Twitter Short Story: Finding Dr. Crowley by Albert Barrera

Performed by Val Cole

Finding Dr. Crowley by Albert Barrera

Black screen. A clock tics. A soft male voice is heard. “I will count down from 3 and you will open your eyes. 3, 2, 1.” James opens his eyes and finds himself in a chair with notepad in hand. Before him is an empty couch. Glancing at the notepad, it reads, “Good luck!”

Twitter Short Story: The Golden Sphere by Lily Erlic

Performed by Val Cole

The Golden Sphere by Lily Erlic

My golden sphere is a spaceship. It takes me into deep space where I see anomalies. Like a golden ball….rolling around the stars….until it lands on a green planet. I will name it Earth number two!

Twitter Short Story: Twitter Story, by Patti Miller

Performed by Val Cole

Twitter Story by Patti Miller

1. There was something brewing in the wind that day that would change everything.

2. When an Autistic boy forms an exciting deep bond with a small dog who has thumbs on his paws, the two connect.

3. “What have you done!” I yelled at my sister. “Nothing!” “What do you call THAT!” I pointed to Arthur as he flew toward the open window. That was the day my cat grew wings.

4. “Have you seen Granny?” “No,” my sister replied. That was the day my cat grew wings.

5. I walked into the kitchen to find her laughing. “Honey? What did you bury in the garden now?

Twitter Short Story: Dreaming by Albert Russo

a quirky story by Albert Russo
Ripov was tired of the city’s anonymity and decided to play his French card, for Ripov had a perfect grasp of Rousseau’s language.  He designed himself a ‘carte de presse’ in which he wrote, using exquisite print, ‘Francois de Ripoff, Grand Reporter de la République.’  That document gave him free access to New York’s most exclusive clubs and societies, and soon he received invitations to cocktail parties and galas.  With ‘le charme français,’ America lunged at his feet.  François used it with great discernment.  Yet, not everything went off as smoothly as he would have wished. The advertisers grabbed him to sell their products. In one television commercial, Ripov appears asleep, arms outstretched, while on the other half or the screen a beautiful blonde girl in a luxurious lace-trimmed dressing gown, slowly awakes.  “Ah,” she sighs, “it’s you, my darling, my François.”  Husbands and lovers were getting sick with jealousy.  Very quickly he was swamped with orders and had to deliver the goods.  The Gay libbers demanded his close collaboration, bestowing upon him the title of ‘Maître du Gai Savoir-Faire.’  Soon all this was literally getting out of hand.  Even the political parties called on Ripov to redefine their campaign slogans.  Both Parties wanted him.  Ripov’s devastating popularity ended by creating a national turmoil: the country was on the brink of civil war, but this time the French would step out of the game.  And step out Ripov did.  Forgetting that he ever had a notion of French, or English, or for that matter, of any human language, Ripov flew, incognito, to Australia, and joined a pack of kangaroos.