Dear Amy

CONTEST SUBMISSION:

Here’s what happened: The huntsman burst in wielding a knife, and lunged at me! In my shock, I coughed up the Grandma. I said sorry, truly, and ran off, hoping to mend my ways. I wound up in a bar in NYC, drinking with humans who were all peace and harmony, until one of us bit one of them—justified! Then it was omg throw them out. Now I’m back in the woods, in the heart of temptation, where every guy and his girlfriend is noshing on Grandmas and Little Reds. How can I resist? What should I do?

Wolf

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Linda's stories and poems have appeared online in Outlook Springs, A Story in 100 Words, Star 82 Review, BOMBFIRE, Misfit Magazine, and others.

Flying Jack

CONTEST SUBMISSION:

Jack watched the planes fly with wonder. As a puppy, he aimed high. As a teen, Clark Kent and YouTube inspired.

He left soaring.

Networking at airport lounges was his forte. Frequent flyer points reached Gold Star status, so he flew over many oceans visiting his poodle friend Jeanette in Paris, Rob Retriever in St. Louis, and Sheepdog Barbie (named after the Barbecue and not the famous long-legged, wrinkle free doll) in the Aussie Outback.

When jet lag took its toll, Jack chose rails. When arthritis restricted movement, brimming with nostalgia, he watched the planes fly by, grieving what was.From Guest Contributor Isabelle B.L

Isabelle is a teacher based in France. She has published a novel inspired by the life of a New Caledonian feminist and politician. Her work can be found in the Birth Lifespan Vol. 1 and Growing Up Lifespan Vol. 2 anthologies for Pure Slush Books, Flash Fiction Magazine, A Story in 100 Words, Visual Verse, The Cabinet of Heed, Ample Remains, Found Polaroids, Five Minutes, Kitchen Sink Magazine, and Splintered Disorder Press. Her work is forthcoming in Drunk Monkeys.

Growing Up With Lions

CONTEST SUBMISSION:

Swimming with sharks? I’ve been growing up with lions. Coalitions of gown-wearing males, competitive and cooperative. A strong coalition, George and Chris built an empire that lasted for ten years before being kicked out by an invader. Leading an exodus of talent, each took over a different territory. Ryan lost the battle for supremacy to Elaine who extended her influence over critical areas. Parachuted, Lydia cooperated with Harry, but got rid of Zoey being in her way. But there is a new species emerging, leading an open ecosystem to unite and build territory. It’s all about joining the right pride.

From Guest Contributor David Chek Ling Ngo

David lives in Puchong, Malaysia, where he works as a professor at a Scottish university branch campus. His short prose has appeared in A Story In 100 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, and Five Minutes.

Sir Francis Bacon

CONTEST SUBMISSION:

Sir Francis Bacon, an educated beagle, wondered about his name, did some research, and learned that his namesake was a statesman and writer who lived at the same time as Shakespeare. Some people thought that Bacon was the real writer of Shakespeare's plays. This puzzled Sir Francis Bacon the beagle.

"Why is my name Sir Francis Bacon?" he asked his human friend.

"Because I like bacon, and you like bacon."

"Did Bacon write Shakespeare's plays?"

"No. Silly idea. Would you rather be named Shakespeare? I could give you a spear to shake."

"I prefer eating bacon. And answering to Bacon."

From Guest Contributor: Anita G. Gorman

Contest Submissions Are Closed

Hey everyone!

We've reached the end of the submission period for the latest contest. I'll start posting the stories tomorrow, saving the winner for last, as always. A lot of good stories once again, and I'm excited to share them with you all.

We're still accepting normal story submissions, so please continue sharing your 100-word gems. And if any contest submissions come in now that the deadline is closed, I'll post them with the other submissions, but they won't be eligible for sweet, sweet victory.

Thanks for all your contributions!

That is all.

Document

The rain pelts my face, the umbrella useless. I walk quickly, but not enough to draw attention. I must get to my destination and back before curfew.

The document I carry may save countless lives. If the Nazis stop me for a search, they’ll never find it.

“Do you have it?”

I place the umbrella down, dripping, release my shoe and pull the document from my heel, handing it to the contact.

“Good work,” he says and hands me a paper that I neatly place into the heel of my shoe.

I leave and make my way home before curfew.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

To Not Be Alone

To not be alone is to be in a constant state of questioning. You question who you are. You question who they are. You question why you are with them. They question why they are with you. You question how to be with them, as they question how to be with you. But we all know that it isn't just you and them. There are things that haunt you. There are things that haunt them. So is it now that you are not alone, or were you always questioning? Were they always questioning? Truth is, now you are questioning together.

From Guest Contributor Ina Rose

Ina is a student with a passion for writing.

Rain

Music is flowing around me, thought a little flower bud as it shyly opened its dewy new petals. A quiet, peaceful melody of streams of gray pouring from a cloudy sky, framed by cooling rhythm of beads of water hitting cement nearby, thrumming on rooftops of homes around its garden, drumming against wooden walls, staccato taps on glass panes. Wavering patterns of drizzle and downpour, whispers of gentle wind through branches of trees, and drips from pools of water on lush green leaves, add a dulcet cadence, forming a tender harmony to welcome this year’s refreshing renewal of mother nature.From Guest Contributor Sara Light

Sara lives in Chicago and writes poetry, fiction, and children's stories. In her spare time, she likes to paint and read. Find her on twitter @SaraLight19, and on her website, saralight.blog.

Rolled And Stoned

He: I know I’m a Midnight Rambler, but I can come to your Emotional Rescue. Won’t you Tell Me you want to Live With Me? I am through with Honky Tonk women.

She: This could be the Last Time I tell you - Jumpin’ Jack Flash is my boyfriend. You Can’t Always Get What You Want, you just want to tell people I am Under Your Thumb.

He: I can’t get no Satisfaction. I thought that we could have a rosy future, but now I will just Paint It Black. Won’t anyone Gimme Shelter? I don’t have a Heart Of Stone.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Doug lives in Oregon (spelled wrong / pronounced right) and escaped actuarial work to hike, snowshoe, volunteer, and string words together.

The Gandy Dark

Three miles, under moonlight, over the dark bay, a long bridge over troubled water. Aside the Sawgrass swamps. The Doors’ low groan hypnotic. New Orleans is waiting for you. Look, I’ll drive, your friend says when you start swerving sideways. You’re slipping under, you are fading down to dreams. Yes, you say, stab your fingers into the packet of American Spirit, wave them at the pale pomelo half-plate in the sky, the sliver of moon that is lighting your way. You are on your way to meet the Devil you don’t believe in, but neither of you know it yet.

From Guest Contributor Lorette C. Luzajic

Lorette is a widely published writer of flash fiction and prose poetry, with recent or forthcoming appearances in Tiny Molecules, The Citron Review, Ghost Parachute, Dillydoun Review, and more. She is the founder and editor of The Ekphrastic Review, a journal of literature inspired by visual art.