Stories from
July, 2010

When the storm hit the ships broke like old bones and the men slipped into the water. On shore, Mark’s mother covered his eyes too late.

Dom Turner takes pictures and creates websites by day, but he secretly wants to be a superhero (or a writer).

They tore the book down the middle. He kept the ending to rewrite it. She made paper boats of her pages and set them on Monty’s pond, happy.

Desmond Kon Zhicheng-Mingdé is a city hermit. He’s thinking of making clay miniatures for a recently repotted bonsai.

Merlot ricocheted off his face. She had always wanted to do that. Only now, though, did she realize she’d never wanted the right excuse.

CK Wagner is not quitting her day job just yet.

She pulls me into the stall. I do a line off of the toilet paper dispenser. She opens her shirt, and I expect this to change everything.

Acia Thomas (@hiacia) lives in Chicago.

After the night and the storm, he went above and sat on the deck, scanning the glass-like sea. Now, he would allow himself to dream of home.

David McGroarty (@davidmcgroarty) is a Scottish writer who lives in North London.

“Wait a second—you mean I’ll be without TV all night?”
“Ma’am, the technician will be there at 8:00 am.”
“What am I supposed do till then?”

If @danrako can’t fix it over the phone, he’ll send a tech for your satellite TV. Find more of his malarkey at

Grieving Arthur, Beth concealed the lump.  When no one watched, she slid her fingers across it like a rosary.  “Soon Arthur,”  she prayed.

Jason McKinley Williams (@williamswrites) very happily teaches and writes in Winchester, Kentucky.

Boxes full of a life, slated for removal to make room for: another child, skates, mourning, matchbox cars, slumber parties, timeout.

A. Turner’s got a finger on the pulse, a toe in the water, a dog in the fight.

She wanted to join the whisper game but he told her robots couldn’t lower their voices.

Jessica Otto writes poetry and edits Trapeze Magazine (@trapezemag).

Plaid, plaid, plaid. Even his closet made her feel behind bars.

JP Allen finds it daunting to write stories longer than 140 characters. He lives in Danville, Kentucky.