You don't need anyone's permission. You don't need to wait for approval. You don't need to run this by your boss or your parents or your spouse. Forget it all and just Go Ahead And Live. The new issue of 50 to 1 showcases the work of Gay Degani, Krista Bunskoek, Samantha Hall, Cat Landgraf, C. Jak Mussington, Cathy Eaton and Joseph S. Pete.
Paul can't say he's ever been a big fan of pina coladas, nor does he enjoy getting caught in the rain (I'm looking at you, Irene).
So It Is With Mothers by Gay Degani
She hates the ruby ring he gave her, preferring her baubles set with garnets, her pianos upright, her meals in the company of TV crime. She ignores messages from her ambitious Wall Street son complaining of insomnia, but in the midnight dark, she remembers their trailer park days, and calls.
Gay Degani's stories can be read at Metazen, LITnIMAGE, Night Train, and Corium among other venues. Nominated for a Pushcart, she edits EDF’s Flash Fiction Chronicles, blogs at Words in Place, and works as a staff editor at SmokeLong Quarterly.
She hates the ruby ring he gave her, preferring her baubles set with garnets, her pianos upright, her meals in the company of TV crime. She ignores messages from her ambitious Wall Street son complaining of insomnia, but in the midnight dark, she remembers their trailer park days, and calls.
Gay Degani's stories can be read at Metazen, LITnIMAGE, Night Train, and Corium among other venues. Nominated for a Pushcart, she edits EDF’s Flash Fiction Chronicles, blogs at Words in Place, and works as a staff editor at SmokeLong Quarterly.
Workin' Everywhere by Krista Bunskoek
I watched the busy suits striding purposefully, without eye contact, and yet no body contact, on their way to work in the city this morning.
I watched the busy worker ants scurrying in alignment along their two-way routes, and yet no accidents, accomplishing their business on my deck this morning.
Krista Bunskoek, working from home, enjoys her newly found flash hobby. She's also appeared in 365 Tomorrows.
I watched the busy suits striding purposefully, without eye contact, and yet no body contact, on their way to work in the city this morning.
I watched the busy worker ants scurrying in alignment along their two-way routes, and yet no accidents, accomplishing their business on my deck this morning.
Krista Bunskoek, working from home, enjoys her newly found flash hobby. She's also appeared in 365 Tomorrows.
A Hospice Without Windows by Samantha Hall
Mark a human’s passage from day to night with an absence of light. Take initiative, and make the decision to imitate celestial bodies. Become a God. Before Death does his only work, ask yourself: is pretense good enough? Your job depends on your ability to switch between nightlights and overhead.
Samantha Hall currently studies at Ohio University, where she goes out often but writes more. She hopes someday to put her trivial knowledge to work and win an episode of Jeopardy! She’d like you to visit her blog at http://sammihall.wordpress.com/.
Mark a human’s passage from day to night with an absence of light. Take initiative, and make the decision to imitate celestial bodies. Become a God. Before Death does his only work, ask yourself: is pretense good enough? Your job depends on your ability to switch between nightlights and overhead.
Samantha Hall currently studies at Ohio University, where she goes out often but writes more. She hopes someday to put her trivial knowledge to work and win an episode of Jeopardy! She’d like you to visit her blog at http://sammihall.wordpress.com/.
Happy Hour by Cat Landgraf
He was a hilarious drunk, best known for telling dirty limericks at inappropriate times. Nothing like those angry alcoholics who got violent, or drove cars into trees, or worse. But that didn’t make the news any happier when his family learned he’d finally drunk himself to death.
Cat Landgraf lives and writes in St. Louis and received her journalism degree from the University of Missouri. Her short fiction first appeared in the school’s literary magazine, but her advertising copy appeared regularly in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, where it was run over in driveways everywhere. Thump. Thump.
He was a hilarious drunk, best known for telling dirty limericks at inappropriate times. Nothing like those angry alcoholics who got violent, or drove cars into trees, or worse. But that didn’t make the news any happier when his family learned he’d finally drunk himself to death.
Cat Landgraf lives and writes in St. Louis and received her journalism degree from the University of Missouri. Her short fiction first appeared in the school’s literary magazine, but her advertising copy appeared regularly in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, where it was run over in driveways everywhere. Thump. Thump.
Hello, Again by C. Jak Mussington
I masturbate to strangers walking down the street. All of them have your face. I started saying, “hello” to anyone. I'm desperate. Some say, “goodbye.” Some kind of listen, twirl their hair. I'll have sex. I'll tell them to call me. They’ll leave. I’ll open the shades. I’ll masturbate again.
C. Jak Mussington lives in Inje, Gangwon-do, South Korea. She is forthcoming or published in Nap, Negative Suck, The Delinquent, Metazen Magazine, Yes, Poetry and New Wave Vomit. She doodles at: http://littleuglydoodles.blogspot.com
I masturbate to strangers walking down the street. All of them have your face. I started saying, “hello” to anyone. I'm desperate. Some say, “goodbye.” Some kind of listen, twirl their hair. I'll have sex. I'll tell them to call me. They’ll leave. I’ll open the shades. I’ll masturbate again.
C. Jak Mussington lives in Inje, Gangwon-do, South Korea. She is forthcoming or published in Nap, Negative Suck, The Delinquent, Metazen Magazine, Yes, Poetry and New Wave Vomit. She doodles at: http://littleuglydoodles.blogspot.com
Kitchen Secret by Cathy Eaton
From the fridge, I harvested strawberries: the taste of summer that mom wouldn’t experience again.
My niece giggled. “We hid the cake.”
After mixing berries and Ensure into a crystal glass, I set a rosebud on the tray.
My birthday hadn’t been swept away in the heaviness of Mom’s cancer.
Cathy Eaton has taught fiction writing at NHTI – Concord’s Community College for eighteen years. Following her post-grad work at Breadloaf School of English at Middlebury College, she spent her recent sabbatical writing fiction.
From the fridge, I harvested strawberries: the taste of summer that mom wouldn’t experience again.
My niece giggled. “We hid the cake.”
After mixing berries and Ensure into a crystal glass, I set a rosebud on the tray.
My birthday hadn’t been swept away in the heaviness of Mom’s cancer.
Cathy Eaton has taught fiction writing at NHTI – Concord’s Community College for eighteen years. Following her post-grad work at Breadloaf School of English at Middlebury College, she spent her recent sabbatical writing fiction.
A Fistful of Tickets at the Church Parking Lot by Joseph S. Pete
At the carnival midway, he braved the beaucoup of g-forces on the Zipper, a bludgeon-like turkey leg and the hope-snuffing odds of the shooting gallery. He had thought daredevilry would render her pliant to his touch, but thoughts were as reliable as a parking lot made magic once a year.
Joseph S. Pete is a journalist, combat veteran and connoisseur of fine things, like White Castle sliders and mead. He knows enough of the German language to say hello.
At the carnival midway, he braved the beaucoup of g-forces on the Zipper, a bludgeon-like turkey leg and the hope-snuffing odds of the shooting gallery. He had thought daredevilry would render her pliant to his touch, but thoughts were as reliable as a parking lot made magic once a year.
Joseph S. Pete is a journalist, combat veteran and connoisseur of fine things, like White Castle sliders and mead. He knows enough of the German language to say hello.