And the Editors’ Choice Is… “Pyre to the Fallen” by DeRicki Johnson Congratulations to DeRicki for winning a copy of Scrivener! I wish I could buy everyone a copy because it rocks! Featured Stories The following stories made the short list and have been put into our Featured Stories category. They are listed in no…
Writing Contest - Issue 3
Below you will find all stories that were submitted for this contest.
Recital
By Krystyna Fedosejevs
“Don’t drag those lower notes,” the teacher said. “Let your music lift.” My mood was far from lifting. I entered the auditorium, glanced at the chattering audience. Heart racing. Body trembling. He said he’d be here. Didn’t see him. Probably took to the bottle—again. Fellow high school students sitting with me glowed in confidence. Our…
Waters of Reflection
By Phynne Belle
As the flood carved its frenzied path through unwonted crevices, it remained as mindful of its purpose as it was fretful of its terrible reputation. Catastrophe. Destroyer. Are eons-rich of being among Mother Nature’s black sheep remotely rectifiable? Surely intent, good—however overshadowed—far outweighed weighty, ill repute? The waters parted company, bidding each other farewell. Some…
The Plumber
By Rebecca Goldthorpe
She thought things came in threes, but had been proven wrong today. Lottie had pushed the boat out this time. Phil, was The One and she felt confident. She’d worn her nightdress inside out for a whole week. Rubbed the headboard with lemon peel. Placed herbs in her shoes and daisies under her pillow for…
My Name
By Mary Mack
My mother didn’t like me. With girls you pay as you go, every day there is some sort of drama, but with boys you pay all at once. Boys tend to go with the flow of everyday living until you get a call from the police because little Johnny has stolen a car. Too bad…
Santa Workshop
By N.O.A. Rawle
“I know your face!” Even with his scant grasp of the dialect, Bill had understood. Ruminating, he touched his snowy white beard. “Tough first time, eh? And with a runner.” placated NGO veteran Olaf, who had led the factory raid. “We will find the kid—he will get a better life.” Lowering half-moon spectacles, Bill cursed…
The Swanson
By Tom Leins
The night air is hot and thick. The Swanson smells so bad it would probably take a fire to destroy the stink completely. The desk-jockey is a junkie. Both his eye-sockets were fractured as a child, giving him a sunken, haunted expression. “Which room?” He passes me the key, nervously. It’s the honeymoon suite. I…