She had never heard her doll speak before, but, because it said such interesting things, she decided she didn’t mind.
Annie Hintsala is an on line writer who loves haiku and little stories, her son, teaching, singing badly, and cheesy movies.
She wanted to call him Judah, after her father, but he disagreed, saying he didn’t want his son to have the most popular name of the year.
Matan White doesn’t always write, but when she does, she writes nanofiction.
This story was a selection from the #twitterfiction festival
In her dad’s closet, she found flannel shirts, ties, boots, and an old baby photo of no one she knew. All were tossed out.
Leann Orris (@ODearMoriah) tweets fiction. She’s not sure what else Twitter is for.
This story was a selection from the #twitterfiction festival
Odin scowled. “What do you call this? The end of the world?”
Loki shrugged. “I dunno, looks like a good party to me.”
Cheryl Chancellor lives on the other side of the looking-glass.
This story was a selection from the #twitterfiction festival
Puzzle pieces fell to the floor in a jumble. Maria looked down at the abstract image staring back at her and recognized her father.
Christopher Hivner writes, reads and uses sarcasm.
This story was a selection from the #twitterfiction festival
So, Toto. a) We’re not in Kansas anymore. b) I’m on trial for murder. In retrospect, we should have stuck with the storm cellar.
@Mari_ness lives and writes in central Florida, under the unhelpful guidance of two adorable cats.
This story was a selection from the #twitterfiction festival
Until one day, Tantalus reached his hand and took fruit from the tree. No need to yearn. It should not have made him feel so empty.
Sean Vivier wrote this.
This story was a selection from the #twitterfiction festival
The wolf feinted twice. When nobody believed the boy’s third cry of alarm, he attacked in earnest.
Sean Vivier makes his money from writing and teaching whenever he can.
I forget what you look like, I forget everything. Then a picture of Scully reminds me. I don’t know why. Her nose, mouth. Your mouth, again.
Christina Moody lives on a deserted island, without the comfort of a volleyball named Wilson.
The faded blue backpack sat wearily in the corner. I glanced at it, wanting it to disappear once and for all.
Jessica Xu is an enthusiastic writer living in San Diego, CA.