Stories

I guess I agreed to have sex with her because that is what adults do, they have sex. And at twenty-five I wanted to feel like an adult.

Lacy Lalonde drinks tea and writes fiction.

Sometimes, we forget children are fragile.

Olivia Rich (@OliviaRich4) tries this writing technique from her creative writing elective.

It’s strange. Ever since the whole of humanity fled to the suburbs, the giant monsters have yet to attack us.

Sean Vivier calls this one “Suburban Flight.”

I flew west the day the papers went final. Sky at my shoulders, free country below. A vandalized plane sign: “life vAst under your seat.”

Matthew Fogarty is compiling a playlist for the drive home.

An infinite number of universes necessarily exist. God did not create them. God jobbed out the boring bits and called them Heaven.

Meika no longer writes for humans.

This was the part of the job she hated. She knocked, then waited on the doorstep for the parents to answer. A heavy rain began to fall.

@SimonKewin writes this and that. Sometimes other words too.

The young woman stared at the older. Wrinkles cut her skin. Her eyes held little joy. The younger sighed and walked away from the mirror.

Kelly Kacee Martin should be cleaning right now.

The guerrillas concluded they could not eat their bullets, but their bullets could eat the villagers and the villagers had the food.

Ian Glass finds fiction and reality parallel each other more often than not.

No space left. They seek refuge in garbage bins and in cardboard box houses. The discussion is global warming, but they are still cold.

Guy Belleranti writes for both children and adults.

My h’nds tremble on the keybo’rd. If they don’t like my next work I’ll be killed. Killed ‘nd repl’ced. I wish I h’dn’t broken th’t letter.

Pete Sain likes to show what’s in his brain, preferably before the autopsy.