Stop! You there STOP! Shouted the policeman.

Too Bad boy!

From Guest Contributor Philip Diehl

It was Christmas. I saw a 7- or 8-year-old boy wearing a man’s overcoat that covered him from neck to toe. The sleeves of the coat were cut short haphazardly to match the boy’s arm length. I went to the nearby shop. As I had a son of the same age, I knew the size. I bought a nice pair of clothes, with a matching overcoat. Wearing Santa’s hat, I went back and gave new clothes to the boy. The unexpected joy on his face thrilled me. Unplanned charity brings a strange sense of contentment that money can never buy.

From Guest Contributor Thriveni C. Mysore.

Suddenly, the company in California I’ve been negotiating with is ready to sign.

“Sir, you have no idea how glad.”

From Guest Contributor Barry O’Farrell

Other stories by Barry O’Farrell have been published by Cyclamens and Swords and 50 Word Stories, even though he is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia.

“What’s this old vinyl record,” I call to Dad.

“Yes. After dinner with a bottle of good red wine, that was the record your Mother played…well, you know how these things end. You were conceived…seminal.”

From Guest Contributor Barry O’Farrell

Barry is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia. The acting experience has inspired a latent desire to write. Barry is enjoying the challenge of writing in 100 words.

The blood of the homeless worked nicely. I was able to refine the unimaginably gruesome ritual and it worked, I stopped aging! I am writing this to repent for my sins and to warn others. Now the only life I will take is my own, to ensure that the minute details of the sickening ceremony die with me. Always remember that one virtuous short life is worth more than a hundred long lives of evil like the one I have lived. I now say goodbye to the world I have known longer than anyone else in the history of man.

From Guest Contributor Kevin Pentalow

Fact: an atomic bomb was detonated 8.4 km from where Wally Kazinsky was repairing the toilet in a decent brothel. The brick house shivered violently from the blast, a few windows shattered. There’d been talk of an attack, and Wally considered the possibility. He grabbed his glass of scotch before he went to look out the window. His legs were wobbly. Maybe nervous, but definitely drunk.

People were crying, hurt, bleeding. Fuck. They were probably already bathed in radiation. Wally was dizzy but lucid enough. Time for emergency measures. He found his hammer, and headed to the corner liquor store.

From Guest Contributor Wil Wang

It was a game. Sean and Phil followed the hunchback along the Northland Road on a gloomy October evening. It was something to occupy them. They were slight ten-year-olds, so although the eight-foot wall to their left hampered their manoeuvring, they were able to find cover behind the electric junction boxes, bus tops, and lampposts each time the figure in the long coat and brimmed hat made to turn.

Flushed with excitement at their successful shadowing, the hearts of the play-spies stopped when he tipped his Fedora, and skipped over the wall into the asylum; clipping stone with his hooves.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

He waves from across the street, leaving, working nights again. Smiling, I return his wave. She watches him from the doorway, my gaze goes unnoticed.

Sure, I’ll keep an eye on the place while you’re on graveyard shift. My pleasure.

From Guest Contributor Mirshaan.

Mirshaan has a BFA in Education. He loves words.

The Winchester Model ‘87 tore the first moon man in half at close quarters. The ancient shotgun had been a family heirloom and, legend had it, was successfully utilized in a bank robbery fifty some odd years ago down Tucson way. The relic still packed a powerful punch, as the bloody remains of the unwelcome visitor attested to.

Old man Glanton took another space critter down before what survived of their small party escaped in a silvery flying disc. Glanton spat tobacco into the dust and reckoned he’d better put on some fresh coffee before Bobby returned with the horses.

From Guest Contributor, Horrorshow

It was agreed I would be home schooled, with my Mother as the teacher.

That’s how I flunked home school.

From Guest Contributor Barry O’Farrell

Barry is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia. The acting experience has inspired a latent desire to write. Barry is enjoying the challenge of writing in 100 words.