Blog Archives

Looking for Frank, by David Sydney

30/6/2023

Al, owner of AL's BAR, was topping off some bottles when Sylvia came in.
"We're not open yet," he said.
"I know. But was my husband, Frank, here last night?"
"Frank? I didn't see him. Why?" asked Al, putting down his funnel.
"Because he got fired from another job and didn't come home. I figure he was out, drinking away his problems."
"He wasn't here, Sylvia. Did you try FRED'S PLACE?"
"Nah. FRED'S is too high class."
"How about SAM'S TAVERN?"
"No," said Sylvia. "Still too good a place…"

Last Friday Night’s Frat Party, by JD Clapp

30/6/2023

The waistband dug into his beer gut. The inseam tightly bound his self-aggrandized but inadequate package. From torn capri cuffs, his cankles gave way to dirty feet. Jungle juice stained the pink lace covering his nakedness.

Waking up on the lawn, still drunk, vomit on his bare chest. He looked down. He asked himself, “Whose pants are these?”

She laid on the bathroom floor, world spinning, vomit in her hair. Waking in a stranger's bathroom, she realized she was wearing someone’s boxer briefs. Using the toilet for support, she pulled herself up and wondered, “Where are my pants and panties?”

What Would Happen, by Hannah Retallick

30/6/2023

Editor's Choice

When they told Steve he was fat and ugly and no one liked him, they had no way of knowing what would happen. He might have laughed, rolled his eyes, frowned, thrown grown-up words in their faces, run to Miss Michaels, or taken them on with thrashing limbs.

Instead, he peered over his GCSE maths book, smiled as though he knew something they didn’t, and flicked to the next dog-eared page.

They were confused by that one, and this time at least, they left him to it. One day, he would employ them for £8 an hour.

Fishing Expedition, by Robert P. Bishop

30/6/2023

Rachel dropped the mail on the table. “You got another letter from the Hephaestus Society.”

“Oh, great,” Howard moaned. “Another cheery death notice from our friendly cremation company.” He flicked the envelope.

“I think they’re grooming you.”

“This is the eighth notice in the last three weeks. It’s beginning to worry me. Do they know something about my health I don’t know but should know?”

“It’s a marketing tool. Everybody gets these,” Rachel said. “It’s like fishing; cast the bait into the water and hope for a hit.”

Howard tossed the envelope into the trash. “This fish is not biting.”

An Alien on the Stairs, by Teddy Entwisle

30/6/2023

Mary knew opening the door would cause trouble. It blocked her route halfway up the stairs. Of course she needed to continue up. She reached out her hand to the handle…

In a galaxy far away Alien stepped downstairs to the door, wondering had he made himself human enough.

The door creaked slowly open, Mary nearly leapt out of her skin, Tony (the Alien) almost leapt out of his disguise and skin.

Mary however boldly stepped through the door, Tony reached out his hand, but instead of hearing Mary speak his teachers voice broke through…

“Daydreaming again Tony?”

Monday in the Park without George, by Kate McGovern

30/6/2023

It had been a year since Rebecca had sat on “their” bench. The lilac bushes were in full bloom. Everywhere, Rebecca saw pigeons and babies. Pigeons were always their nemesis- lurking, hovering, interrupting lunch and conversations. The babies- had they always been there? Mothers, with their overpriced strollers and high-performance workout clothes, just to walk a few blocks from their brownstones to the park. George probably noticed the mothers…
A robust pigeon cocked its head and ambled closer as Rebecca tore the butt of her baguette and numbly dropped it to the pavement.

The Wordsmith, by G. Lynn Brown

30/6/2023

He writes the sweetest messages and signs them each "Until..." No name, no closing salutation, just "Until..."

But until when?

Next time? No, too boring for a man of few words who knows how to use those few so well.

The cows come home? No, too silly.

The twelfth of never? Ah, poetic, yes, but I'm probably wishful thinking.

We meet again? Still a bit mundane, yet invokes the possibility of a tomorrow together, maybe even a world of tomorrows.

I like that.

But not as much as I love the simply spoken "Until..." because, well, I've always hated "Goodbye."

The Resiliency, by Sankar Chatterjee

30/6/2023

(Photo credit: Sunish Deb)

Standing near the Ganges River, Rajiv became spellbound. Impending sunset was bathing the nature with a mysterious green to gold glow. Just past year, this same river carried hundreds of non-cremated Covid victims; civilizations faced oblivion.

Now the river sprang back to life. Old-fashioned boats, newly retrofitted with modern solar panels began ferrying passengers and tourists alike. At distant, iconic Howrah Bridge was still displaying city’s grit, as if no calamity happened in immediate past. Soon, a gentle breeze began blowing.

Rajiv remembered Hazarika’s folksy tune “Oh mighty river, how could you keep on flowing, even witnessing our civilizations’ near-collapse?”

Obsolete, by Paul A. Freeman

30/6/2023

Fans of the popular technology programme, Login, were surprised to discover a new presenter, Karen Spencer, on the presenter’s couch one weekend.

“Management has labelled Geoff Killen, the former presenter,” she explained, grinning smugly, “as old, out-of-touch and obsolete.”

Over the next decade, Karen gleefully focussed on obsolescence: on robot waiters, robotic fruit-pickers, and all sorts of mechanised and tech devices that replaced humans.

Fans were surprised one weekend to find a rejuvenated, shinier, slimmer version of Karen on the presenter’s couch.

“Management has labelled Karen Spencer, your former presenter as old, out-of-touch and obsolete,” the robot replacement explained, matter-of-factly.

How to Survive a Werewolf Attack, by David Croll

30/6/2023

The full moon was obscured by the dense fog. I took a short cut through the woods, even though the locals warned me of the dangers. It was unusually quiet. I heard a blood-curling howl. I turned around to see it stand on his hind legs, so tall, I thought it would reach the heavens. The fingernails were as long as my forearm, times three. The drool told me it was eager to end my time on this mortal plane. As it got ready to pounce, I knew there was no escape, unless...
In a commanding voice, I shouted “SIT.”

Attention Seeking, by Lauren Dennis

30/6/2023

Jeremy’s unsolicited self-righteous tour guidance is drowned out by Vicky’s music. Mara reminded Vicky of her childhood stuff giraffe when sticking her tongue out and crossing her eyes mocking Jeremy.

Vicky’s tiny knuckles would go white strangling the giraffe while reading the back of her parent's t-shirts. They didn't mind their daughter unless she was being reprimanded at school, getting caught with a boy, or setting something on fire.

“If we weren’t all friends, they’d make a cute couple”

The moonlight illuminates the hand sliding up Jeremy’s shirt and across his chest. She wanted her self-appointed opponent to see.

Ode to Oliver Mellors, Lover of Lady Chatterley, by Sherri Bale

30/6/2023

Don’t invite that bushy-browed Irish playwright who spouts Joyce and Chaucer and chugs Bass with a Jameson chaser.

Leave him on the stoop if he shows up uninvited. Let him hear the festivities of Wragby, but only fantasize about his soft palms on the ladies’ bare white shoulders and the men’s tight rumps.

Send him back home to the bedsit he shares with his tailless Cymric, who enjoys a read-aloud of Endgame while lapping clotted cream from the Belleek bowl.

Rather, invite the gamekeeper who smells like his sheep and whose rough hands and Scots brogue please all the guests.

Raising Tables, by Lynn Kristine Thorsen

23/6/2023

She opened her door to a thin, deeply tanned man, then put on a jacket and followed him down the dirt path to a wood-framed house. Inside, there were high-backed chairs grouped around a scarred wooden table. The room was lit by white candles lining the windows. She nodded to those in the room as everyone found a place to sit at the table and then placed their hands palms down on the table top.

It would happen now, or not at all. If it happened, she would become a conduit into another space, a gateway for those in need.

Survival in a World of Hard Facts, by Becky Neher

23/6/2023

Fifty cubic feet of dirt above meter-thick walls of steel-reinforced concrete. Remote woods. Faraday-caged. Potential risk factor re detection by government forces: 4.2%. PRF re structural compromise: 0.2%.
A flashlight. Extra batteries. Walkie-talkie with scrambler. Gas mask. Three semi-auto rifles and 360 rounds. A bowie knife. A katana. Four drone cameras, two split-screened monitors. Air vents with high-scrub filters. 250 cans of soup. PRF re bodily harm: 3.7%. PRF re successful defense: 97.6%.
Real-time updates from deepstate-lizardpeople-brainwashington-falseflag-elitecabal-pedo-watch.net. PRF re society already taken over by frauds: 99.9%.
One certainty: They can't get to me now.

Making a Living, by John O’Keefe

23/6/2023

A muscleman, on the treadmill next to mine, is whispering to a black kid, “125 Oak Street.” The little boy, wearing street clothes, gives a thumbs-up, “Got it, George,” and disappears.

A fat white kid shows up. He seems to be apologizing. George nods, “I know you do, Frankie.” The jelly belly continues whining. George nods again, “I’m sure you will, Frankie.”

I get off my machine and glance at George’s: TIME REMAINING 5:56. I walk over to the free weights and call it in, “Took two photos. Treadmill number eleven. Let’s give him five more minutes.”

Refractory Period, by Emma Burnett

23/6/2023

He looks down at his dick, limp, dripping. The condom is next to his knee, unopened. We never got that far.
I think, hey, maybe we can use it next time.
Until: ‘This never happens.’
And: ‘It’s because you’re too pretty.’
Then: ‘Shame I have a long refractory period.’
I wonder if he’ll offer to get me off, at least.
But: ‘I’m gonna shower.’
And: ‘I’m meeting some friends.’
Plus: ‘I’d invite you, but, you know.’
I don’t.
But: I hurry into my underwear.
And: I say it’s fine, I gotta go anyway.
Then: I cycle home, crying, face dripping.

All Change, by Tom Baldwin

23/6/2023

She’s doing it again,’ murmured Rowena. She and Megan watched as Julia paraded naked through the gym changing room, taking her time to dress, as usual.

Julia caught their glances. ‘Anything wrong, ladies? I hope my body doesn’t offend you.’

‘No, it’s very attractive,’ said Julia. ‘From the front, anyway. It’s so brave of you to walk around like that.’

Doubt crossing her face, Julie quickly dressed and left.

‘There’s nothing wrong with her bottom, is there?’ said Megan.

‘No, but now she thinks there is.’

Bob & Carol & Ted & Alex, by Tony Covatta

23/6/2023

On the bus to long-term, back from St. Barts, their fortnight marred by dad Bob’s constant office contact, the Baxters encountered another family, futilely searching for their car.
More fortunate but sullen, the Baxters soon located their SUV, stowed their gear, headed home.
Mom Carol tried deflecting the mood: “That poor family. Searching how long?”
“Two hours, the daughter told me,” said son Ted.
Carol: “At least Bob remembered where we parked.”
“Two hours! Dad didn’t spend two minutes with us in two weeks.”
Bob: “Thanks for your support, Alice.”
“Alice is your trashy secretary, Dad. I’m your daughter, Alex.”

Mastermind, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

23/6/2023

Paul scrutinized their friendship. Would he forgive Kevin?

As childhood classmates, they participated jointly in intramural sports, often sharing social time. When his friend dotted on Susan, Paul stepped in.

Susan was his girl. She who introduced him to the finer aspects of life. She who lifted him from drudgery. How could he share Susan?

Paul considered his options. He would commiserate with his sister. She would understand, being at a low point in her love life.

Years later, Paul’s sister and Kevin celebrated a milestone anniversary, recalling with a giggle how Paul brought them together to obtain his goal.

Finn O’Boyle Becomes a Man, by JD Clapp

23/6/2023

Like the seductive promise of a distant shore, that warm day in January gave us false hope of an early spring. Winter would soon have her say, but that thaw cursed Boston on January 15, 1919, when the tank burst at the Purity Distilling Company.

When the boom rang out, Cara and Aoife stopped making soda breads in the kitchen; Mama stopped changing Sean’s wet nappy; I rested my ax. We gathered on the stoop and Constable Dugan told us Papa died.

The Great Molasses Flood also ended childhood for many boys. We became men with great responsibilities, lifelong burdens.

You're Mine and I'm Yours, by Paul A. Freeman

23/6/2023

Martina Jay, the Oxford University temporal physicist dropout and failed 80s musician, was envious of successful singer-songwriter, Edna Sarong. So she practised Edna’s most famous song, ‘You’re Mine’, and using her newly-designed time booth, went back to the 80s and registered her similar-sounding song, ‘I’m Yours’, with Bozo Records.

Returning to 2023, Martina sued Edna for copyright infringement.

“I’ve never heard this song before,” Edna protested, but similarities between ‘You’re Mine’ and ‘I’m Yours’ were undeniable.

Commenting on the multi-million-pound settlement, Martina’s partner said: “Wouldn’t it have been easier just to go back in time and buy a lottery ticket?”

Spent Up, by Brian Mackinney

23/6/2023

John looked up from his flower bed to see a fiver fluttering in free flow over his fence. As an avid collector he tried to pluck it out of the air but a sudden gust of wind sent it next door.

He needed fivers for his day to day spending and had a regular supply in his local cash machine until last week when a new all singing, all dancing dispenser was installed. Obeying its touch screen orders out popped crisp ten and twenty pound notes. Not a fiver in sight.

John wondered what would happen if they all disappeared.

What Was Left Behind, by Bill Cox

23/6/2023

Bright, so bright, in my head, voices whispering, shouting, crying. I should return to the ship and leave, but the brightness is in my vision and in my head and maybe in my body. It was black, blacker even than space but it must’ve heard us coming, heard our thoughts, tiny little mammal thoughts and switched itself on. I try to think about the mission, about recovering the anomalies, the artifacts they left behind in the solar system’s dark corners, but it’s too bright and the brightness is inside me now and I think that maybe I’m not me anymore…

Playmate, by Jamie Lee Morton.

23/6/2023

Eyes glistening, wet and soft. My own reflection, timid and shy under the sheets stared back. A voice came from the corner, dark pools shined in the dark.

"Will you play wiith me?" It asked, voice sweet and sickly like treacle. I shivered. The room was not cold yet I felt frozen all the same.

Scratching from the bedroom next to my own dug into my ears as I watched those black ichor eyes of hers.

A death rattling scream resounded, the scratching stopped.

The dolls head twisted, a blood soaked sinister smile blossomed, she began to crawl towards me.

Ribbit, by Sue Clayton

23/6/2023

“My loyal liege man, tell me I don’t have to kiss awake any more princesses. They are always ungrateful. Snow White and Sleeping Beauty were both crabby when I woke them from a wonderful dream where they were being kissed by handsome Prince Charming whom they hoped to marry.”

No princess would marry me, I sigh deeply. Bog eyes, smooth, slimy skin and unshapely legs.

“You are the Frog Prince, my lord. One day your kiss will awaken a beautiful maiden who will turn into a Frog Princess, ribbit joyfully , marry you and together you will spawn many tadpoles.”

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