I’m all cozy in bed when the closet door creaks open.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Outside, the wind whips and howls. I recall the earlier news report: Escaped convict, armed and dangerous.
The door’s sliver of darkness stares at me.
Should’ve buried them before calling it a night.
Michelle Wilson graduated from Bennington College with a degree in literature and creative writing. Her words have appeared or are forthcoming in 101 Words, Literally Stories, Flash Fiction Magazine, Lost Magazine, Papierdoll, Mr. Beller’s Neighborhood, Healthcare in America, and The Miami Herald. She lives in Miami Beach, Florida.
Nervously, in darkness, she waits on a park bench holding his photograph printed from the internet. Eventually, red carnation discarded, she trails disconsolately homeward.
Meanwhile, local traffic police pull a body from wreckage, note the crushed carnation, and discover in his pockets a woman’s photo, duct tape, and a knife.
Viv lives in Somerset, England, and is retired, but still nippy on her pins. She recently joined a writing class and has been trying out 50-word stories on her fellow writers, as her normal stories sent them to sleep. Viv has no pets, but has one partner and a garden full of birds that require daily feeding, as well as a love of books, Shakespeare, and treacle tart.
The day they met, he knew she was the one. She had such beautiful eyes. Now he would be able to gaze at their beauty every day for the rest of his life.
He admired them in the pickling jar, knowing her other body parts would keep in the freezer.
Carol Browne first appeared on the planet in 1954. Now living in the Cambridgeshire countryside with her cockatiel, Sparky, she is a contracted author at Burning Willow Press.
As I sit in handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit, I reflect on my life as a killer. All the lives I’ve taken, all the families I’ve destroyed forever. It’s mildly disconcerting.
I barely make out the judge giving the sentence of life without bail.
Oh well. Win some, lose some.
Eric has been writing for around a year with varying degrees of success but with unwavering joy.
A chap started speaking to me on the train this morning. He told me he had just killed his wife, shot her twice in the head, and was off to Bristol to kill again.
I turned to the sports section in the newspaper.
England Lose By Six Wickets.
Anton lives in Durham, U.K. He writes fiction and poetry while trying to finish a PhD, all fueled by numerous cups of tea. Find him at antonrose.com or @antonjrose.