Empowering Writers Since 1999
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I spent fifteen years celebrating Christmas in share-houses around Brisbane, Australia. As a poor student, I rented rundown Queenslanders with two, three or four friends, so I could still afford food after rent and bills. I rode my bicycle to uni, work or the grocery shop
Megan Denese Mealor echoes and erases in her native land of Jacksonville, Florida. A survivor of bipolar disorder, she incorporates her kaleidoscopic emotions and manic fire into her writing. Her poetry and short stories have been published worldwide, most recently in Spillwords, Ginosko Literary Journal, and The Stray Branch.
Manny drove through the night on a narrow highway that curved constantly to the right, threading its way through a forest. The trees hung low over the tarmac like they wanted to take back every square inch.
Gray morning. The clouds did not lift as the forecast had predicted. I spent a sleepless night because I drank a cup of a strong black tea earlier in the evening. I look at my watch on the nightstand; it shows nine o’clock. I am cold and trying to get warm under a lightweight summer blanket.
It was December 23rd, only two days before Christmas. Children play outside in the snow and families rush into stores to get last minute items for their holiday gatherings. But I am in the hospital with you, Max, my love.
I looked for the ‘Ten items or less’ checkout. This one read ‘Four items only,’ so I joined the queue.
It started with a clock that was facing just slightly the wrong way. Of course, I didn’t think of it like that until much later. At the time I was sleepy and confused because the streetlight outside glinted off the clock’s shiny plastic surface and I couldn’t see what time it was.
I’m very passionate about the exciting work I get to be a part of each day here at the cloning lab. Everything about it always seems new to me. Mans’ seemingly god-like ability to create life from little more than a strand of DNA and a few tiny cells has intrigued me for a very long time.
The bell went. Class started but only seven of the twelve expected students had arrived. No surprise. Suddenly, Jezebel teleported into her seat at the front.
Congratulations to our Winner DanaSan. She has won our 2020 50 word horror contest! Please congratulate her in the comments below.
For that is the question, isn’t it? I don’t know who you are anymore. Once, you were the guy, my carefree man with those sea-glass colored eyes and that laugh.
I am sharing a story about by grandfather who was a violinist and as a young man lived in China. The story connects his love of music and the country of China to my daughter whom we adopted from China and now plays his violin.
The searchlights from the guard towers were yet not lit, and in the blue of twilight, the garden looked like a tiny village. Bridges of desert wood crossed a shallow pond, connecting sandy peninsulas that stuck out into the water like rounded chins. A squat gazebo sat stoically above a thicket of cattails, standing careful guard over the many rows of watermelon, daikon, and lettuce.
A selection from a group of shorts I’m currently working one. My interest is compiling a collection of intense life defining moments through the lens of fiction. Intentionally abrupt, disruptive, and thought provoking in 1000 words or less.