For Duard, his dog Rocky was his life’s purpose. Two-hour walks in the park were as common as sharing corn flakes at breakfast. When an inattentive woman and her Cadillac hit the big dog and the old man, all four of them – both people, the dog and the car – were badly damaged.

Duard recovered first but sorely missed his comfortable and companionable walks with Rocky. After 12 days without any progress, Duard put Rocky down. He never forgave himself even though none of it was his fault. As for the causative woman and her Cadillac, the story isn’t about them.

From Guest Contributor Gip Plaster

Gip is a Texas web content writer who experiments with microfiction. He is the creator of 17WordStories.com.

The bold lion hunts searching for prey. In the distance it spots a striped zebra, and slowly makes its move. The zebra is unaware of the lion’s approach and continues chewing grass. Now the lion hauls its front legs forward and jumps midair landing on top of the zebra. The zebra howls in fear too frightened and not strong enough to fend off the fearless lion. The struggle is short lived as the lion bites the zebra’s neck, killing it instantly. As the deceased animal lays limp the lion devours it, content.

The courageous animal forages the fields once again.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

They say my garden is wild, Platero, as is my hair – Martha would be ashamed if she saw this garden.
Don’t they know this garden is an ode to Martha?

That’s why this garden is an ode to Martha: because I’m lost without her and not just in the garden.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

Good evening, miss, you’re looking lovely tonight. Miss? Do wait up. I meant no offense! Now I just wanted to bid you a good night but – swat! Hey now, there is no reason to strike with such malice, now is there? I don’t mean to drool, but your skin tonight is so pale, so smooth, so inviting… I’m just the slightest bit peckish. You wouldn’t mind if I had a taste? A sip? Pints and pints you have, an abundance. Surely you wouldn’t mind if I took your hand in mine, and gave it a pinch of a kiss – smack!

From Guest Contributor Skyler Bath

Elethea needs rest—there is no peace—looking for a place to hide, she’s found it. A good deal of space inside the umbrella, so she lay there with her face turned up towards the light. She cannot help but dream as she admires the firefly-lit lantern from the lamppost on the corner. Above all others, it is virtuous in golden light. Down, down, down into the darkness of the silken parasol. So gently it goes as she settles in her bitter bed. Several people walk by, uninterested in her. None of them bother to look in through the silk.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Sounds become muffled. All she hears is an echo bouncing off the walls. For an infinitesimal moment her soul levitates, detaching from the present. She looks at the doctor’s face as words grow inaudible. A silent scream explodes from her lungs into an invisible body spasm. A voice in her head continues unrestrained: ‘She’ll be alone” but her mind allows her to compose herself as she kisses minuscule freckles on her daughter’s face. As chubby little fingers wipe off her tears, she peers into the eyes of Innocence, so intrinsic, untainted.

The headstone inscribes: ‘RIP Innocence. Your life starts anew.’

From Guest Contributor Andrea Damic

Amateur photographer and author of micro and flash fiction, Andrea Damic, born in Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina, lives in Sydney, Australia. Her words have been published or are forthcoming in 50-Word Stories, Friday Flash Fiction, Microfiction Monday Magazine, Paragraph Planet, 100 Word Project & TDDR with her art featuring or forthcoming in Rejection Letters, Door Is A Jar Magazine, and Fusion Art’s Exhibitions. One day she hopes to finish and publish her novel. You can find her on TW @DamicAndrea, Facebook or Instagram.

scowling, baldwin grabbed the welcome-to-9 birthday card from the tv compartment. birthdays? useless! he thought. aren’t birthdays for children whom god gave little time and had to celebrate their short lives. just like my twinnie.

—he’s my twin. he wanna live, too!

From Guest Contributor Elisha Oluyemi

The car is in park, with the air-conditioner cranked. I finish my ice-cold soda, and would like another, but I’m not leaving this spot. It’s broad daylight and people are walking to work or taking their kids to school. I can’t wait until this is over so I can go home and get some much-needed sleep. A cold beer and cool shower will do nicely too.

My payment awaits.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher