Body At The Beach – By Christine A. Kirchoff
Micro Fiction / December 28, 2008

*Winner of the SSL Writer’s Forum – Micro Fiction Writing Prompt* The long walk through the park was serene. Coming upon the beach at the bay was even better. I sat for hours at a time here. Watched the waves crash, the boats sail by, my book seemed to always be forgotten and left as I watched the sights. Today however I stumbled across something a bit shocking. A dead body lay in the sand. The blue lips of a beautiful woman that once sprinted upon this earth. Now she was merely fish food or crab food. It was grotesque to be so awed and continue to stare. Then I realized that face belong to someone I knew, my ex wife. Well now, wasn’t this interesting. She was making my life hell and here she is, just corroding away. I left the beach with a skip in my walk. The shirt off revealed my tanned body and hid the slight stain. She always did know how to ruin a shirt. Full of sand and slightly wet, I whistled. If she was ever found she’d be too hard to identify. Some fish bait tied to her and then out to sea….

Christmas Eve – By Andrew W.B. Smith
Micro Fiction / December 21, 2008

I’m in the top bunk because I’m the oldest and a boy. My sister sleeps in the bottom bunk because she’s a girl and a year younger than me. I’ve got a stone hot water bottle and push it to the bottom of the bed to warm my feet on. Mummy says I’ll get chillblains doing that. My sister hugs her rubber hot-water bottle. I turn over and pull the window curtain to one side. I can’t see out the window because of the frost flowers on the glass. I can’t see out the window.” I whisper. “Why not?” my sister whispered back. “Have a look.” I told her. We kneel on the edge of our beds. She scratches at the frost flowers with her fingernails. I can’t do that very well because I bite my nails. So I melt two holes in the frost and pretend they are binoculars. “What can you see?” asked my sister. “It’s snowing.” I answered “Is it!” “No. I’m only kidding.” I like teasing my little sister. “Has he been yet?” she asks me. I look down the bed at my empty stocking. “No.” “Do you think Rudolph will like the carrot we left…

The Cost of a Baby – By Yolande Pienaar
Micro Fiction / October 26, 2008

Jim walks down the long empty passage, the scent of antiseptics overwhelming in his nostrils. Number eight, number six. He glances down at the small card in his hand. Mrs. Robson is in room two. Three more to go. He walks past an open door and flicks his gaze inside. Four white hospital beds line the wall. A woman sits up, gasping for air while clutching a bundle to her ample chest. He forces his gaze forward. Number three. He is close now. At the next door he stops, listens. The wheels of a medicine cart screech on the tiled floor behind him. He looks at the card again. Yes, this is the right number. He extends his hand towards the door and pushes. The door swings open. Mary sits on the bed with her pink nightgown open to the waist, her blond hair a mass of curls. She pouts her lips in concentration. A tiny bundle lies on the bed in front of her. Her eyes are fixed on the movements of the small legs and arms. His entrance goes unnoticed. Jim’s chest swells. This is his boy. His beautiful, healthy, baby boy. He takes a step forward. Mary…

There’s Always Tomorrow – By Guy Cousins
Micro Fiction / August 3, 2008

So I guess I’m still alive, that’s the main thing. What is pain anyway? Surely no more than a state of mind – an internal reaction to an external action. I can handle this. I don’t have to say goodbye. You’re gone. Wiped. F*** off. But you don’t see my tears as I unfold your note and read it once more. You don’t see me sliding down the wall until I’m small in the corner, the note crumpled in my hand, your words breaking my heart. You don’t see me shaking. Words echo inside my head and shatter like glass. I hear only fragments. Your voice. I’m moving on. Your words not mine. I need some excitement. Is this thrilling enough for you? Why don’t you come and watch? I suck in air like a man who wants to live and yet inside I want to switch it off, close my eyes, empty my veins. No – I won’t do that. Not because I’m strong but because I don’t have the guts. We’ve had this discussion so many times, but you still haven’t changed. No, how can I? What were you expecting – a doll you could dress up and…

The Tramp – By Daryl Baldwin
Micro Fiction / July 20, 2008

Bill looked like a circus clown; walking with a short stoop and slow shuffle in those oversize shoes made children laugh. Layers of clothes and the Columbo style coat hid his small frame from the world. I remember the first time I ever saw him. I came out of school; running to the gate where my mum stood waiting. It was a ritual to go straight to the sweetshop for a quarter of pink coloured bonbons. As we came out of the shop and travelled home we passed a bench at the bottom of the road. There was Bill. I held my mum’s hand real close. He was so smelly and dirty I put my hand over my mouth and nose. “Hello Bill,” mum said, as if he was a family friend. I looked at her as she said it but just managed to catch the toothless smile from Bill’s face. Under the dirt and grime was a person. There was a story. I watched as he nodded and smiled at her. “Mummy, who’s that?” “That’s Bill,” she said “Why is he dirty?” “Because he hasn’t got a home and nowhere to wash.” “Why hasn’t he got a home?” “He…