“I’ve eaten your plums,” he sneered.
A fruit fight ensued. Mangoes, a hail of cherries, a ballistic Crenshaw melon.
After, we lay prone, exhausted and covered in juice, near the icebox.
A non-participant plucked the last plum off the kitchen counter.
It was delicious and sweet and cold, he reported.
Erin Gilmore is an artist and editor living in Los Angeles.
Editor: The title refers to this classic poem.
Sugar is the enemy. Fat is poison. Mantras like these run on a loop inside my foggy mind.
Staring down the overflowing plate, my heart thunders against my ribcage at the thought of eating blacklisted snacks.
Grimacing, I take a bite of the Hershey bar. Recovery is a slow process.
Lauren is an undergraduate student studying Creative Writing at Emerson College.
Minuscule irritants in nasal passage of the cosmos, we insist on festering and aggravating, even destroying the dust particle on which we blew in.
While some continue solipsistic hedonism, others try to repair the sins done by action and prayer.
Watery-eyed, The Maker sneezes.
“Gesundheit!” an archangel declares.
Irish writer Perry McDaid lives in Derry under the brooding brows of Donegal hills which he occasionally hikes in search of druidic inspiration. He even finds it on occasion.
Glass shards sparkled against the flagstones in the light of stark realization. He repented and reversed time, erasing the mess and its memory.
The crystal ball sank heavily in his hands and glimmered darkly, foreboding.
He could bear no more. He hurled it down.
Glass shards sparkled against the flagstones…
John Samuel Anderson lives one nautical mile from the beach and five light-milliseconds from space. When not speculating on human colonization of the stars, he enjoys life on Earth with his wife, seven kids, a cat, and a bunny. See more at twostarshipgarage.wordpress.com.
Yosef was the family exterminator. Marie was Buddhist—didn’t want to accumulate bad karma through killing.
A new insect appeared daily. Yosef stomped them, swatted them, drowned them. Crumpled chitin and ichor crowded his nightmares.
When he left for work, Marie scoured the garden for the next victim to plant.
Tim Boiteau lives and writes near Detroit with wife and son. Follow him at @timboiteau.
It wasn’t my fault. The kid went over the side all by himself. Being an idiot, I went in after him. Hit the water like a sledgehammer; seemed more fun when I tried it as a boy.
Anyway, he didn’t say much while we waited. Just as well. Some cruise.
David is 67 years old and lives in Victoria, B.C. He started writing a year ago and enjoys posting poetry and vss on Twitter as @DavisLunnThe3rd.
Death comes creeping slowly, quietly, closer and closer.
My Priest says not to worry about it, that the pain will only be momentary. But what does he know? He’ll still be alive.
Ever closer the fatal date creeps, until at last it is here.
Time to take my math final.
Daniel Quillen is a retired HR director and a writer (19+ books). He lives in Centennial, Colorado with his wife. They are the parents of six children, grandparents of fifteen. They are currently living in China, teaching English at a Chinese University.
“Harry the Magnificent” the sign read.
“You’ll be amazed by his magic fingers” it added.
“Oh, please,” I thought. “I’ve never been amazed by any carnival magician.”
The act was boring, bland. Harry’s claims, however, were spot on.
I was amazed to discover my wallet and watch were both missing.
Susan Gale Wickes lives in Indiana. You can find her on Twitter at @SusanGaleWickes.
Unseen eyes watched, sending a chill down my spine. Loathing enveloped me. What had I done to deserve this hatred?
My last thought before Lucifer sunk his claws into my back was that it would be a cold day in Hell before I agreed to feed the neighbor’s cat again.
Anita Roberts Soupir is a wife, mother, photographer & freelance writer. Her work can be seen in: Crack the Spine Literary Magazine and Mused – the BellaOnline Literary Review Magazine, as well as Boston Literary Magazine, Literary Juice, 50 Haikus, 50 Word Stories, and SpeckLit.
“Don’t you think it’s time you finish this project up?”
“I’ll get to it, don’t worry.”
“Well the smell is taking hold of the whole house. I’d do it myself, but I worry a piece will come off if I try to move it.”
“It’s just a dead body, Ma.”
Born in Germany, Kerri was raised on the Eastern plains of Colorado. She currently lives in Utah. Although new to short story writing, she has been writing for many years. She mentored her daughter’s writing groups in both middle school and high school years.