Stories

He looks up at the clouds and begins to cry. She looks down to earth and begins to cry. “Why can’t you let go?” she asks.

Will Shadbolt is always dreaming up stories.

In the end, his reward was only to be allowed into the room while the money was counted—to know the beautiful number, but not to partake.

John McKenzie (@jmck)is only allowed to count his own money. MFA Syracuse 1993.

The tall emissary (blue scarred forehead, proof of rank) speaks Arabic and Bari; I neither.

Writes in Spokane: Richard Baldasty.  Spoken in Sudan: Bari.

I hand him the gun. A box of cartridges? I ask. One, he says. I hand him a box, but he shakes his head. Just one, he says.

Keith Lawrence thinks he is in Dublin, but isn’t sure. He didn’t realize there would be a test.

She told him to erase all traces of their affair. When she changed her mind and called back, he no longer recognized the ringtone.

Steven Saus writes, learns, publishes, injects people with radioactive stuff, and more.

She curled tighter on the floor holding the school picture, the only one she had.

Derek Dexheimer is making progress.

“Do you think they would have placed you with us…that we would have been allowed to adopt you if you hadn’t been a colored child?”

Ben Nightingale has written for Mendocino Review, Obsidian, and other publications.

They could never be married; their mom said no.

Sean Mackey thinks it’s like Washington always said: It ain’t over till it’s over.

Dear lonelyguy72, We are unable to display your meetpeople.net profile. We have reviewed it, and can find no photo of your erect penis.

James Hutchings mostly writes fantasy.

Ahmed paints a painting: a close-up of JFK’s face, pained, as he sucks a faceless woman’s breast. The title: Capitalism.

David Backer edits fictiondaily.org and blogs at davidbacker.com.