Blog Archives

Never Again, by V. L. Draven

15/1/2021

I went to donate blood today. I will never do that again. Who do they think they are asking so many questions? Couldn’t they just accept it, like any other gift? But no, they had to ask where I got it from. They had to insist on knowing whose it was. They had to enquire over why I brought it into their offices in a bucket.

It took a lot of effort to collect it for them. My target needed tracking, capturing, stringing up, bleeding out and burying afterwards. Some people just have no appreciation for the things we do.

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Pandemic Vigilantes, by Peggy Gerber

15/1/2021

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Dr. Berger walked out of the hospital and groaned. After a long day in the emergency room dealing with the virus, she was still seeing dozens of people not wearing masks. She sometimes wished she didn’t have to treat these inconsiderate people, but she had taken an oath.

After arriving home, Dr Berger flopped down on the couch and began scrolling through her Twitter feed. When she saw the videos of masked vigilantes in scrubs racing through the city streets, punching anti-maskers in the nose, she burst out laughing. Justice was smiling.

She would deal with the broken noses tomorrow.

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Play it Again Sam, by Sankar Chatterjee

15/1/2021

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While exploring Morocco, Ray arrived in Casablanca with his local guide Ahmed, an unemployed computer engineer. A staggering wealth inequality exists here even though ruled by a rich kingdom. Ray wanted to locate the bar from the iconic movie “Casablanca” with Hepburn and Bogart. Instead, Ahmed guided him to the wondrous Hassan II Mosque. An architectural masterpiece, it was built by the current king to leave behind his legacy. The place can accommodate a total of 100,000 worshippers. Ray learned that the final cost was close to a half billion Euros.

Suddenly Ahmed tuned ABBA’s old hit: “Money, money, money…”

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That Lovely Young Man, by Miya Yamanouchi

15/1/2021

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Everyone at the Art Centre pitied him, encouraged him, supported him. He was the underdog who needed propping up.

“Brilliant painting Timmy!”

“You’re a great artist, keep at it!”

Timmy greedily guzzled down the compliments and schemed of ways to garner more.

‘Maybe I’ll paint something dark this time, then they’ll worry I’m suicidal...or I could do a self-portrait with wrist cuts, that’d get them.’

Ask his artist peers, and they’d tell you Timmy’s a sweet boy, a lovely boy...soft, sensitive and such good manners! —Couldn’t hurt a fly.

The women in his freezer would beg to disagree.

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Study Day, by John Cooper

15/1/2021

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Mini tried concentrating again on the page.

She had read the passage at least four times now – but could remember little of it.

She shuddered as the noise from above grew in intensity.

Almost every day she heard them yelling obscenities at each other, throwing stuff around and smashing the place up.

Sitting further into her chair, she drew her knees up, balanced the book on her thighs and put her fingers in her ears. But this did nothing to filter out the tumult overhead.

She tried to read more slowly – almost speaking each word.

Still the noise broke through.

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Urbane Legend, by Andrew Carter

15/1/2021

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A man is sent among wolves; not all are guised as sheep.

Gnashers-of-teeth slander and malign him denying him opportunity.

Then, they ply him with drugs, and secretly film his wilderness experiences. Whilst they’re watching him, God is watching them.

He turns his hand to writing.

Then, they kill the emerging writer both perpetrating and perpetuating creative infanticide.

Evil powers deploy eavesdropping devices to justify their calumny. Their lying lips hiss, “Aha.”

The open-minded sense a twist, to follow.

This man adores being alone, with God. He is a simple man, afraid of confrontation.

He's a man with many stories.

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Memories, by Russell Conover

15/1/2021

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Jim stared longingly at the photo of his old buddy Pete. Jim was sitting on their favorite bench in the park, but for some reason they hadn’t seen each other for over a year.

Jim sighed. He remembered the great belly laughs he’d had with Pete. How he longed for those interactions once more.

“Pete, where are you?” he murmured aloud.

“Been too long, hasn't it?” a familiar voice asked.

Jim whirled around, gazing at none other than Pete. They bear hugged. “What are you doing here?”

“Needed a reunion, in our main spot,” Pete replied. “Time to catch up.”

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Leaky, by Rachel A.G. Gilman

15/1/2021

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After he makes me come, I put my mouth to his ear and ask, “Do you want me to undo your belt?” He nods but I realize that I can’t because I’ve never done this before. He helps me out, soon half-naked on my couch. I reach out to touch him, an oxymoronic combination of soft skin hardening in my hand. The wetness on his tip makes me giggle.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say, then, “it’s just…you’re a little leaky.”

In reply, he smiles against my face before cracking up. Our laughter together is much better than any orgasm.

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In The Now, by Jennifer Duncan

15/1/2021

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It was lunch time at Serenity Village. Dorothy looked down at her tray mindful of the lemon meringue pie. No voices from the past admonished her to eat her meat and vegetables. There was only the now. No worries of health issues in the future fretted her. There was only the now.

Dorothy's daughter sat down beside her. Dorothy frowned. "Who was that?" Out of the corner of her eye, she spied the puffy meringue. Shakily she took up her spoon and scooped up a mouthful of pie. The sweet tang was delightful. Dorothy smiled blissfully in the now.

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The Script Plays Out, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

15/1/2021

7 Comments

They return with mouths gaping, eyes tearing. Assigned new roles as victims, scavengers, finders, keepers. Survivors, in an unimaginable horror show.

Their stage is a vast wasteland. From its dark dampened base, jagged wooden poles protrude skyward where once trees had been placed.

There are no rehearsals for the players cast in these roles. Nor guidance from a director on how to act, react. How to proceed.

Last of ash twirls in a conglomerate of water and flame retardant. Atmosphere choreographed in smoky orangey hue.

Flames leap to the other side of the highway. A new stage is being set.

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The June Girl, by Bruno Fleitas

15/1/2021

2 Comments

Look at her there, with that ridiculous cord phone to her ear, pretending to talk to who knows who, maybe some dimwit she'll see later at night. Her smile as affected as her flowered blouse, who wears that on the beach nowadays? Or even worse, who has a damn phone on the beach? That’s right, she is on the beach, lying under an umbrella that protects her from the raging sun.

“So… What do you think? Fantastic right?” her eyes sparkling, contemplating the magazine, then facing me.

With nothing better on mind I just throw a “Truly Fantastic!” at her.

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Eavesdropping, by Swapan K Banerjee

15/1/2021

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I was at Café-Coffee-Day stewing in my own juices when I couldn’t help overhearing a conversation on weightier matters between two people.

“Working on your survival strategy demands such a heavy price.”

“What do you mean?”

“I found a way to exorcise the ghost of my hardscrabble childhood by pouring paint on the canvas. But building your skill-set all alone has its fallout.”

“Like?”

“One’s often taken for a ride here-there-and-elsewhere. At home it’s all eat-drink-and-be-merry. It seems one’s an also-ran both in the art studio and off it.”

The moment my eyes fell on the gentleman, he stopped talking.

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Chum, by Pearce Hansen

15/1/2021

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“The wood-chipper, while ordinarily a banal method of disposal, was used in an inspired and unorthodox manner during the assignment. Several participants exhibited dismay, but such is always to be expected from those assigned to less advantageous roles within the happening. Situating the wood-chipper at the bay’s edge was esthetic as well as efficient: the waters roiled with the schools of bait-fish ingesting the ejected chum, and the rising sun reflecting off the otherwise glassy seas provided a marvelous ‘last look’ for those further down the line awaiting their turn. But we were so young, then. Ah, memories of youth!”

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The Missed Bus, by Sivan Pillai

15/1/2021

6 Comments

The villagers try to avoid the old lady, ‘the witch’, while going on important business. She’s a bad omen, they believe.

As I rush out to catch the bus, there she is, coming right against me. No time go back. I’m just in time.

The bus arrives, over-crowded, and speeds away without stopping.

The witch wins again.

I settle down, waiting for the next bus, an hour hence. I doze off.

My cell phone wakes me up. It’s my wife. Frantic. I explain.

“Thank God you missed that bus. It met with a serious accident.”

“No; thank the witch”.

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A New Year, by Don Tassone

15/1/2021

11 Comments

At long last, it was over. The pandemic of a lifetime, a scourge for the ages, hell on Earth. It paralyzed us. It separated us. It ravaged us.

We hadn’t seen it coming. We weren’t ready. When it hit, we scrambled, not knowing what to do. Some panicked. Some ignored it. Some said it would pass quickly. But the virus lingered and took millions.

Now, at last, it was over. We began to absorb the tough lessons so that, if something like this were to strike again, we would know what to do.

Happily, it was a new year: 1921.

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Postcard News, by Barbara Wheatley

15/1/2021

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Hi Soph, hope you can read my scrawl. Finally living my gypsy dream in a bungalow-on-a budget. Farmers here so friendly, like their sheepdogs. Taking daily dips in the streams and rivers, longer walks along the coastline. Enjoying the break from D, was time, had to be done. I just left. Took my typewriter, kettle, books, but left his precious sandwich-maker (might regret that). Weather not great so far, curiously loving the rain. All so cosy. Come visit. Bring wellies, swimsuit. Summer sure to be fantastic. Send news. Have cut off all other contact. You know where I am. X

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Run, by Elliot DeMartin

15/1/2021

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It seemed like a peaceful day.

The sun was slowly rising above the mountains, the birds chirping, the flowers blooming.

Everything was peaceful, until a single letter changed his life.

He looked panicked as he read the letter, hand trembling.

Though it was a simple string of words, he knew exactly what it meant.

He rushed around the room, getting things he’d need. He knew he wouldn’t be coming back.

He ran out the door, not even glancing back at the scenery behind him.

The letter was still on his desk, left open.

It said three words.

“Run. They’re coming.”

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Midnight Shadows, by Fliss Zakaszewska

15/1/2021

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Scarily, this was submitted almost on the stroke of midnight...

The ancient cottage is warm even though it’s close to midnight. A glimmer of a lamp in the corner does little to shed light to my surroundings.

Creak… My head swings around to look at the door. It moves not at all. “Who’s there?” I call. No answer was the stern reply. Must be the beams, settling back as the room cools a little.

I return my attention to the even dimmer light in front of me, listening to the tip-tap, tip-tap echoing in the otherwise silent gloom.

“Get a grip and write the story,” I mutter. “Flash-fiction deadline awaits.”

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Drip, Drip, Drip, by Jim Jepps

15/1/2021

4 Comments

Alex had been throwing tiny mud balls at her brother's head for quite some time. At this range they were tricky shots but she'd perfected the flick of her wrist that sent pellets skimming towards their target.

“Plonk”, she bit her lip in delight. Right in the brim.

He was ignoring her, more fool him, because this could only end one way. It was just a question of how many times she got him before he went absolutely berserk.

She grinned, imagining his fists raining down as she shrieked and laughed in victory. Squinting, she took careful, joyous aim.

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The Resolution to End All Resolutions, by Sandra James

15/1/2021

12 Comments

I stopped writing New Year resolutions long ago. Too many ideas sounding promising on the final night of the previous year only to be shattered or forgotten well before January ran its course.

But this year I’ll try again; perhaps inspired by the comment from he-who-sits-in-the-brown-velvet-recliner, who said my scones were ‘doughy’!

Admittedly, my scones often resemble bricks, but these were okay, and definitely not doughy.

This year I’ll shoot first and ask questions later. Or throw my next batch of bricks at him.

I doubt Mr Masterchef will make it through January.

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Licence Plate Games, by Bruce McNair

15/1/2021

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Clary’s favourite game was making phrases from letters on licence plates.

Some examples the family produced on recent trips:
ABC equals All Bulls Charge
BCD is Before Christmas Dinner
CAR becomes Customer Always Right

During the holidays, they drove to Robe when son Jonathan yelled, “Xylophones You Zap.”
Clary glanced in the rear-vision mirror. “What?”
“XYZ makes Xylophones You Zap.”
Clary conceded that was good.

He responded, “XYZ is for Xavier’s Yellow Zebra.”
“Who’s seen a yellow zebra?”
“I don’t know? Maybe someone painted one.”
“Really?”
Clary admitted it was a stretch. His son had won.

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Hot Pockets, by Sterling Warner

15/1/2021

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The capers in my chicken piccata tasted suspect after I noticed a rat glaring at my meal from the middle of our dining booth. Shelia, my date, defensively grabbed her steak knife.

“Sir. Can I get you something else?” a passing waiter asked.

“Yes, an exterminator!” I replied, pointing at the vermin.

“No worries,” he assured. “My pet, knows he shouldn’t leave my apron until closing time.” The rat jumped off my booth, scrambled across Shelia’s plate, and leaped into the waiter’s open pocket. “Your dinners are on me,” he winked, admonishing Stu. “No need to contact the Health Department!”

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The Hunting Trip, by Janice Siderius

15/1/2021

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“Well, look what the cat just dragged in! Where have you been the last two days?” Jessica asks.

“The boys and I decided to take a brief timeout. We went hunting.” Paul answers. “I will be right back; I need to empty the truck.”

“Did you have any luck?”

“No, no luck. But we did have a great time.”

Before Paul could walk out to the garage, the doorbell rings. Jessica opens the door and sees two men standing on the porch.

“This is the FBI. Is Paul Richards here? We need to talk with him about his trip to DC.”

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The Crow, by Bruce Gunther

15/1/2021

2 Comments

You could disable the automatic garage door opener by pulling on a small cord attached to the main unit. Bryan needed to disable it because the door had malfunctioned.

He stood on his toes to reach the cord and pulled with all his force. The cord snapped and sent him tumbling – on his back – to the floor.

Funny how it works, though. During the fall, which lasted less than a second, Bryan had many thoughts: how he could break a bone or worse, who would find him, and even of the crow squawking nearby.

The damn bird never shut up.

2 Comments

Background Noise, by Jim Woessner

15/1/2021

6 Comments

Audrey packs her kids into the Humvee and heads toward the smoke. There’s been a pileup on the freeway. She takes a video game in case the kids get bored by the spectacle of burned flesh. When the excitement is over, she comes home and turns on the TV to learn the latest body count in our perpetual wars. The evening news puts her on the frontlines. Later when the kids are in bed, she watches a Tarantino film on Netflix. And afterwards, a murder mystery helps her fall asleep. It looks to be another quiet evening in the neighborhood.

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