By the top of the third, Dad was already at the bottom of his fifth. Our team won, but we didn’t celebrate.
Philip Simondet wrote this just for you. Thank him at http://youtube.com/PhilipSimondet
He left. But she still looked for his lanky form. Or one like it. She knew losses get replaced. She knew she’d love a copy just as much.
Chuck Von Nordheim lives in Dayton, OH, by a river.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she says. “I want a divorce.”
“I understand,” I reply through the bars.
Lindsay Kitson writes Dieselpunk out of Winnipeg and blogs.
Tommy held the E-meter with feigned curiosity. “For science,” he said. His auditor didn’t like that. “For Scientology,” he corrected.
Kyle Jaeger is a writer in Hollywood.
When she found her tea later, it was not only cold; a tiny paper boat—what used to be the grocery list—was soggily capsizing.
Nina Nesseth plays the ukulele.
Craig was used to being disappointed, as he had told the paramedic only moments ago. The light at the end of the tunnel was lit by flames.
Sam Kearns will dance, sing and handstand for money, though he isn’t any good at all three.
As the kitchen curtains ignite, the man in the living room types “smelling smoke” and skims a list. Seizure. Stroke. Tumor. Sinus infection.
R. Gatwood is concise.
The scent of carpet was so reminiscent of Dr. Li’s waiting room that, in remembering my frequent visits, I almost forgot I was dead.
Lau Lioi lives in New Jersey. She is Argentine, not Asian. She studies architecture and reads like it’s her job. If only it were.
With closed eyes, she sat on. All would change to dull reality if they opened, so she put his hookah into her mouth and began smoking again.
Chad Greene teaches children’s literature.
They met on a cruise, married days later. He hardly knew her but that was the appeal. She got ill soon after the honeymoon. Prostate cancer.
@EricBoydtweets writes a lot for different things.