Tag: short story
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Mountain Cometh by Stuart Christianson
We like Autumn, Winter, and Spring. We like the way in Autumn it feels like each tree has its own fireplace, licks of flame dancing on the branches before they float down to the ground. We like the harshness of Winter, the cozy comfort of tucking ourselves away as the wind howls and the rain…
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Lazy Sunday by Laurentiu Stehan
A Lazy Sunday stroll by the lake turned into an epic adventure when Willy was attacked by an Ice Dragon near the Medieval Castle.
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Smoke and Ashes by Stephen Spotte
My father’s cigar-smoking, or rather its imminent threat, had caused our banishment to the porch. After supper, Dad had taken a cigar from his shirt pocket with the practiced deliberation of an actor. Mom, recognizing the cue as hers, stood and began clearing the dishes. “Marcel,” she said, “you’re not going to smoke that…
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A Different Kind of Game By Loren Meza
Right now I’m sitting alone in my favorite bistro. A cocktail or two, some delicious comfort food, and possibilities, all lie in waiting. Nights like this call for red lipstick. Nights where, no one you already know can make up for the crappy day you’ve had. The ones where existential crises dictate the order of…
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Kaleidoscope By Susan Cornford
“I’m going to throw up. I’m going to throw up. I’m going to throw up all over my wedding dress!” I said. “Breathe,” my friend, Monica, replied. I breathed. I didn’t throw up. It was past the time of morning sickness so something else was wrong. The woman in the mirror in front of me reapplied the…
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The Last Allergens By Verche Arsovska
Rose put the couple’s order in a few boxes and sealed them shut. No corrosive particles, pollutants, and pathogens were getting inside on her watch. There was no pride left in the world, but she was proud to offer clean food. It was 2040, after all. Pollutants that liquefied lungs and thickened blood traveled on…
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Hula Girl By Stuart Christianson
The little hula girl danced on the dashboard as the pickup truck bounced down the dirt track. The girls gleaming white smile and green grass dress appealed to John’s sense of whimsy. As the pickup hit a rut, the adhesive loosened and the girl went tumbling down between his legs. He laughed as he reached…
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Last Good Day By Mary Maeve McGeorge
A chipper young boy with a comfortingly high number dribbled a soccer ball through the aisles, weaving in between all of the tens of thousands and thousands and hundreds. His mother was one of the luckier shoppers, sporting an enviable number of 15,342 for someone of her age. A permanent crease had formed in the…
