Margo used to wonder about her friend Ellen’s strange requests.
“Would you mind picking up some industrial-sized trash bags?”
“Can I borrow your duct tape?”
“Wanna hold my new pistol?”
“Just take my phone.”
Now, sitting here in prison, it all made perfect sense.
Ellen wasn’t her friend after all.
Susan Gale Wickes is a writer from Indiana. She claims nobody was harmed in the writing of this story.
“Not getting to really know each other before marriage is like bypassing a game’s tutorial, y’know?”
“I agree, but that’s your tenth gaming analogy in the past three minutes. Please stop.”
“You want to skip the dialogue?”
“I can’t do this. Goodbye.”
“Can I call you later?”
“No. Game over!”
ToJo probably uses too many analogies.
Down on one knee, I produced the ring. “Will you marry me?”
My heart raced as I looked up at her perfect features.
Her face went blank as her eyes rolled back inside her head. “Please stand by,” she said. “Software update in progress.”
My timing has always been lousy.
Bill is from Aberdeen, Scotland. Read more of his scribbles at northeastnotesblog.wordpress.com.
A State trooper approached a stalled auto with caution. The stranded motorist—already outside of his vehicle—was walloping a highway marker with a tire iron.
“What’s going on here?”
“When I called my roadside assistance provider, a recorded voice told me to enter my membership number and pound sign.”
John H. Dromey’s short fiction has been published in Mystery Weekly Magazine and over one-hundred-fifty other venues.
“Dr. Mettels, as my great-great-grandfather told you when he was the chair of this committee, you have not discovered the cure for death!” said the current chair of the International Science Verification Committee.
Dr. Mettels sighed. It would probably take another 85 years to convince the world that she had.
G.D. Konstantine is a Toronto design engineer, maker, and writer.
“Bless you,” the stranger said.
“Take it back!” was my response, as I sniffed and wiped my nose on my sleeve.
Her eyes widened. “What? Why?” Her disgust and disapproval at my rudeness danced in her eyes and voice.
“It burns,” was all I could say.
Then I sneezed again.
Chad Bunch writes speculative fiction from the suburbs of Saint Louis. He is currently trying his darnedest to publish two novels and several short stories.
Every tick of the clock reverberated throughout the vast lecture hall. The biology students stared blankly as the lecture dragged on—monotonous drivel about clinical study results.
Post hoc, ad hoc, quid pro quo…
Twenty minutes in, only the snores made sense, and the rumbling from my stomach.
Christa is a medical writer with a passion for creative expression. She has had her poetry and short stories featured in several publications, including River Poets Journal, Tanka / Haiku Journal, Rune Bear, and Every Day Fiction. Currently she resides in South Jersey with her five feline muses.
At the park, my daughter whines. Too hot, icky sunscreen, more juice. “Four-year-olds,” I say.
“Not mine,” another mom says, her face smug. “We parent like gravity.”
Her daughter screams, dangling by one foot off the monkey bars. “You’re fine!” the mom yells.
Never-whining girl faceplants into the woodchips.
Hadley Leggett is a writer and stay-at-home mom in Seattle, WA. When she’s not chasing after children, she’s working on the second draft of her first novel.
We lie around the pool, melting, burning, toasting, marinating.
Nobody speaks, except for one woman berating her husband for not using sunscreen.
Later the waiter tells us they’ve been coming to this same hotel for twenty years. Well, twenty-three if you count the years since he died of skin cancer.
Tom O’Brien is an Irishman living in London. He’s been published in numerous places across the web and has short stories printed in Blood & Bourbon, Blink-Ink, and DEFY! Anthologies. His novella Straw Gods was shortlisted by Ellipsis Magazine in their publication competition.
The first time the beast came to the village was by accident. He had simply lost his way.
However, once he learned the townspeople were willing to feed him one of their own each year, gradually incorporating more festivities and rituals into his visits, the beast vowed to keep returning.
Ran Walker is the award-winning author of seventeen books. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University in Virginia.