A mother had a jocular way of suggesting her offspring get some fresh air and exercise. She’d tell them, “Go outside and let the wind blow the stink off ya.”
That stratagem seemed to work quite well. Then, one afternoon, there was an unwelcome visitor to the neighborhood: a skunk.
John H. Dromey has contributed to a wide variety of online and print publications.
Insurgency started with small seeds, the woman he compromised lying under oath, the celebrity he made famous shot at the border. Every year a new crop of plump Kalashnikovs, succulent Swiss accounts. He thought he understood cultivation, but finds himself set out to dry, the seed of some future flowering.
Joanne Merriam lives in Nova Scotia. Her writing has appeared in dozens of periodicals including Baltimore Review, Pictura, and Under the Basho. She owns Upper Rubber Boot Books, known for the first English-language anthology of solarpunk, Sunvault. You can find her at joannemerriam.com.
She tugs on my sleeve eagerly: “Play with me daddy, please?”
I glance down at her and smile, my beautiful daughter… So hopeful.
I turn back to my computer screens, the telescope’s hum drowning her whispers, the plight of an astronomer searching for intelligent life, somewhere in the infinite void.
Ernesto Sanchez is a Mexican-American speculative fiction writer specializing in hard science fiction that explores the intersection of technology, humanity, and the future. With a graduate background in information technology and project management, he brings technical depth and real-world insight to his imaginative storytelling. Originally from Los Angeles, Ernesto now lives with his wife and daughter in Washington State.
What bothered Friedman most were the bird droppings. Washing them away from around the hotel pool, he gazed at the sea, mesmerized by his urge to take a plunge. However, the roof had been fenced off for safety, which struck him as ironic since the war had begun in earnest.
Nelly Shulman is writing in Berlin.
Conscience called. I listened. Sun up, my captive was released back into the wild. Few leaps away from the cage, he paused, filling up his lungs with a whiff of the sweet smell of freedom. One leap forward, and the squirrel was airborne, caged between the talons of a hawk.
Chidi Young lives in Jos, Plateau State, Nigeria.
Midwest homicide. Burned blackened sunflower field. Body missing. Large black flies. No dental work; teeth clean as a whistle. Waterpik and floss. Black crows watching. A murder.
Private investigator. Retainer plus mileage, lodging, meals. Big black Buick bypassing back roads, sucking sunbaked blacktop. No GPS. Looking for bar, bed, breakfast.
Jon is a writer and collector of fountain pens and notebooks.
The hemp rope used to hang Joseph Samuel, found guilty of murder in Australia, failed three times. The Almighty had obviously intervened. Samuel’s sentence was commuted to life imprisonment, and it was during his daring prison escape by boat on a stormy night the Almighty saw fit to drown him.
James Gallant’s story collection, La Leona, and Other Guitar stories, winner of the 2019 Schaffner Press prize for music-in-literature, is available from Barnes and Noble and Amazon. Learn more at jamesgallantwriter.com.
Wild Edibles Cafe. We’ll see if they’ve improved.
Meadow Salad: two-stars, fresh but terrible dressing
Venison: one-star, overcooked
Wild Mushrooms: five-stars, delicate, flavourful, delicious
Wine: two-star, bland
Dessert: one-star, horrible
Gastogne’s last review was under his obituary.
The restaurant owner reflected as he read. Ironic that he loved the mushrooms.
Paul Hock is an author, songwriter, and storyteller from Ontario, Canada. See more at paulhockpublishing.com.
The order has arrived. There’s Hastings, sitting in a corner stroking his lucky rabbit’s foot. Cranston, his eyes closed, intoning the Rosary. Others praying under their breath, crossing themselves. Superstitious fools!
Suddenly a whistle shrills.
I check my watch. Thirteen hundred hours. I’m enveloped by a dark sense of foreboding.
David McTigue is from Liverpool UK who writes to fight his inner demons.
The day fertilizer was delivered, he showered it down hollering, “Girl, watch our corn grow!” His eyes always checked the skyline for clouds.
Fallow fields all around; only thing growing fast is cancer. Rain healed the crops. Now I wheel Dad into the storms, praying it will heal him too.
Madeleine Kleppinger is a writer with a day job as a scientist in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. She hosts a blog that helps readers discover their greatest story, with weekly posts that range from book reviews to original short stories to lifestyle pieces about adventurous living. Her free time is spent bounding through the wilderness with her American Bulldog, Sonnet.