This all began last Thursday. Evelyn had a small office nestled high in the old tower. Every night after supper, she would climb the stairs, sit at a l…
M. Wyers
Cheap cigarette butts floated in the flooded sand of the ashtray by the front doors. At night the wet sidewalk reflected gold light from the street lig…
M. Wyers
Welcome to MOSFET Mag standalone short fiction by M. Wyers, updated twice a month. Sign up now so you don’t miss an issue. In the meantime, tell your f…
M. Wyers
The shrill chorus of alarms resounded across every phone in the room. Each patron frantically trying to access their device and put it on silent. James…
M. Wyers
“Dragons aren’t real, you idiot.” Tommy said, sucking the last bits of poptart from his sticky fingers. “Yes they are. Dad says so!” Tommy crumpled the…
M. Wyers
2:00 AM: “You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here!” The bartender shouted as he slapped the house lights on, the scorching yellow light filli…
M. Wyers
Lisa pulled the tap on the coffee maker, filling up the largest cup they had. The smell of nearly fresh coffee mixed with gasoline and whatever was in …
M. Wyers
His hand reached into the center console, past the collection of old cables, receipts, and an empty CD case. The larger coins had shifted to the bottom…
M. Wyers
Alyssa had just finished the dishes when the coffee maker sputtered and spat, signaling the end of its brewing cycle. She dried out her favorite mug wi…
M. Wyers
We had danced that night. She followed me out of the club, abandoning her friends. This was the easy part. In the old days I would just feed on the vag…
M. Wyers
It was a simple fair in a small town. The afternoon was filled with blue tarp wrapped stalls selling corn dogs the length of your forearm, long plastic…
M. Wyers
The odds of the plane hitting a sandbar in the first place were slim in the Pacific. Or were they? Whatever they were, they weren't good enough for the…
M. Wyers