FewerThan500 is currently on publishing hiatus. We are truly grateful to the writers and editors who have contributed their talent to the site, and, of course, to our readers. Stay tuned for future developments.
By Mileva Anastasiadou
“I saw the doctor today,” I told my son over the phone.
“You haven’t mentioned anything was wrong.”
The first time I noticed something went wrong was several months ago at the local market. I realized after arriving home, that I had forgotten most of the items I had intended to get. The first time I admitted it to someone was two hours ago. My memory assessment was worse than I had expected. It was worse than doctor had expected, considering his frown before implying the diagnosis. Continue reading
FewerThan500’s publisher and editor, Ritta M. Basu, answered six questions about publishing on our site. Check it out here.
Thank you to Jim Harrington for the opportunity to share with readers of his blog, Six Questions For …!
By Ritta M Basu
My dearest Will,
Your e-mail this morning made me smile and cry. Thank you for your kind sympathies about Buck. He’s in the hospital now. The chemo has destroyed his already compromised organ system. It hurts so much not to see him. He’s held me so close in so many ways. I just wish I could touch him, but I don’t dare risk it. I feel certain his wife sticks to the hospital’s visiting hours. Still, I do not want to risk causing them the pain I caused in your first marriage. Continue reading
Sometimes the most difficult part of writing a story is getting started. It seems like when we have a good beginning, things can flow more easily. Here’s a story published on Medium that gives writers a few tips on getting stories started.
View story at Medium.com
Through July 15, FewerThan500 editors are seeking flash fiction submissions specifically on the topic of independence.
Editors will consider all original unpublished works that tie specifically (or loosely) to the theme.
Please send your stories to us directly via our website or via e-mail to firstname.lastname@example.org.
By Frank Rutledge
Lightning struck the wooden lamp post outside the condo. Inside, all the electronics went black. Startled by the explosive sound and sudden darkness, Quinn searched for light. Using only his hands and his memory, he hunted down a flashlight going dim, a candle and a book of matches.
It was time again. Quinn hurried. Like a Buddhist monk preparing for detachment, he positioned himself on the living room carpet. Continue reading