Leon sat across the kitchen table, gulping down instant coffee and looking everywhere but at Jaclyn. He was late for work, again, and spoke of nothing else. The toaster pinged and he bustled away.

Now she felt that if she turned the jar upside down and shook it, there might be a few crumbs in there. But it would be too much effort for too little return.

From Guest Contributor Ross Clement

The sweaty man standing behind the microphone had been a pop star of some renown once upon a time, many years ago. Everyone in the room, even those paying more attention to their drinks than the immolation occurring in the corner of the hazy bar, could tell the man had the voice of an angel. One or two heads turned, thinking the man sounded somehow familiar even though they couldn’t quite place him. A woman, half drunk, nodded a buzzed nod and winked at the man, who barely noticed her, so focused was he on finishing this one last song.

From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten

My eccentric aunt sits in front of a stack of approximately one hundred Christmas cards, freshly signed, sealed and stamped.

Is there any point in explaining they will become part of the greater mass once dropped through the chute at the Central Post Office?

From Guest Contributor Barry O’Farrell

Barry is an actor who sometimes writes, living in Brisbane, Australia. Barry’s stories can be found at Cyclamens & Swords, 101 Words, The Flash Fiction Press and here at A Story In 100 Words. One of Barry’s stories was runner up in the recent Arts Alliance competition.

It wasn’t that butterflies were particularly speedy and – let’s face it – they do a lot of pit stops for nectar. Sean just couldn’t keep up because the path was so uneven of ground and full of over-tactile briars. He just couldn’t keep up.

Sean detached himself, headed to the drinks table and ordered a double Jameson. She could drive home.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Jasper Bains had not meant to invent a love potion. He had an excess of macadamia nuts and fresh tarragon; it seemed a good idea to make pesto from them.

Jasper’s heart skipped a beat when Genevieve walked in, but he hid the pesto. That would be cheating.

From Guest Contributor Ross Clement

I’m ten, too old to sit on Santa’s lap. Tell my parents. Please, someone?

“You’re forgiven, son,” he replied. “The greatest gift is love. You already have that.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.

There once was a girl and she was blue. Everything she saw, thought, and felt was blue. She thought of pink, green and purple, but no luck. Everything was still blue. She thought of how much better things would be in a different color; brighter, warmer, easier. She kept thinking she should change, so that the blue would disappear. She would imagine vibrant turquoise and even bright whites. Then one day she took the plunge. She followed the light; the hope. She walked as far as she could walk. Then she floated. Now things are red. So very, very red.

From Guest Contributor Maureen Ferguson

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! We’re taking a short break for the holidays, but I would like to share a story of mine that just got published in Loreli. A Woodpecker is a story about my time living in Beijing. A warning: it’s not flash fiction, but a full-on short story, more than 6,000 words.

That is all.

When the man entered the Golden Elixir, he was the only patron. The name was for both the establishment and the only drink it served.

The man immediately died.