Short Story
Flash-Thunder
I hunker down in my foxhole with my M1 clutched tightly to my chest. The last barrage left me shaken as a dud shell landed just beside me. I had been writing home to my family when the artillery shells started raining down on us. The paper had been tossed aside as I rolled over to cover myself. The reinforcements were minimal, but my foxhole was defended well enough that the shells that landed around me couldn’t do me any real harm, unless one landed directly on top of me. That was the one that sat in front of me now still intact, and undetonated. I had half a mind to grab it and throw it as far from me as I could, but I was also terrified that it would go off in my face if I did. No need to have a headless body sent home to my family.
By Gunnar Andersonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Tooth Faerie . Content Warning.
“Dad, what if it falls out?” The boy jams a finger sideways into his mouth and wiggles the loose one. “Well, bud, that’s normal, baby teeth are supposed to fall out.” The father tucks the boy into his favorite Spider-Man blanket.
By Sam Spinelliabout a year ago in Fiction
Blame Not the Father. Runner-Up in Leave the Light On Challenge. Content Warning.
Inside the Milan Dome June 5th, 2122 8:02pm Anselmo Bianchi was a tall man who stooped to fit inside the shadows of the powerful women in his life. He slipped into the dining room so silently that his appearance was as easily ignored as the servants slipping in and out with covered platters. Perhaps it was because the Bianchis of old had the sense to pivot from textiles to a clothing designer to an environsuit developer, but the family was matriarchal.
By Leigh Victoria Phan, MS, MFAabout a year ago in Fiction
Night Drive
Lenard left the bottle shop with the little box of treasure tucked under one arm. He’d been in a state of lethargy and dark cynicism all afternoon, but his mood was all of a sudden elevated just thinking of savouring the liquid gold he carried. He turned his face up to the sky, letting the soft rain that had been falling all day kiss his face. The short walk around the corner and down the hill saw him smiling softly, the first he’d borne since he saw a young woman trip on a step while he was getting coffee this morning. She laughed too, so don’t judge him too harshly.
By Dominic Casey-Leeabout a year ago in Fiction
Tomorrow Again
The twilight warmed him. Hatter Colm set his briefcase down and his tablet and wireless headphones on his desk. By stretching out on his couch, it appeared as if the office grew bigger. With another account won, he earned some extra shut-eye. Dreams came and he woke up to the sound of his own breathing. Twilight still colored the evening. When he rose to his feet, he looked at the door and found it slightly ajar.
By Skyler Saundersabout a year ago in Fiction
Childers Grove
I stood atop of the bluff above the sea. The mist rolled off the ocean mixing with the smoke from the wildfires. None of the rays from the setting sun seemed to penetrate its wall. The sky was turning an eerie orange. What should’ve been a hot August evening was growing cold and a chill set in on my skin as I watched the mist and smoke curling.
By Stephanie L. Moreauabout a year ago in Fiction
Hiding Spots
The rain pelt down and a woman is about to run down her fifth alleyway. She is scanning for a place to hide from her pursuer. Her heartbeat is filling her head. Her panic is coupled with exasperation and annoyance. She thinks, goddam, the movies make it look so easy. Where the hell are all those great hiding spots that villains somehow always overlook? Apparently real life doesn't house large trash cans or cardboard boxes to hide in or behind.
By Lisa Pulliamabout a year ago in Fiction
Water Trails. Winner in Leave the Light On Challenge.
The wind whispers to itself, playing along the old boards of a lone farmhouse, seeking a gap where it can creep inside. Moonlight falls in muted beams, casting shadows long across the bikes and toys scattered through the yard. Reaching further, it moves into the fields of corn, long ears bowed and sorrowful. Finally, it pierces through the clouds to cover a solitary cross embedded in the dirt beneath a tree-swing, the white gleam chasing away the dark. Swaying silently in the uneven breeze, the swing lurches, while the branches above stretch and scrape the milky sky.
By Joe O’Connorabout a year ago in Fiction
