Her sweet gaze froze me, yet thawed my soul
Like a microwave-refrigerator, if that we’re such a thing
But we both play bass
We both play bass
Two strings, tethered in parallel
Destined never to cross
Because we both play bass
We could never band together
Kit is an ad student from Florida, and he loves a good story. He’s just a zany kid who has a lot of inspiration and is looking for something to do with it.
They stopped legally selling candy cigarettes because it encouraged smoking in minors. The problem was, I was already going through two packs a day. Now I meet shady kids on the playground who sell them at a premium from inside their overcoats.
I wish I’d never chewed that first stick.
Shawn D. Brink has four novels and many shorter works to his name. For more, please visit shawnbrinkauthor.wordpress.com. Shawn is represented by Liverman Literary Agency and lives in Nebraska, USA.
When the game comes on, my friends know not to call.
I love cheering on the players and yelling at the TV. All part of the fan experience; a true American institution.
Throw in some snacks and I’m set.
It all kicks off with three simple words.
This… is… Jeopardy!
Lisa Chambers is a Texas girl who enjoys writing (and watching Jeopardy).
She’s an entrepreneur, though not of life-altering stuff. No vaccines or edu-tech.
She makes beauty potions for the uber-rich. Sells the promise of lifelong allure, at 500% profit. They buy happily.
Then she gives their money away. Feeds, shelters, medicates the destitute. Anonymously.
She’s the legal kind of Robin Hood.
Megha Nayar writes to remain sane. It is her escape from drudgery, dealing with people, and the drudgery of dealing with people.
At the running trail’s straightaway, I knew I could make my legs pistons, sprint like I was 25, but suddenly Goose-Poop Alley loomed, 100 yards of goopy green and brown sidewalk smudges. I leaped, twisted, quick-minced, and lunged, the ballet dancer I’d never been but was now—magnificently!–at 74.
Paul Lamar lives with his husband, Mark, in Albany, NY, not far from three grown children and two swell grandkids.
Following a grandson’s visit, Dot got a phone call.
“Did you get frustrated and yell at Dad?” her daughter asked.
“Regarding his hearing aid, I may have raised my voice to ask whether he wanted me to change his batteries.”
“That explains it! Sammy thinks his grandpa is a robot.”
John H. Dromey’s short fiction’s been published in Mystery Weekly Magazine and over one-hundred-fifty other venues.
Granny, babysitting two-year-old triplets, took a bathroom break. She heard the toy box being pushed down the hall, stopping by the bathroom door. Giggling; then the click of the dead bolt installed to keep the boys from playing in the commode, and three pairs of feet running away.
Angie has been writing short stories since 2010 and has had one piece published.
Website featuring miniature stories currently seeking apathetic readers. No skills required. No pay, no benefits, no rewards. Lack of enjoyment contingent on how distracted and unmindful you might be. Readers who take their time and pay considerable attention need not apply. Same with those who may wish to contemplate allegory.
Bob Thurber is the author of six books. Regarded as a master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in Esquire and other magazines, been anthologized 60 times, received a long list of awards, and been utilized in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
Click, I post a picture of my dog.
Click, click, people like her fluffy fur.
How many did I get? Click, 23 likes.
I post another photo of her, but now with sad, droopy eyes.
Be more sad, I tell her.
They like you more that way.
Follow Alyssa Minaker on Instagram to give her more clicks.
When the lion emerged from the quarantine, he sidled up next to the lamb.
They had lunch together.
This happened before its time, contrary to Messianic prognostications.
Some say it was a hoax.
Some say it was a miracle.
Some say the vaccine.
Hard to know the truth these days.
Linda Vigen Phillips’ poems have appeared in The Texas Review, California Quarterly, NC Poetry Society Award Winning Poems 2001, Wellspring, Main Street Rag, Independence Boulevard, and The Whole Idea. She has published two young adult novels in verse: Crazy and Behind These Hands. She lives in Charlotte, NC.