyfully down the sandy, meandering path she was oblivious to the malevolent wolf who was settled in the sombre shadows.
Danusia Pantechis is 12 years old and loves to draw and watch Youtube. Her favourite films are the Hunger Games and Harry Potter trilogies. She loves taking her dog Trevor for walks in fields. When she grows up she wants to be a fashion designer or interior designer.
In the castle dungeon, seven little men were strung up, waiting for a turn on the rack.
“All right,” said the Prince, flicking his whip, “anyone want to confess? No? Then let’s begin. You’re up first, Happy.”
After the birth of Princess Snow White’s half-dwarf daughter, things had gotten ugly.
Eliza Archer writes flash fiction and drinks too much coffee. She can be found at elizaarcher.com.
Seeing the empty porridge bowls on their return, the bears tiptoed upstairs.
They checked Little Bear’s bedroom. The bed was ruffled!
Then the Middle Bear’s bedroom: likewise ruffled.
But in Big Bear’s bedroom the bed was neat. He exclaimed, “You lazy lot! Don’t you make your own beds?”
Stuart Larner is a chartered psychologist. He has published poems and stories in magazines and newspapers and for the stage, as well as articles in scientific journals. Stuart has written an ebook in verse, “Jack Daw and the Cat”, and a novel about cricket entitled “Guile and Spin”. See more of his work at stuartlarner.blogspot.com.
She waited. It was all she could do, under the circumstances. She slept and slept, cursing her stupid life and everything that led to this moment.
“An apple a day,” her mother taught. She wished she could roll her eyes.
Instead, she laid waiting for Prince Charming, that tardy boy.
Jarrod Withers graduated a while back with a Masters in English from Eastern Kentucky University. He grew up an only child in rural Kentucky, so his best friend was his imagination. His best friend often got him in trouble.