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Blood. Sticky, shiny, wet. Brazen red. I blink and the desperation rises in my chest. I cannot clear the bold scarlet puddle from my eyes, it proceeds like a relentless festering floodwater.

Jennifer by Raymond Cothern She comes limping across the yard, the alternating and uneven areas of grass and gravel, favoring her stiff knees, twisting her left hip slightly to swing her leg out in front to avoid bending it, every step visible at the corners of her eyes, wrinkles appearing suddenly, smoothing out quickly, each…

Rations by Lauren Sweeney They told us all about the USO dance at the Benedict Club on north 15th Street, the white gardenia in her hair and the hard-gotten nylons that were such a luxury. Just as the first notes of Jimmy Dorsey’s “Tangerine” floated through the crowded hall, he asked her to dance and…

A little piece about the short short story, and a long long list of many short shorts. Take a look at our recap of the short short stories we have published on our site.

The coarse rope scratched against his cheekbones as the noose was forced over his head. It sat heavy on his shoulders like a threat, pressing against the bobbing adam?s apple that danced with fear.

Newly furnished and with an air of luxury, the 500-seat Performing Arts Center beautifully echoes the acoustics of the teenage thespians busily dancing across the stage under the steady hand of their choreographer. Brimming with delight, the eager, beaming faces

Doug Elwell is a native Illinoisan, born in Chicago, though that didn’t last long. At two he woke up one morning on the prairie in rural downstate. Much of his writing explores the influence

I am hosting my first dinner party in this multicultural society where the right-winger rubs shoulders with the liberal; where in the mining community one is judged by the husband?s ?GRADE?.

Summer nights long ago in those streets below the hospital window, trucks with yellow flashing lights from the Louisiana Department of Mosquito Control hiss along slowly, the high whine of the compressors shooting out white spray behind the trucks like seeds

Three-thirty sharp. A shrieking tea kettle. Over the roof tops if floated. A constant in my life. A stranger?s daily routine. On temporary assignment in London, my American company rented me a flat in the East End.

The spaghetti dropped onto the table with a fierce plop. Bob blinked.