You Lie, I Love

by Virginia Backaitis

“I lie” were the first words he uttered. I told myself that his words were a flirt; after all, there were stars in his eyes as he spoke and when I mentioned that, he told me that I was the fire that lit them. “I love you,” I said to him a few months later. “I love you more,” he told me then asked if I believed him. I said yes and asked him to me marry me. “You sure?” he said; I nodded, certain that love cures a liar.


Virginia Backaitis writes fiction, personal essays and articles. If you're interested in reading more of her work, Google!



by Matt Oates

I am a Limestone baseball player who works hard every day to achieve a goal. The goal that we, as a team, are accomplishing is to become champions. Champions do the right thing all the time, whether it is treating your girlfriend right, being a good student, or just being an all-around good man. That sounds easy, but we are tempted to slack off from time to time. A true champion never slacks off; he gives everything he has to everything he does. That should be everybody’s goal, not just baseball players or athletes - to be a champion.


Matt Oates is a student athlete at Limestone College in Gaffney, South Carolina.


A Little Tooth

by Thomas Lux

Your baby grows a tooth, then two, and four, and five, then she wants some meat directly from the bone. It's all over: she'll learn some words, she'll fall in love with cretins, dolts, a sweet talker on his way to jail. And you, your wife, get old, flyblown, and rue nothing. You did, you loved, your feet are sore. It's dusk. Your daughter's tall.


Thomas Lux is a member of the writing faculty and Director of the M.F.A. Program in Poetry at Sarah Lawrence College and a core faculty member of the Warren Wilson M.F.A. Program for Writers. His six sentences are a prose version of a poem which appeared in a New York City subway car as part of the "Poetry in Motion" initiative.


A Better Life

by Kristina Renee Lott

My name is Kristina Renee Lott and I'm 20 years old. I'm a freshman in South Carolina. My major is social, and I'm so excited about my major. I've wanted to be a social worker since the 11th grade at my high school, when I did job shadowing. All I want to do is help people have better lives. I know that will make me happier in my life when I help someone else have a better life.


Kristina Renee Lott writes from the heart.


Tongue in the Dirt

by Anthony Kiedis

"Tongue in the Dirt" evolved out of challenges Flea and I gave each other back in high school. I remember one time I was on a city bus with Flea when we were about fifteen. I was a little under the weather and coughed up a hideous cookie of congealed phlegm into my hand. We were both looking at this fucked-up loogie with awe when I challenged Flea. "If you've got any balls at all, you'll eat this right out of my hand, because you're the only motherfucker crazy enough to do that." And he did!


Anthony Kiedis is the lead singer of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. His six sentences are taken from Scar Tissue, an autobiography co-written by Larry Sloman. Kiedis goes on to decribe a game he and his friends played where the losers would have to get down on their hands and knees and lay their tongues flat down in the dirt.



by Anna

While you drove, I gazed at my reflection in the sideview mirror. I admired the me who rode beside you, aware of your intent. Silent, staring ahead, you drove us through a vignette of our life ahead, the life that we could have if I would only take it in, accept it, allow it. I saw it all and saw its value and its goodness and I knew that your silence meant to offer it to me, but tentatively, and in a way that would not invite outright rejection and thereby bring an end to it all, all the years. You should have spoken. We might be living there now, but those sunglasses made me look like someone else.


Anna is starting to write again after 17 years in the doldrums. We're happy about that.


Don't Tell Jill

by Robert McEvily

Today’s my girlfriend’s birthday, so I held the date, knowing I’d write something special, and I originally thought I’d write a very romantic piece, a real public display of affection, but then I remembered that awkward Valentine’s Day years ago when – guitar in hand – I burst into a class she was taking and belted out what I thought was a really cool and quirky love song. Boy, did she hate it. She hated the attention. That’s the kind of woman she is. Strong and smart and professional (yet so much more outrageously fun than anyone I’ve ever met, especially when fun’s on the menu). So if you know her and see her, please don’t tell her I wrote this – just tell her you have a pretty good idea that I love her more than anything else in the world.


Robert McEvily, author of With Thanks to Omar Giles, is the creator and senior editor of Six Sentences. He lives in New York City.


The Knife-Thrower

by Mike Topp

I bought some invisible tape today, I think. I dropped a vase and broke it while listening to a record. So I just played the record backwards until the vase came together again on the floor and hopped up to my hands. As a knife-thrower who performs with my wife in the circus, I never get a chance to relax. At work, I'm tense about stuff at home. At home, I'm tense about stuff at work.


Mike Topp is the author of Happy Ending, Some Things for Today and the weblog Red Boldface. He is truly an American original.



by Claire Zulkey

I'm not ashamed to admit that I really enjoyed the shit out of Dancing with the Stars last week. Poor Tucker Carlson. Has he gained weight? It's not often you see somebody like that who has such a complete lack of rhythm and movement. How about that Emmitt Smith, though? The damn show makes me smile, what can I say?


Claire Zulkey edits MBToolBox, a valuable resource for writers and editors operated by mediabistro. Her whimsical personal site, packed with juicy interviews, has been mentioned in the New Yorker, USA Today, UK Guardian and on Anderson Cooper 360. She's working toward her Masters in Creative Writing from Northwestern University.


Wait Until Your Mother Works Here

by writeorbust

The glass plates of the U-Scan at the local supermarket are covered with grime. The scanner I'm using looks as if a three year old has wiped a runny nose on it, and it's also covered with frozen peas and carrots. I flick them away in a fit of pique, hoping to hit the desultory bitch at the U-Scan monitor station. After scanning and bagging my items, I make a brief stop to let the girl know the scanners could use a good cleaning. She looks at me as if I’m speaking Lithuanian and goes back to doing nothing. Things will be a lot different when I’m working here, I vow to myself, laughing maniacally.


writeorbust lives in Pennsylvania with a rotating cast of cats and family members. She writes short stories, poetry, and plays on the backs of envelopes. A few have made into print and production.


Lightfoot, Julius

by breakylegg

I was in the den writing something completely different when two things happened at once: my nose started bleeding and the phone rang. Guy on the other end was either deranged or drunk or both and kept yelling "Uhhh Uh" through the static of my shabby cordless. Next time the phone rang, I sprinted out to the living room with a paper towel held to my right nostril so I could read Caller ID before picking up. Connection was still scratchy, but now it was clear the previous Uhhhs were Eds. Except I am not Ed and I don’t know any Julius Lightfoot. Then the line went dead and I stopped bleeding.


breakylegg is currently working on "Night of the Bloody Clown," his first novel. When not bleeding or typing in his mother’s shady den, he likes to float in her pool eating cheese and crackers.



by Mike Topp

It was a hot afternoon, perfect for a swim. But I’d promised Stella I’d meet her at the train station. Around two o’clock I took my bicycle and started out. When I arrived at the train station, Stella wasn’t there. Then I realized I wasn’t at the train station, but in a hut made of tongue depressors and pieces of gum. Still, where was she?


Mike Topp is the author of Happy Ending, Some Things for Today and the weblog Red Boldface. He is truly an American original.



by Beth

Please don’t let things work out the way I think they did. I know I asked for a sign, but I don’t think I am strong enough for this right now. He can sleep with anyone, but please not her. Why does it feel like my heart is breaking again? Why didn’t I leave first? Why is it that I don’t want to know, but I do?


Beth prefers to remain anonymous.


The Unborn Kiss

by Kimi Goodrich

There was a moment while hugging when we looked into each other’s eyes and felt an unborn kiss lingering heavy in the air. This kiss was taunting, not really a thought to be played on, but a thought to travel through. It swirled around us like it was living and breathing – the thought that a kiss was alive, trying to escape and be painted in actions. There was a moment of hush, of lust and of touch, our bodies were entwined but our eyes held a gaze that had a life of its own. The kiss was inside, staking claim with its presence, shining its intention the only way it knew how. Through our eyes wide open.


Kimi Goodrich lives in New York City. She has many nicknames, but likes to call herself "The Kiminator." She is never too tired to be on MySpace.


Never Said This Before

by Mike

When we got married I wanted to scream to the world how happy I was. I almost cried. When I received the final divorce papers I screamed inside. This time I did cry, quietly. We both made mistakes but I thought it was forever. Did you?


Mike did wait a year before dating. He thinks he tried hard but sometimes wonders what else he could have done to make it work.



by Starstruck

My boring Friday night was saved by an invitation to a stranger's birthday party an hour's distance from me. Although it was being held at an outdoor beer garden and it was storming out, I didn't care. A night of liquor, pierogies and comically long picnic tables? Nothing could stop me. But what about the rest of my plan-barren long weekend? That's still three days of uneventful torture I would have to face.


Starstruck is the author of 9/11 in Six. She's from Connecticut and spends her free time defending Tommy Lee to haters.


Not as Strong as I Think I Am

by Blue Eyed Baby

I am a strong person. I am an intelligent woman. I am independent and self-reliant. Some days, I feel invincible. How pathetic is it that a 25-year-old accountant is the only thing that makes me feel weak? Damn him.


Blue Eyed Baby is a reluctant Bay Area resident. Writing is her passion but none of her work has seen the light of day. Well, except this.


A Tune to Croon in the Suspect Room

by Rebecca Jane

I warned Mister Winkelpoke that if he put his icy hand on my thigh, there'd be hell to pay. He said he'd take his chances. We ended that evening with common pleasantries, and that was the last time I saw him alive. The mischievous Finn boy is the one who discovered Winkelpoke's body in the Millpond near the abandoned rail yard. Why don't you ask the boy what he knows? Now I'm warning you: you keep shining that blazing light in my face, honey, and I'll just have to sing "That Old Black Magic" way off-key.


Rebecca Jane writes fiction to stay out of trouble. She always grins. She sometimes fails. She never squeals.


The New York in Me

by Chester Tam

Every Christmas I come home, for a week or so, to spend time with my family and every year I come to realize that I prefer living in Los Angeles. There's this "go fuck yourself" attitude looming over New York City that I used to embrace, but now that I'm getting older, I despise it. From driving, trying to switch lanes in the city, to waiting for a car to let you over so that you can turn into a vacant parking spot, to even the simplest thing of holding a door open for a stranger, it's such a huge fucking deal for someone to do. I know what you're thinking, this sounds like the hackiest stand-up bit... well go fuck yourself! I guess I still do have some New York in me after all. Bingo!


Chester Tam, internationally known as “Chez,” is the personification of cool and a Zen-like master of both the written and spoken word. His exploits are frequently chronicled on The Lonely Island’s Chez Chat, and he looks great in shades. (Just don't tell K-Fed.)


9/11 in Six

by Starstruck

Was this Under Siege? I don't see Bruce Willis. Tower 2: down. Tower 1: down. This was no movie. This was the live telecast of the death of thousands.


Starstruck is the author of Save Me from Myself. She's from Connecticut and spends her free time defending Tommy Lee to haters.


Cute Little Waitresses

by David Hasselhoff

Every two years, you're either corny or cool. I'm cool right now. I have a lot of cute little waitresses that flirt with me. My goal is to find the love of my life. I want someone who will love me for me and trust me. I have a big heart.


David Hasselhoff recently appeared in the Adam Sandler comedy Click and can be seen as a judge on NBC's America's Got Talent. His six sentences are taken from the September 18th issue of People magazine.


Office Mate

by Joe McCool

There were sesame seeds in my keyboard when I came back from vacation. That fat fuck was eating McDonald's hamburgers at my desk when I was gone. He probably used my phone too. He's a spit-talker, so now it's completely contaminated. Damn, now I have to order a new phone from the tel-com department. I'm gonna piss in his coffee tomorrow.


Joe McCool (yes, that's his real name) is a freelance trend spotter in New York City (and no, that's not his real job).


Save Me from Myself

by Starstruck

The Pussycat Dolls will be remembered for leaving behind anthems for Spring Break Whores everywhere. The only people who could possibly take this act seriously are simpleminded Paris Hilton wanna-bes. So what does it say about me that I like their latest song? Does that mean I have an internal Girl Gone Wild waiting to break out?! Am I next in line to be Head Bartop Dancer at the Coyote Ugly Saloon? I think I just scared myself.


Starstruck is from Connecticut and spends her free time defending Tommy Lee to haters.


Fairy Tales and Reason

by Melissa Burke

I get scared when I think about God. It doesn't seem logical that God exists. When I really think about it, God seems like a fairy tale, like a made-up story to give people comfort. I feel like REM, like I'm "losing my religion" and putting more faith in science and reason. I hope if God does exist, He won't get mad at me for thinking this way. How could He blame me?


Melissa Burke is a student at the University of Texas.


What Goes Up Must Come Down

by Pauline Stockton

The sun comes up. The sun goes down. The sun comes up. The sun goes down. The sun comes up. This is the sentence you didn't see coming (yet kind of did).


Pauline Stockton works for Philadelphia's Department of Sanitation. This is her first published work.


My Dream

by Peter Farmer

I’m seven feet tall and incredibly fat, so a lot of folks found it disconcerting when I insisted on pursuing my dream of becoming a jockey. I know I can win the Triple Crown. I just know it. I excel at that motion where the jockey repeatedly hits the horse on the rear with the stick. You should see me do it – you’d be flabbergasted. I’m so awesome it’s ridiculous.


Peter Farmer is a pseudonym. He’s too embarrassed by this piece to reveal his true identity.



by Robert McEvily

I’ve been kidnapped. Not sure when it happened. Not sure why. I’ve been locked in a room with a laptop. I’ve been told my only hope of survival is writing six perfect sentences. I’m pinning my hopes on these.


Robert McEvily is the author of Stabbed. He lives in New York City.


The Receptionist

by Oliver Cassidy

The receptionist was hired without a reference. She made a nice appearance. She called herself Courtney; we later found out her real name was Bernadette. She was always on time, always polite and well-informed, and what little makeup she wore was always perfectly applied. No one pegged her for suicide. Life went on without her.


Oliver Cassidy is the author of The Broken Dish. He's usually more upbeat.



Six Sentences uses a paragraph format. Six consecutive sentences. No poems, no bullets. The title of your piece should be no longer than 36 characters, including spaces (because 6x6=36). Again, say anything you like, and tell a friend. Have a cool day.


Writer's Guidelines

It’s simple. Just write six sentences. Say anything you like. Send your work (including its title) along with your name (or pseudonym), your bio, and any links you’d like to include to robmcevily@gmail.com. All submissions receive a response within six days. Please see Formatting for further details.