Category Archive: Short Stories

Sunday Photo Fiction: Ducks

My friend was wearing a neck brace and I was taking her to the doctor’s office for her check up. We were headed downtown when a mother duck and her 18 little ones… Continue reading

Flash Fiction FTPP: It’s Time

Sometimes, “Enough is enough!” and you have to do something. You can’t go back in time and undo the damage. Not after all that’s happened. You have to move forward and take matters… Continue reading

Sunday Photo Fiction: The Appointment

I rarely sleep in. I’m usually I’m up by 7 AM, 7:30. The phone woke me at 9:02. The worried voice asked, “Are you still taking me to the doctor’s?” “I thought it… Continue reading

Friday Fictioneer: Lost

After twenty minutes, I realized she’d escaped. We were visiting aunt Philomela. The place was new to Jenny and she wanted to explore. I thought she meant the three-story house, or maybe the… Continue reading

Sunday Photo Fiction: The Drive

The Drive “Are were there yet?” Else asked impatiently. She knew it was her hormones from her new pregnancy that was making her irritable. But still, why did she have to wear a… Continue reading

Friday Fictioneer: The Commute

The Commute I remember the day when I walked to work, ten blocks, rain or shine, or freezing cold, for $1.90 an hour. There were years of learning, years of no work, a… Continue reading

Sunday Photo Fiction: The Thing

“What in the world is that?” “I don’t know.” “Where did you get it?” “Some garage sell.” Ted was always bring stuff home. “Why?” “Cause it was different.” “It sure is.” Lily picked… Continue reading

Sunday Photo Fiction: Never Satisfied

Never Satisfied “BbbAaaaA.” “What?” Jenny’s exasperated mother asked. “There’s a man in there!” Jenny pointed to the pedestrian light. “Jenny, it’s a cut out with a light behind it.” Jenny looked at her… Continue reading

Friday Fictioneer: Time to Fly

Time to Fly I grew up in this house, staring out this window. No I wasn’t born here, we bought it in time for our first child. After the third child, he left… Continue reading

Friday Fictioneer: Chicken Man

“BbbAaaaA.” “What?” Mom came running. “Are you hurt?” “Chicken Man’s dead,” seven year-old Jenny wailed. Mom let out a sigh of relief. “He’s not dead. That’s just his costume.” “Someone skinned him.” “He’s… Continue reading

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