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Latest Stories

June 04, 2025
General Stories Dylan James Harper

The Bylaws Of The Revolutionary Council

A loud clang rang through the bunker as the door slammed shut. “I really think we have a chance to win this thing!” Greg’s voice echoed throughout the cold walls. The three other inhabitants of the bunker, Jeff, Ben, and Malcolm, all sat around a table…
June 04, 2025
General Stories Michael Barlett

Resurrection

The man lay there in extremis, no longer thinking of cool abstracts like ‘catching the last train for the coast.’ He gulped great rasping breaths – holding them impossibly long – before finally exhaling in a shuttering burst of putrid air. He had been…
June 04, 2025
Flash Fiction Benoit

Time Warp

Nothing was in order, nothing optimal. Germany was awash with refugees and adventurers. Only Angie could hold it together; but then she opened the gates! Who knows why? Other politicians were dinosaurs in the museum. Integration was the solution, was it? That…
June 04, 2025
Fantasy Stories M.D. Smith

Car Of Dreams

Randy Jenkins, age sixty, lived the kind of life people don’t write stories about. He sold office supplies out of a small showroom in the back corner of a strip mall just outside Corpus Christi. He wore beige. Ate microwave dinners. And spent more time…
June 04, 2025
Science Fiction Stories David Rich

Earth Forever

With an exhale, Damerae unclipped a lint-free cloth from his desk, snatched it from the air, and wiped his glasses. He preferred staying hidden in his cozy interior office in the bowels of Orbital Counterweight Station of the International Space Elevator. But…
June 04, 2025
Flash Fiction George Vu

A Stolen Kiss A Beautiful Dream

It had been a long, exhausting day for her – a blur of endless tasks and demands. Yet, despite it all, she had fought for a moment to be with him. Stealing time from the world around her, she walked into the room quietly, hoping to surprise him. After a few…
June 04, 2025
Flash Fiction Benoit

Cow Bells

Based on actual incidents. Swiss Cabinet meeting, 15 March 1943 The American Ambassador has no comment, no explanation. We can expel the Ambassador in protest. I prefer he remains here under close surveillance. The bombing yesterday was of nuisance value; it…
June 04, 2025
Poetry Markus J

Signed To The Message

do your bit for king and country. are you a coward? or are you brave? so now is the time to sacrifice you don`t want to let your mates down it`s a kinship of the soul you know that’s the Australian way it was the message that was kept being sold so they…
June 04, 2025
General Stories Michael Barlett

On The Rebound

I was sitting in a bar knocking back my third Jack Daniels, when a drop-dead gorgeous blonde walked in. As she paused, surveying the room, I raised my glass in a complimentary salute. It was a ‘Hail Mary’ move, and I could hardly believe it when she came…
June 04, 2025
Science Fiction Stories M.D. Smith

Unplanned Landing

Red lights pulsed. Sirens howled. “Alert. Navigation failure. Proximity alert. Impact in thirty seconds.” Captain Mara Voss shot upright in her cryo-pod, lungs gasping like a drowning swimmer. Across the chamber, the rest of the crew jerked awake, groggy and…
June 04, 2025
Poetry Markus J

Marching To The Same Beat

an angel stands under a lonely pine showing the way to the lost souls the ones who innocently answered the king’s call and now flags fly half mast for those that no-more stand buried in some far off foreign land the pipes call out to the brave and the angel…
April 29, 2025
Fantasy Stories Chris Turner-Neal

The Gorgon’s Climb

I am the only one of us who calls it rape. Stheno, when she must mention it, says “our bad luck;” Medusa shrugs and says “gods don’t have to ask.” And I say but they should and she says but they don’t and Stheno says this attitude doesn’t help, and she’s…

Humming along to Brenda Lee's "Jingle Bell Rock," I'm almost ready to leave for my follow-up appointment with Dr. P. Perr, my optometrist. I'm not sure what the P. stands for, but it could be Petunia for all I care. Not exactly tall, dark or handsome, he is, however, a doctor. My friend Gertie's told me for years that I should snag myself a well-to-do man; she never said he had to be handsome. So what if this one's short, fair and as far south of handsome as one can travel without booking a flight? Professional men hob knob with the higher-classed crowd, you know. And since Nancy, Dr. P's assistant, told me he's headed down the divorce trail, there's hope for me yet.

I wanted to make myself so darned gorgeous, he'd have little choice but to forget his wife, old what's her name, and notice me. So after my shower, I sat at the vanity table and gazed into the mirror. I frowned (well, I could have sworn I did, but my expression didn't change; those Botox injections I got yesterday really work!). What was that jutting from my left cheek? On closer inspection, I saw that not only was it hair, but the three "tresses" were long enough to put Rapunzel in a snit! Wasn't it just yesterday that I visited Mimi, my electrolysist? The woman must be visually impaired. Was I expected to French braid the monstrosities and fashion them into a makeshift bun then walk around looking like Princess Leia after a rough night on the town?

Aquamarine Post-It-Note to self: Add Mimi to Christmas list. Purchase a seeing-eye dog and Braille instructions.

It was time to put in my new gray contact lenses. I chose that color in honor of Dr. P., who wore a tie that very shade the last time I saw him. Lenses inserted, I wiped away the automatic tears and looked at my reflection. I shrieked so loudly that the cat shot straight up off my bed, most likely losing one of her remaining seven lives in the process. Now I ask you, would I have bought the darned contacts if I'd known I'd look like that cat in "Pet Semetary?"

After my initial disappointment in the new look, I applied moisturizer (along with several helpings of wrinkle repellant – a gal can't be too careful, you know), foundation, blush and eye makeup. I looked at the results and know darned well I frowned again because my eyelashes looked stunted. I decided to use the new heat-seeking eyelash curler that Trina, my Acme Beauty Representative, delivered Monday. Battery-operated, it didn't take long to get nice and warm. Ok, really warm, but who can go wrong with an Acme product, right?

I followed the instructions verbatim, and my left eyelash looked cute and perky, just as I'd hoped. I repeated the steps on my other lashes, but my arm grew tired from holding the gizmo. Consequently, I guess I must have relaxed my fingers a tad. Big mistake. I'm not sure whether I felt the searing heat first or smelled the scorched skin. At any rate, I now sport crescent-shaped, Acme-induced scar tissue a quarter of an inch below my right eyebrow. I look as if God hiccupped when He created me.

Lime Green Neon Post-It-Note to self: Christmas for Trina – a "like new" Acme Eyelash Curler, Neosporin and Band Aids.

Next I tackled my hair. Yesterday afternoon, I videotaped Maggie, my hairdresser, so I was confident I could repeat what she did with the curling iron. Halfway into the process, my hair got caught in the heated brush; apparently I'd wound it a bit tight and none too smoothly. How come hairdressers make it look so easy? I tugged, pleaded, pulled. Finally the curling iron released my captive hair and I let out a relief-filled sigh. But I should never have looked down at the appliance. Gobs of my mane were wrapped around the barrel! I let out a war whoop that would make Custer's knees buckle. My eyes crept to the mirror. I almost fell off my vanity chair – there were more curls in the curling iron than in the forefront of my head! If a gaping bald spot didn't get my mirror-carrying membership to Egos Anonymous revoked, I hated to see what would. I wondered if there was a twelve-step program to help me through the ordeal. I spent the next twenty minutes in an attempt to sweep what's left of my hair over the gap. I ended up looking like Mortie the grocer!

Hot Pink Post-It-Note to self: The heck with Christmas – courier Maggie an anonymous, hair-encrusted curling iron today!

Resisting the urge to open my Prozac and down the contents, I slipped into black slacks and buttoned into a new hot pink blouse I bought yesterday. Pink, black and white earrings completed the ensemble. At least they did yesterday! A few minutes ago, I thought maybe if I tied a white scarf around my head it would cover the bald crater, as well as blend with the outfit. Apparently thinking isn’t my forte.

I'm finished tying the scarf now, but a glance at my watch tells me I've got to hustle – no time to review the damage in my mirror. I slip into black Prada’s and am finally ready to go. Before I head out the door, I grab my purse, unable to resist one last look in the full-length mirror in the foyer. My jaw drops. Staring back at me is a de-haired, Star Wars-cheeked, dead-cat-eyed woman dressed like a giant box of Good & Plenty!

Chin aquiver, I pull my cell phone from my purse. "Hello, Nancy? It's Barb. Yes, Happy Holidays to you, too, Hon. Listen, I can't make this afternoon's appointment.” I repeat Nancy's question about when I can reschedule. Then, mouth tight, injected forehead impassive, and vision fixed on the cue ball of a forehead peeking out from under my scarf, I dab at my creepy looking eyes and say, "Um … I'm thinking maybe late July."

April Winters hopes to help people forget their troubles through her stories, even if it’s only for a little while. Her other works can be read at The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Linguistic Erosion, The Short Humour Site, The Story Shack, and here at Short-Story.Me.

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