When I saw the streetlight reflect off
an object in the hand of the man huddled in the darkened doorway, I thought
“Knife!”
I should have thought “Swiss Army
Knife.”
I should have thought “can opener on a
Swiss Army Knife.”
I should have thought.
Instead, I let the streetlight reflect
off an object in my hand. That was the third object that hit the street. After
I shot the homeless man, the can opener and the can slipped out of his hands.
Then the pistol slipped out of mine.
Chad Greene is a graduate of the Master
of Professional Writing Program at the University of Southern California and an
assistant professor of English at Cerritos College. His writing has appeared in
Cuento Magazine, Journal of Microliterature,Nailpolish
Stories, Nanoism, One Forty Fiction, Southern California Review, The
Southlander, and the flash-fiction collection Book by Authors.
Last night when I realized and accepted that my
phone was dying, I decided to spend my final moments with it as I would
an old Chinese grandmother. We played mahjong in bed.
Joannah Keats is a graduate of the University of Connecticut and a Field
Sales Representative for a large children's book publisher. She has at
least 3 novels in progress between her mind and her hard drive, but
wishes she could publish a compilation of her Facebook statuses and
tweets instead.
I want nothing more than to rid of this dreadful house, thought Leona. Everything about her life made the woman depressed. She was single, no kids, boring job, and ever hated her house.
To rid herself of this foul mood she decided to walk through the park. It was a beautiful day out--birds chirping, blue skies, 75 degrees, and vivid fluffy clouds.
Eventually, Leona lay down to cloud watch but dozed off. The sound of an alarm jerked her out of her sleep. Strange, she thought. As she looked at the last cloud, it took the form of an oven ...
"That's not a cloud--that's smoke!" she exclaimed. "I left the oven on!"
She rushes home to see fire fighters putting out the last of the charred embers that remained of her house.
"Someone left the oven on. This house can't be saved," the fire chief said.
"No, no it can't," Leona said slowly a smile half hidden on her face.
--------------------------------------------
Jonathan Dion is 20 years old and currently a first-year student at Asnuntuck
Community College in Enfield, Connecticut. He has always been a fan of writing and reading, so he is pursuing a degree in English with plans to one day be an English professor.
Fitting in can be difficult, boys, girls, all trying to find themselves at a judgmental teen age. Not knowing if peers will accept them, not wanting to be a disappointment to family.
Walking down Deadman’s Hill, an appropriate street nickname, I was with two very popular girls in my high school. Two girls my parents weren’t sure were good role models in school.
At the bottom of the hill, down a dirt path, my friends brought out a pack of cigarettes. One friend lit up and then the other. I was the odd man out. Friends.
Silence, standing with them, I was nervous. Wanting to be popular, not knowing what to say. One girl turned to me, teasingly holding the pack. “Don’t you smoke? Everyone does it.”
I took a cigarette, held it and looked around, wondering if I should light it or leave. I didn’t want to smoke but I didn’t want to go back home alone. The cigarette felt smooth to the touch. One friend blew smoke in my face. Laughing, my supposed friends said I could go. “No,” I stated, “I’m fine.”
The cigarette tasted bitter as the flame licked the end. I breathed in and coughed, tears pricked the back of my eyes. Deadman’s Hill, an appropriate place I probably shouldn’t be.
Walking slowly going up my front steps, I turned to see those girls skipping away. Walking into the house, my parents happy to see me, my dad asked, “What’s that smell?”
Marie Corcoran wrote this piece for a creative writing class she is taking at Asnuntuck Community College with Edwina Trentham. Having written for many years, she has a completed mystery manuscript and several children's manuscripts that she is looking to place with an agent. Marie love making up stories.
My dog chases her tail for 10 minutes straight and I watch and think, Wow, dogs are so easily entertained. Then I just realized that I watched my dog chase her tail for 10 minutes.
The first decade of Sarah Badger's life, she was overbearingly inquisitive. The next two decades was a life led by all things philosophical. From here on out, the rest of her decades will be, alas, purely contemplative.
I am in dire need of a fire that will talk back to me with a series of cracks and an occasional pop, embrace me in its radiant cloak of warmth, let me look into the blaze, and inspire my imagination. Wait a minute--is this a fire I'm talking about?
Elizabethe Plante calls herself an ordinary person who at age seven wanted nothing more than to be one of the three Supremes, to be a scientist, and to marry a firefighter. She has not yet managed to accomplish these three wishes.
