Suddenly he remembered seeing on the news last year that a cop had been killed while retrieving one of these things. Still in the car, he YouTubed how to unload a Glock 9mm. It didn’t look hard. He wished he’d done it before sliding the gun down the storm drain.
David Clay is a finance professional and girl dad living in St. Louis, MO.
He timephases into the bank vault. Making the most of his 27 minutes, he empties 63 boxes. Forty seconds left, he tries to phase out. Too late, he discovers time travel is unidirectional, toward the past. There is only one future awaiting him.
And the bank will reopen 9am Monday.
Tery has been an actor, director and a teacher, and is now trying his hand at writing. A cat lover, he is ruled over by Linus, Bela and Fluff.
Working beneath the eave, sheltered from the falling snow,
with a string of brightly colored bulbs
I spelled out my Yuletide proclamation
and was warmed by the message and the glow
“Noel” was what I spelled while under the eave,
but alas, passersby on the street wondered, “Who was Leon?”
Gene Newman was a USAF cryptologist during the Korean War and is a retired engineer and journalist, including stringing for the N.Y. Times and being a crossword puzzle creator for the New York Times and USA Today.
Angus took a deep breath and closed his eyes, fingertips steepled. “I can do this!” A sotto voce mantra. Gowned, gloved, and masked: a green god preparing for another performance. The inner voice whispered, “Careful… watch what you’re doing!” Ever since the day his hand slipped.
He will stop soon.
Mari lives in the UK. She writes flash fiction and the occasional poem. Other pieces have been published in Cafe Lit, Paragraph Planet and 101 Words.
1958: Calling the “doctor” was impossible, since he did not work in a clinic. His instructions for overnight monitoring post-procedure had been vague but emphatic: WATCH FOR A HAEMORRHAGE. Tragically, she didn’t realize that even a tiny trickle of blood, steady, minute after lonely minute, for hours, was precisely that.
Amanda Le Rougetel writes flash-length creative nonfiction and micro-length fiction. Find her published work on Chill Subs.
I could tell you wanted to kiss me because you watched my lips instead of the fireworks. My eyes were devout worshipers of the colorful display. I felt your body’s heat oppressing my space. Your breath was slow; my heart was fast. I am sorry that I turned my head.
Hannah Bub writes both fiction and poetry. You can find some of her work in October Hill Magazine (2018, 2023), Wingless Dreamer (2021, 2023), and the Greene Street Review.
Breathlessly, I stammer my way through apologies, grabbing bookbags, coats, papers from the teacher, nodding-head and fake smiles, checking her watch as she closes the door. My daughter’s embarrassment is evident on her reddened cheeks and averted gaze, and I sigh, wondering when the trauma of school will truly finish.
Charlie Swailes writes flash fiction and teaches English.
Vince blubbered about not having what it takes to join the order.
We talked some sense into him, left him in the bedroom, standing before that scratched-up mirror.
Waited by flashlight on dust-covered furniture, tree branches scraping against the windows.
He never came back downstairs.
Turns out Vince was right.
Tim Boiteau lives in Michigan, is the author of the dark fantasy novel The Drummer Girl, and a Writers of the Future winner. See more at timboiteau.com.
Once the shop was quiet, she carefully removed the pearls from the glass display and slipped them into her coat pocket. Days later, she called them a gift. They lay heavy on her chest. Even tucked away in velvety lined drawers, the heaviness lingered. In time, they would outweigh everything.
Lisa Marie Lopez resides in northern California, where she enjoys writing in little coffee shops and taking peaceful walks. She’s had stories published in several different journals and venues, including Blink-Ink, From the Depths, and The Ocotillo Review.
It had been two years since Olivia’s world fell apart.
Two years since she mailed Adam the letter.
Two years of waiting for a reply.
Then, one day, the letter simply reappeared in her mailbox…
“INSUFFICIENT POSTAGE”
Sadly, she placed it on the desk, right next to Adam’s wedding invitation.
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories and cartoon captions, but she rarely writes a letter.