The Shot

Ekanth carefully eases the postcard out of its nail. His fingers caress over the smiling faces etched against white peaks and pine-specked slopes. Bittersweet childhood memories rush through him: the long-planned vacation, the magical snow, the family selfie for a postcard, and then the crack of guns. All that remains is the postcard, now framed.

Setting it down with a tremble, he climbs onto the stool beneath the fan. Noose in place, he closes his eyes.

Just then, the doorbell rings. His eyes jerk open. Neha smiles at him from a postcard, the Eiffel towering behind her. His gaze falters.

From Guest Contributor Naga Vydyanathan

Naga likes to pen stories that explore the quiet fears and hidden thoughts of her characters. Her work has been published in online magazines like Literary Stories and MeanPepperVine.

Back From Vacation

Hey Everyone,

Just a note that I'm still here and the site is still active. I was on vacation for the last 2+ weeks and should have left a note that I'd be gone. Sorry, and happy to report posting resumes today!

Keep sending in your stories!

That is all.

Doc

Sneeze First, Regret Later

I flew to New York for a ten-day vacation, feeling as healthy as a horse. On the plane, I sat next to a man who kept coughing. At one point, he sneezed on my arm. Within two days, I was sick with fever, nasal congestion, headaches, body aches, and vomiting. The rest of my vacation was a blur of naps and short outings under heavy medication. When I boarded the plane home ten days later, guess who was sitting in the same row, smiling at me? Swallowing my rage to avoid being kicked off the plane became my biggest accomplishment.

From Guest Contributor Zoé Mahfouz

House Rules

"No!” the vacation condos manager barked, his stink-eye getting stinkier by the second. “You cannot borrow a screwdriver to repair your drone. Drones are strictly forbidden on the property!”

“Geez, alright,” I said. Man, there’s a harshness on the edge of town. Last time I book with Wazoo Properties.

“And by the way,” he said. “No more ukulele playing on the lanai or by the pool. It’s strictly…”

“Forbidden?”

He nodded yes.

“One more thing,” he said, pointing at the NO SMOKING sign.

“So, what you’re saying…”

“Yes. No drones, no tools, no frets...and you don’t get no cigarettes!”

From Guest Contributor Lee Hammerschmidt

Lee is a Visual Artist/Writer/Troubadour who lives in Oregon. He is the author of the short story collection, A Hole Of My Own. Check out his hit parade on YouTube!

A Deadly Metaphor

Chester tosses rocks over the cliff, ruminating over whether to respond. Angelica expects tacit agreement with all her decisions, only consulting him on the timing and execution, never the overall direction. This makes sense as a way to run a boardroom, but not a marriage.

Even this vacation, celebrating their anniversary, was her concoction. Sure, the views are spectacular, but she knows he's no fan of hiking. That's most likely her secret reason for this destination. He tosses another pebble, watching it careen out of sight.

At the bottom of the gorge, three fresh bodies lay buried beneath Chester's avalanche.

Rassolnik

“Minsk?” Her mouth was agape.

“You’re damn right Minsk! And maybe even the countryside while we’re at it!” His voice firm, eyes steady.

“But I want to go on vacation! What the hell is in Belarus? Why can’t we go to Vegas?” she was indignant.

“It's quiet in Minsk...I think. It looks like we can have a nice, peaceful time for once. Also, I want to try Rassolnik” he trailed off a bit, looking away.

“What is Rassel-nek?” she shot back.

He hesitated before answering “It’s a soup they make there...it has pickles in it”.

“I hate you,” she said.

From Guest Contributor B. Frederick Foley

B. Frederick Foley is a poet, writer, and editor at www.militaryflashfiction.com. A former Navy Intelligence officer, he now spends his time living between Anchorage and Kasilof, Alaska with his wife and three children. His poetry and flash fiction have been published in several online literary journals.

Ignis Fatuus

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

The three sisters couldn’t spend their summer at home because of smallpox in the town. Their parents acquired the old farmhouse close to the boarding school and their favorite teacher agreed to spend her vacation taking care of them. She told them why the house was empty, of the little girl, who drowned in the cow pond. In time, the spirit came to each: in a dream; as a light over the field at dusk; and to the third sister, as the woman she spent the rest of her life with, from the age of twenty-eight, in a Boston marriage.

From Guest Contributor Jon Fain

Thus far in 2020, Jon's fiction has appeared in 50-Word Stories, Fleas on the Dog, City. River. Tree., and Blue Lake Review.

Verbal Therapy

“Hello, sir!” she exclaimed as she and two friends got out of their old car.

“Hi,” I replied as I bent over to remove my gas cap.

After fourteen hours of steady driving, my seventy-year-old back hurt, but in two more hours I would be home. Our vacation would then be over.

While pacing behind my car, waiting for my wife and enjoying the warm summer evening, the three teenagers returned to their car parked at the gasoline pump ahead of me.

“Good-bye, sir!” she shouted as she closed her car door before pulling away.

My back no longer hurt.

From Guest Contributor Gerald E. Greene

Vacation 2250

Still a little queasy, she stepped out of the ‘Beach Hut,’ glad the temporal capsule was not constrained to contemporary hygiene amenities.

Feeling vulnerable in her figure-hugging woollen tank suit – despite built-in modesty shorts – she moved to the water’s edge and marvelled at the carefree gambolling of the beachgoers: naive inhabitants of the Interwar Era, taking time off from the trials of the Great Depression.

Her ocular bioscan implant picked him out from the crowd: Tommy.

She grinned at the one-piece swimsuit her great-grandfather wore.

Translucent seawater free of corrosive algae was an emotional revelation.

She hadn’t expected to cry.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Each Other's Company

Barbara and Dave fought more on vacation, and much more intensely, than any other time in their marriage.

"I wish you'd just shut up about it," Barbara finally shouted.

"As soon as you admit that this time it wasn't my fault," Dave countered.

"Okay, it's not your fault. Are you happy now?"

"Yes." Having gained her absolution, Dave stopped bickering and turned away.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. They just bobbed quietly in the water, wishing the other one wasn't there. It would have been better to die alone than to endure each other's company a moment longer.

This is a 101-word story I wrote for 101 Words. You should check out their site.