This brand new issue of 50 to 1, All The Way Home, has absolutely nothing to do with childhood games or little piggies (very sorry to disappoint) but it does have a lot to do with fantastic writing. This issue showcases Robert Vaughan, Kelly Whitley, Philip Tinkler, Matthew Dexter, William D. Hicks, C.S. Roberts and Helen Begley.
Paul is dazed and confused, and not the funny, high-school-movie-from-1993 kind.
Rejection by Robert Vaughan
They listened to Everything But the Girl in her tiny room tucked beneath the staircase. When he tried to kiss her, she ran to the bathroom to throw up. Alone in her room he prayed aloud before he swallowed the entire bottle of Nembutal.
Robert Vaughan’s plays have been produced in N.Y.C., L.A., S.F., and Milwaukee where he resides. He leads two writing roundtables for Redbird- Redoak Studio. His prose and poetry is published in over 125 literary journals such as Elimae, BlazeVOX, and A-Minor. He is a fiction editor at JMWW magazine, and Thunderclap! Press. Also hosts Flash Fiction Fridays for WUWM’s Lake Effect. His blog: http://rgv7735.wordpress.com.
They listened to Everything But the Girl in her tiny room tucked beneath the staircase. When he tried to kiss her, she ran to the bathroom to throw up. Alone in her room he prayed aloud before he swallowed the entire bottle of Nembutal.
Robert Vaughan’s plays have been produced in N.Y.C., L.A., S.F., and Milwaukee where he resides. He leads two writing roundtables for Redbird- Redoak Studio. His prose and poetry is published in over 125 literary journals such as Elimae, BlazeVOX, and A-Minor. He is a fiction editor at JMWW magazine, and Thunderclap! Press. Also hosts Flash Fiction Fridays for WUWM’s Lake Effect. His blog: http://rgv7735.wordpress.com.
Anticipation by Kelly Whitley
Moira sat at the diner counter, nursing a stale donut, a bottomless cup of coffee and a black eye.
The cops would find Rex soon enough and her soon thereafter.
She picked at spatters of his blood on the pink field of her dress.
Might as well have another cup.
Kelly Whitley has been writing long pieces for years, and enjoys the art of flash.
Moira sat at the diner counter, nursing a stale donut, a bottomless cup of coffee and a black eye.
The cops would find Rex soon enough and her soon thereafter.
She picked at spatters of his blood on the pink field of her dress.
Might as well have another cup.
Kelly Whitley has been writing long pieces for years, and enjoys the art of flash.
1st Line by Philip Tinkler
“Babies are just assholes waiting to happen.”
Philip Tinkler was born in the bucolic north of England. He has been published in the Mad Hatters' Review, Skive Magazine, Red Fez, Word Riot, The Dream People, and Six Sentences, with work forthcoming in Full of Crow. He lives in NYC with his words and woman. More ramblings can be found at philiptinkler.com
“Babies are just assholes waiting to happen.”
Philip Tinkler was born in the bucolic north of England. He has been published in the Mad Hatters' Review, Skive Magazine, Red Fez, Word Riot, The Dream People, and Six Sentences, with work forthcoming in Full of Crow. He lives in NYC with his words and woman. More ramblings can be found at philiptinkler.com
Four-Way by Matthew Dexter
Intersection traffic arrives as you can see the eyes and lines on their faces even, odd expressions equals one split second where we make ineffable love, you: female behind dark glasses? Can you see me as you disappear, veering into madness and sadness like teardrops as the windshield wipers weep?
Matthew Dexter lives in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. He can be found here: MatthewBDexter.wordpress.com
Intersection traffic arrives as you can see the eyes and lines on their faces even, odd expressions equals one split second where we make ineffable love, you: female behind dark glasses? Can you see me as you disappear, veering into madness and sadness like teardrops as the windshield wipers weep?
Matthew Dexter lives in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. He can be found here: MatthewBDexter.wordpress.com
1st Line by William D. Hicks
I stared at the window and screamed “Don’t jump” before I realized it was me who was about to kiss the ground.
William D. Hicks lives in Chicago by himself (any offers?). Contrary to popular belief, he is not related to the famous comedian Bill Hicks (though he’s just as funny in his own right). Hicks will someday publish his memoirs, but they will be about Bill Hicks’ life. His poetry appears in LITSNACK, Cannoli Pie, Outburst, The Legendary, Horizon (Canada), The Short Humour Site (UK), The Four Cornered Universe, Save the Last Stall for Me and Mosaic.
I stared at the window and screamed “Don’t jump” before I realized it was me who was about to kiss the ground.
William D. Hicks lives in Chicago by himself (any offers?). Contrary to popular belief, he is not related to the famous comedian Bill Hicks (though he’s just as funny in his own right). Hicks will someday publish his memoirs, but they will be about Bill Hicks’ life. His poetry appears in LITSNACK, Cannoli Pie, Outburst, The Legendary, Horizon (Canada), The Short Humour Site (UK), The Four Cornered Universe, Save the Last Stall for Me and Mosaic.
Tomorrow Comes Today by C.S. Roberts
The barrel of the gun feels cold against my temple. I wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead. Like so many times before, my heart sinks in my boots. I lower the gun. Not today. There’s always tomorrow.
At thirty years of age, C.S. Roberts' midlife crisis is still ahead of him. He nevertheless has the urge to buy a ridiculously expensive car. Sometimes he tries, and sometimes successfully, to write something at csrobertsblog@blogspot.com.
The barrel of the gun feels cold against my temple. I wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead. Like so many times before, my heart sinks in my boots. I lower the gun. Not today. There’s always tomorrow.
At thirty years of age, C.S. Roberts' midlife crisis is still ahead of him. He nevertheless has the urge to buy a ridiculously expensive car. Sometimes he tries, and sometimes successfully, to write something at csrobertsblog@blogspot.com.
The Rest of the Afternoon by Helen Begley
We’re no longer children. Our parents don’t invite pedophiles to Christmas lunch anymore. Now, we pretend that my brother isn’t stoned as he nods off in my father's chair. After we’ve phoned my sister in Vermont, we eat our turkey and pudding, then sleep the rest of the afternoon away.
Helen Begley is a Melbourne song writer and musician who likes to have a crack at writing just about anything; albums, poems, stories, blogs, scripts, reviews, emails, phone numbers. She has a B.A. from Latrobe University in Music and English. She teaches songwriting, guitar, and ukulele. Her favourite food is cake.
We’re no longer children. Our parents don’t invite pedophiles to Christmas lunch anymore. Now, we pretend that my brother isn’t stoned as he nods off in my father's chair. After we’ve phoned my sister in Vermont, we eat our turkey and pudding, then sleep the rest of the afternoon away.
Helen Begley is a Melbourne song writer and musician who likes to have a crack at writing just about anything; albums, poems, stories, blogs, scripts, reviews, emails, phone numbers. She has a B.A. from Latrobe University in Music and English. She teaches songwriting, guitar, and ukulele. Her favourite food is cake.