Welcome to the One Million
Stories Creative Writing Project.

We aim to discover, select and
showcase some of the very best
new short fiction being written
We are always on the hunt for new
voices, new visions and new ideas, new
ways of telling the story of what life on Earth
is all about.

So Send Us Your Story Today!
www.millionstories.net www.millionstories.net www.millionstories.net www.millionstories.net www.millionstories.net
All Rights Reserved One Million Stories/www.millionstories.net/The One Million Stories Creative Writing
Project/OMSCWP/Simon Million. (Contact) admin (AT) millionstories.net

New short stories are added regularly from
some of the best new authors writing in the
English language today, selected by us, for

The deadline for submissions to the next
issue is on Friday July 24th 2015...
Submit Your Story
One Million Stories
One Million Stories...
One Million Dreams...
Search The Site!
Available to Buy Now
Follow us on Facebook and Twitter
to keep up to date with offers and
savings on our books...

Get weekly writing prompts sent
directly into the creative parts of
your soul...

Send us the most fantastic creative
writing we have ever read!!!

Submit Here!

Next Issue Deadline is
Friday July 24th...
Tori Tassone
One Million Stories
One Million Stories
One Million Stories
One Million Stories
One Million Stories

My legs . . . what the hell? They never
cramp up. Damn, this is something
thought Jake Carpenter, out for
his daily trek. Sit for a moment. See
what happens. Catch your breath, old
It was exactly 6.3 miles from his house
to    Fellow’s Rise and back again.
Since his heart attack 8 years earlier,
Jake had walked that distance at least 5
times a week. Get your cardio workout
whenever and however you can, Jake,
advised his doctor. On only 3 occasions
had he failed to reach his exercise goal,
and they were because of interruptions
that took him away from his house.
Spirit in The Sky
Michael C. Keith

It was Saturday, and I was home in
my little cinderblock house on
Wilson Lane in Brightown, North
. The March weather had
been unusually warm. But now there
were storm warnings, and the rain had
begun to fall. I was sitting in my living
room, reading a novel—though not a
detective story. Why not?—well, my
name is Ned Bryson, and I’m a private
detective with my own stories to tell.
Anyway, the lightening flashed, and
the thunder rumbled across the sky. I
stopped reading long enough to
glance out the window. The rain was
falling in sheets, blown back and forth
by a powerful wind. I didn’t think much
about it until the rainstorm let up, and
I stood out on the porch. As it
happened, a twister had skipped
across town...

A vague, cramping feeling deep
her pelvis was the first sensation
she became aware of. Tight, tighter,
tighter, like a wet towel being wrung out
at the pool. Then a gradual easing
release, lasting several seconds before
the tightness again.

The tightness became more and more
intense each time it returned, until she
began to anticipate the ache before it
was there.

A strange metallic taste inhabited her
mouth like a foreign invader that didn’t
belong. Her tongue stuck with dryness
to her lips...

“Boyd, you missed your calling. That
as something right out of NASCAR,”
Smokey said, struggling to release his

“Alright, smartass. Of course, you’d’ve
done so much better.”

Minutes later, the O’Sullivan brothers
stood, looking down at the hulking
mass. Smokey fished his cellphone
out. “Well, so much for the ‘one-day
drive’ to Bloomington. Good thing we
left a couple days early, or    we’d’ve
missed little Trynity’s first birthday out
of Riley. Gonna call Rachel and let
her know what’s going on. You’d best
get a wrecker out here.”

Pete was good at not leaving marks.  
Even drunk, he was careful.
(and there’s no-one more spiteful than a
careful drunk)
‘Shut up, Molimo,’ Tommy whispered.
(except Molimo)
‘Shut up, Molimo.’
(turn off the light)
‘Molimo,’ Tommy pleaded.  Why did the
light switch have to be at the far end of
the landing, furthest away from the top
of the stairs?  And why did the switch
have to be so high off the ground that he
could only reach it on tippy-toes, so it
took so much longer to get
(past Molimo)
from the switch to the top of the stairs
(past me, past Molimo)
in the dark?
(switch off the light and get past me)
‘Just be quiet, Molimo, please, please,
One Million Stories
Check out our Back
Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu.
Flash Fiction and Short Stories At The Sharp End by Miscellaneous
Explore Writing At The
Sharp End
A Collection of Flash Fiction by
Many Miscellaneous Authors
Regularly Updated For Your
Entertainment and Delight...
Anthony Jiles