Blog Archives

Summer, by Natalia Kay

31/5/2016

"Three wishes. One each month. Choose wisely," said the Witch to Sam.

In June, he wished for excellence in sports. Witch nodded with a smile.

Sam grew taller. He ran against the wind and swam against the current.

In July, he asked for scientist's brain. Witch nodded with content.

Sam built few hover strollers for the children.

In August, throbbing longing for impossible set deep within, and he so he asked for never ending summer. Witch nodded silently.

And Sam met Sally - a girl who spent her days daydreaming by the lake.

Their summer lasted sixty years. Till the end.

Witch, by Ian Fletcher

31/5/2016

“My new teacher Miss Priestley told me I can have a cat,” says Molly.
“Our pets are none of her business. Besides, Spot wouldn’t want a cat around,” says Mrs. Thomas.
“Miss Priestley promised me. She’s a witch,” says Molly.
“That’s ridiculous!” says Mrs. Thomas, who goes to answer the phone.
“Was that Miss Priestley?” says Molly.
“What a nerve she has, telling me what to do!” says Mrs. Thomas.
There is a screeching of brakes and a pathetic whimpering sound.
“Oh, my God!” says Mrs. Thomas, rushing outside.
Molly smiles. She and Miss Priestley have decided on a tabby.

Perfect Day, by Martin McConnell

30/5/2016

It's a perfect day. The sun shines through sporadic cloud-cover, painting wide shadows on the bright concrete. I've never seen the trees greener. Cool gusts breeze across my face, balancing the warmth of the sun.
The grass under me stabs gently through my shirt as I bleed on it. The EMT hovering over me shakes his head. I should have worn my seatbelt.

Dream Of Death, by Eric Smith

30/5/2016

I know what it’s like to die. One way, at least, but not the best exit for sure. Though tied in knots and screaming for forty-five seconds or who knows how long, this has to be the end; I can’t endure much more. I want either to jump off quick or to feel the knots loosen and hear the screaming stop so I can catch my breath. But neither happens as the pain and screaming—is that me?—continues. Finally, I wake up and everything has stopped. What have I experienced? Nothing? Something else? Maybe I died inside a dream.

Disturbing The Peace, by Diana Keschner Henning

29/5/2016

A shimmering African summer’s afternoon. The residents are having their siesta. We sisters have come to the public library with our parents. We look so adorable in our handmade dresses and white pumps. The library is cool and welcoming. We sit on the children’s chairs, fold our legs under us. We are lost in words.

Suddenly a commotion outside. A dog barking. We all rush out to investigate. We spot a mangy black and brown dog, salivating and frothing. Police lazily come from the nearby station. Our parents block our ears, cover our eyes. A single shot pierces the heat.

A Ramble With Rosemary, by Diana Keschner Henning

29/5/2016

Rosemary comes to my desk and asks for a lift.

‘I don’t drive but you are welcome to come with me on the bus’.

We walk into the city. Rosemary moves at a rapid pace. I struggle to keep up with her. We amble into the underground mall. It's an exotic world, where a blend of nations run a variety of stalls. Rosemary animatedly engages with the traders who display their colourful wares. Eventually we reach the bus stop. We board the bus and at last I can rest my weary feet. Rhona is 86 and I am thirty six.

Firing Squad, by Gordon Lawrie

28/5/2016

Someone came for him just before midday. Alone in that small room, he’d been left to wonder what awaited him in the next world; now he would find out. He allowed himself to be led, petrified, inwardly screaming, towards his fate.

Passing through the doorway into the blinding light, he could just make out five silhouettes facing him. He prayed that his bladder wouldn’t let him down, but at least it would all be over quickly.

For some reason he was actually asked if he was ready. He nodded.

“Tell me, Mr Conover, what made you apply for this position?”

The Suspect, by Russell Conover

28/5/2016

The cops were baffled about how Jones could've been so brutally murdered. His bloodstained body was found in the freezer, but without a trace of the killer.

“This murder couldn't have happened here,” Cop A reasoned.
“But if not here, where? And by whom?” Cop B wondered.
“Got it!” Cop C proclaimed. “Waldo, in the library, with the globe.”

His companions looked at him. “Waldo? Have you gone mad?”
“Look! There's a red and white striped hat, and rented books, and a portion of Australia. Still think I'm crazy?”

Waldo was located and arrested shortly thereafter.

Her Nebulae, by Natalia Kay

27/5/2016

Space lover, every other morning she flips through iridescent images of interstellar clouds. Those nebulae are hers. She has collected many - Crabs and Orions, even Eagle's pillars.

Today the Eye of Helix is just coming out on her thigh - fine web of filaments, embedded in a red and slate-blue oval. An older mark on upper arm begins transitioning from purple to the shades of yellow and green. She promises herself to find its alien soulmate tomorrow.

Now she must go, and she packs her school bag void with hope. The regions of bright nebulosity are safely hidden under shapeless uniform.

Guilty Or No, by Emma Baird

27/5/2016

“It was Colonel Mustard in the library with the spanner!”

Colonel Mustard looked affronted. “It was not!” he blustered. “The cook can vouch for me. I was in the kitchen at the time.”

The cook coloured slightly. The Colonel was a demon for her scones. He’d eaten seven of them, stealing a few that were meant for other people.

She nodded. A man shouldn’t be blamed for something he hadn’t done.

Mrs Peacock looked at the others in turn.

She pointed at Reverend Green. “Guilty! You’re the one who wrenched 50 Shades of Grey from the shelf aren’t you?”

Games People Play, by Ann-Louise Truschel

27/5/2016

Jake was a mean SOB who enjoyed tormenting his wife.

“It’s Russian roulette night.”

“Please, Jake.”

“Get the gun!”

Gloria got the revolver, spun the cylinder, put it to her head, and fired. She gasped when nothing happened and dropped the gun into the chair cushion.

Laughing, Jake said, “My turn.”

Gloria retrieved the revolver. Jake took it, repeated what Gloria had done, and fired. A bullet exploded into his brain.

Gloria picked up the weapon, removed five bullets from the cylinder, and called 911. She retrieved the other gun, holding one bullet, from the cushion and hid it away.

Under Attack, by Mark Fuidge

27/5/2016

We were the only two survivors left inside the fortress. Our attackers had retreated, but we knew they'd be back with re-enforcements. I stared at the wise old Indian as he knelt down, put his ear to the ground and listened.

"50 Cowboys. On horseback. Carrying riffles"

"Goodie"

"50 Cowboys. On horseback. Carrying bow and arrows"

"Double goodie"

He continued "100 Cowboys. On foot. Carrying pistols"

"How on earth can you tell all that just by putting your ear to the ground?"

He looked up slowly and said

"What are you on about? I can see under the fence!!"

Where The Pieces Fall, by James Blevins

27/5/2016

The stack of papers—essays and poems—were arranged much like I had previously placed them, before the fight.

Not precisely, but my son’s efforts to recreate their placement, someone who knew me so well, chipped my heart.

I picked a lone piece of paper from off the top—a poem I had written recently.

A dark smudge of my father’s blood now joined some of my words on the page.

Another chip of my heart fell to the floor of wherever those pieces collect in a person, joining the others in a scattered collection of my most earnest mistakes.

The Red Telephone Box, by Gordon Lawrie

27/5/2016

The authorities simply didn’t understand; they never listen. The villagers said that without its traditional bright-red telephone kiosk, the village would slowly die off. But the authorities knew better, of course.

Everyone who’d ever lived in the village knew that the village population multiplied in that red phonebox. Couples wanting a child simply visited the box together and emerged ten minutes later with a newborn babe; normal village sex was purely for pleasure.

So, when the authorities replaced that old red phone box with a brand new shiny silver one, the village slowly died. But the authorities always know best.

Entropy, by Amy Friedman

27/5/2016

Marnie bent over, wrapping her arms around her belly. Oh, it hurt … knowing her life would get a solid F if it were graded. Every decision – education, marriage, jobs, locations … all stupid, wrong, regrettable. Every mean remark directed her way – dumb, egomaniacal, oversensitive, hostile, peculiar – all were right. Right! And there was no time left to heal.
Joel hesitated at the door, hovering out of sight. He knew Marnie was beating on herself. Filling himself with love, his hands stretched forth to caress her shoulders.
“Joel?” Marnie said. He brushed her cheek with ghostly lips. “Here,” he said.

The Spirit Of The Act, by Jo Oldani-Osborne

27/5/2016

Lydia-My-Lovely was aghast. Waldo, revealed that he was talking to dead soldiers during their benefit show. Spiritualism was an old act, but Waldo never claimed to have “abilities”.

“Waldo, you ain’t no charlatan?”
“Well, I’m in communication – think of the comfort to Mums and Dads.”

“You hear the dead?”

“I hear Jim—“

Waldo opened the closet and there sat a young man with wired pads on his ears and a wireless set.

“Not a bad chat with some heroes, eh Mr. Waldo?” Jim grinned.

“Great Jim, but you gotta stay hidden.”

A con.

Lydia-My-Lovely would have preferred the dead.

The Suspect, by Russell Conover

27/5/2016

An Unstable Personality, by Ann-Louise Truschel

27/5/2016

“Has the patient improved, Doctor?”

“She’s still very unstable.”

There’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Dr. Wilton responds.

A small waiflike woman, eyes downcast, timidly shuffles into the room.

“Please sit, Ana. You remember me, don’t you?”

Silent, Ana timidly perches on the edge of her chair.

“Are you feeling safe and calm today?”

“I’m afraid; I want to leave.” Anna begins to tremble.

“Take deep breaths, Ana, and hold my hand.”

“Don’t touch me! I must go!“

“Ana. Don’t …!”

But it was too late. Ana’s outline began to fade. Her features fragmented and then … she disappeared.

Chaos and Reasonable Doubt, by Eric J. Smith

25/5/2016

“I know someone who says he doesn’t believe in coincidences.”
“Who’s that?”
“The sheriff.”
“That’s because he’s a cop, sort of.”
“I don’t see your point.”
“See, cops don’t believe in coincidences because they deal mostly with liars and they think everyone is guilty. Lack of coincidence is a crutch they use so they won’t have to use their God-given imagination, peer into gray areas, or investigate reasonable doubt.”
“I almost understand what you mean.”
“Let me put this way. Cops avoid chaos and complication. Their approach to things simplifies the universe and enables them to fill out the paperwork.”

Authenticity, by Eric Smith

21/5/2016

The café had been open an hour and the waitress was late. Roy, manager and head cook, served the food himself. Unhappy, he carried the plates from the kitchen to the tables, too many extra steps for each order. But what a cool authenticity—the guy who made it delivered it directly to the consumer. He grunted, expected no tips, slammed the plates on the tables—not so hard the food jumped off, but with a thump to shock the customers. Roy, intimating he operated at some higher level, took his time filling the coffee. The regulars poured their own.

Extreme, by Roshanna Sidney Evans

20/5/2016

“No, Tobias, don’t!”
“I need water.”
“That’s not water.”
“Is. Too. Gimme.”
Harry pulled out a tiny syringe and injected blue liquid into Tobias’s jugular. “Sorry, pal.”
Tobias keeled over and mercurial saliva started dripping off his lower lip. Toby’s stainless steel, eco-skin began corroding. Harry spit as he checked his watch and started counting. Thirty-five seconds. The Plutonian Rave Virus, again.
“You were right,” Harry texted Tobias’ twin, “Planet Auschwitz. Toby is gone. Very sorry.”
“Sketch gone 2. Clearly, the bastards want us dead! If only they’d die!”
“Those who know prepare. Now extinction is the ultimate extreme sport.”

King Solomon's Judgement, by Marlene Goldberg

20/5/2016

My mistress always shaded her face from the sunrays. Her beauty's admired by all. Even my late husband was entrapped. Our bellies swelled from the same seed. Her man and mine – both killed in King Solomon's battle with the Philistines.

Money was tight. M'lady would forgo many luxuries. Together we'd survive.
Our time came, almost concomitantly. Mine died. Luck was never my lot. Her baby was rightfully mine.

King Solomon pronounced the verdict: "Cut the baby in half."

I hated her and her baby. I acquiesced.

"Give the baby to that woman!" the King commanded.

Fortune was never mine. Of course.

Transition Difficulties, by Russell Conover

20/5/2016

The intelligent underwater Latreelians were ready for their mission. They'd mastered English, and though they couldn't speak it due to physical inabilities, they read and wrote fluently.

They whooshed out of the water, shocking the humans. They wrote notes saying “We come in peace” and “Please accept us”. However, the people just laughed and pointed. Furthermore, they trashed the notes, or added red flags and made copies of them, mocking their humorous requests.

“These people are impossible,” one Latreelian snarled, in its native language. “Why'd we come here again?”

“To encourage inter-species communication,” a second replied. “Yeah, right.”

Wetnets, by Amy Friedman

20/5/2016

At 5 AM, Marla pulled into the parking lot of the Wetnet clinic. Good, no demonstrators yet. All those shrieking God-happy haters with their signs, their excrement-filled pails and glass waterguns filled with sulfuric acid. She shook her head.
In the scrub room, Marla glanced over at the tiny window to the operating room. Simon, already scrubbed and gowned, met her glance and raised an eyebrow. “Late,” he mouthed. She stuck her tongue out and grinned. Slowly, Simon grinned back.
Today’s double-Wetnetting promised to be a doozy. She was glad Simon, the best neural cap aligner, would be her second.

Clean Mugs, by Eric Smith

20/5/2016

She’d had enough of the Navy serving her tours and a shit-load more in the brig. While Ty droned on about the service—he’d been everywhere—Amanda stared over his shoulder and studied the barkeep washing the mugs. He’d stack twenty-five dirty mugs on a rack and lower it into a tub of hot soapy water. He pulled the rack up, dropped it into a second tub of clear—not-to-say clean—water, immediately pulled it out, and set it on a tray to drain. He stacked the clean mugs for another set of customers. That’s how they did it there.

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