The women gathered to celebrate the full moon. They meditated together, and then wrote down what they were ready to release. Around the firepit, under the moonlight, they watched their papers burn.
Earlier, her husband ridiculed her “monthly witchcraft.” His rage had become relentless.
She silently wrote down his name.
Melanie Winklosky wrote this story.
Logs for sale, the sign said, so he stole a few and burned them on his open fire. Went back for more the following week, then the next and next again.
She watched him drive away the fourth time and smiled, confident the hidden gunpowder would end his brazen thieving.
Ben Westerham is in the midst of letting slip the chains of paid employment so he can spend ever more time writing, reading, gardening and uncovering fascinating nuggets about his criminal ancestors.
My Grandma Nora tended to react quite strongly
when cheated, swindled or treated wrongly
by a fast-talking larcenous door-to-door fellow
“Spalpeen, you’ll spend every last penny on medicine,” she’d bellow,
invoking an ancient curse she’d learned in County Clare,
which, unfortunately, is not quite as potent now, because of Medicare.
Gene Newman is a retired old guy (90 yrs) and former New Jersey journalist and columnist. Read more at GeneNewmanImagineThat.com.
Her response to his betrayal didn’t come with the shouting or tears that he expected, but a sigh. She offered a toast to her freedom and his loss.
He laughed, drank the honeyed wine, and choked on the lingering hint of bitter almonds. Her smile was vindictive.
Till death, indeed.
Catherine Berry loves whimsy, potatoes, and singing with her dog. Her work has been published in several Trembling With Fear Anthologies & The Trench Coat Chronicles. More of her work can be found at www.caterinaberyl.blogspot.com.
I float on the open ocean. Sunlight bores down, fracturing me into pieces. Toxins seep into my translucent skin. Sea animals nibble me, eager to begin feasting.
This agony has only just begun. I’ll live for centuries.
Nostalgia hits me. A happier time, when all I did was carry groceries.
Abigail is a student who loves creative writing in all forms and genres. She writes around her busy uni schedule and enters competitions with the aim of one day getting published!
Hans watched from the observation deck as the ground fell away.
In his mind he imagined the look on Dieter’s face when he checked their company bank account and found it empty. He grinned with spiteful delight as the Hindenburg rose and began its fateful journey across the Atlantic Ocean.
Bill lives in Aberdeen, Scotland. His parents were time-travellers from the 22nd Century and he knows the result of every single significant sporting event for the next hundred years. Watch out for Soviet Union II winning the 2046 World Cup.
Four boys parade the street naked, their dicks swinging this way and that. At first they try covering them with their hands but when the severity of their situation sets in, they fold their hands in prayer, pleading for mercy.
Behind them, cowhide whips cut through flesh, bone, and will.
Ifediba Zube writes from the University of Port Harcourt Teaching Hospital Nigeria. When she is not neck deep in clinical postings she is in hiding with a good book. She has been published in Hektoen International Journal of Medical Humanities, Windmill Journal, Bridge Literary Journal, Kalahari Review and Expound Magazine of Arts and Aesthetics.
The sun beat down on the young man as he waited behind a barred gate.
He was nervous; his mother told him not to go, yet he stood here.
A uniformed guard approached the gate,
released an older gentleman.
He hugged his father for the first time in twenty years.
Sean Bui spends a lot of time on the volleyball court with his teammates. He is a lover of pasta yet is always open to try new foods. Sean, along with his friend, enjoys crafting clothing as well as fabric design for their clothing company Undefined.
The smell of the chalk dust reminded him of some past dated food. He imagined thousands of others who would have breathed it in and eventually gone to their graves having never exhaled it entirely.
Ninety eight more lines to go.
He scrawled, “I promise not to daydream in class.”
Gordon Lysen resides in Manitoba, Canada, and spends his time between the city of Winnipeg and his true home at Sugar Point on Lake Manitoba. Retired from police work after some 27 years, Gordon co-authored the novel “A Deadly Blend of Souls” with his wife, Lisa. Writing and painting are Gordon’s relaxation methods when retirement becomes too stressful.
Cynthia had made a habit of sneaking cookies out of the jar when Mom left the room.
One day, Mom caught her, and Cynthia received a crisp slap on the wrist.
The next afternoon, Cynthia emerged from her bedroom with foam padding taped to her wrists, and took a cookie.
This story was based on the prompt “slap on the wrist” at TypeTrigger.