Worthing Flash

At the kiosk, you stand in front of the vendor’s hive of sweets. From a certain angle, the vendor himself looks like a cone of spun sugar on a spindle of legs. Edible. In the honeycombs of his display, there are pounds and inches wherever there is greed and gluttony, so don’t be surprised when a twirl of pink floss escapes its funnel, floating like a kite into the clouds, and the vendor wonders what it will cost to break your resolve. You stick out your tongue to catch a skyfall of sugar you won’t have to pay him for.  bio Cheryl Snell ’s books include several poetry collections and the novels of her Bombay Trilogy. Her m ost recent writing has appeared in Does It Have Pockets? Switch,Your Impossible Voice, and others. Her work has also appeared in several anthologies including a Best of the Net. She has been nominated for Pushcart, Best Small Fictions, and BOTN awards. A classical pianist, she lives in Maryland.    

by Garry Engkent Once upon a time, 1923, a young immigrant grumbled about the snow, so much of it. Jack Frost overheard and said: “If you don’t like it here, you can go back where you belong.” Twice upon a time, 2001, an immigrant’s child complained about the snow, piles and piles of it. Santa Claus and his elves overheard and said: “If you don’t like it, go back where you belong.” Thrice upon a time, 2032, a senior Asian citizen from an immigrant family moaned about shoveling the mounds of snow. A white neighbour overheard and said: “Go back where you belong!”   Garry Engkent is Chinese-Canadian. Has a Ph.D. , taught at various universities and colleges--now, retired.  Co-authored three college writing texts. Currently, pounds out short stories. Most have a Chinese immigrant slant, c. 1950-70s, e.g. “Why My Mother Can’t Speak English.”  And dabbles in the SF/ horror genre, e.g. “Immigrant Vampire.”  

Looking Into The Future by William Kitcher I created an app for my phone that takes a photo of what people will look like in fifty years. People said it was cute, but also disturbing, and they thought it was a trick. When I saw my friends fifty years later, I was old. So were they. I maintained better than they did because I already understood what I was going to look like. They looked much older and kind of scared because they’d seen the future, didn’t believe it, came to understand it was real, and didn’t like what they had been or had become.

He looked down towards the fish and realised that he hadn’t had a bite all day. Still only another thirty minutes and he could go home. He gently moved his arm back and forth, back and forth, watching the endless ripples circle ever outwards. At last he swung his arm upwards, and hoisting a fish aloft, he shook it and watched the drips gently cascade down into the dark pool beneath. He placed the fish neatly on some paper and looked at the woman standing in front of him. "Any salt and vinegar on the chips madam"?  Don McBeth  

Originally published in https://fiftywordstories.com/2023/12/27/derek-mcmillan-childcare/ Tom was a very badly behaved lad. Dick was frankly a demon. Their parents were careful to keep quiet when they were in the cradle. Harry’s parents were forever playing their Rod Stewart records. He was a very well-balanced child. Perhaps if you spare the Rod you spoil the child. Derek McMillan is a writer in Durringon in the UK. His editor is his wife, Angela. He has written for print and online publications in the UK, USA and Canada. His latest work is the cheerfully- entitled audio-book "Murder from Beyond the Grave" which is available on eBay. Check it out. Click Here