The hare has appeared, again. She is out and about.
She sits back on her long, folded hind legs showing her profile to the onlookers in the static caravan a few yards away.
Continue reading “The Anatomy of a Hare by Alex Faulkner”
Fisheye by Jade Lacy
The last time we stayed at Popo’s house, I was five years old, still in the cradle of memory when truth and story become mixed up in an inseparable mosaic. It’s hard to say what I remember and what has been spun to me as a family tale, more real than my own hazy recollection. Maybe if I had been older I would have more to tell. Or maybe it would be all the more clear how much of Popo’s life had slipped through the cracks of my young, distracted mind.
Continue reading “Fisheye by Jade Lacy”
Nothing Else That I Would Ask by Antony Osgood
‘Above the spume!’ Dr Gerasimos Evangelatos chants as he presses his disputed sandal to the pedal. Cephalus, his family’s latest ‘stray’—though what is a stray cat but an unmet friend?—gingerly stares from the front basket. ‘Above the foam of the sea!’
Continue reading “Nothing Else That I Would Ask by Antony Osgood”
Bananenbuigerij by Michael Smith
What an induction day that was!
Unemployment had been high for years, and so the surprise arrival of Dutch company ‘Bananenbuigerij’ had been greeted with much enthusiasm in town. Like most of my friends, I’d sent in my application, and was one of those fortunate enough to be offered an interview.
Continue reading “Bananenbuigerij by Michael Smith”
Death to the Dean by Linda P. Rose
Muriel McGregor had her champions, but they were far outnumbered by her enemies. Both agreed that the university president had made a mistake when he selected Muriel to be dean of the Humanities College. The tenured faculty were noisy or ominously quiet when discussing Muriel. The untenured professors were discreet. They hugged their fears and were vaguely positive.
Continue reading “Death to the Dean by Linda P. Rose”
Sunday Whatever – Channeling Rick James by Susan DeFelice
It’s raining and fog lays a smoky screen over the distant hill dotted with houses that twinkle like fireflies at sunset. I stare out, feeling some guilt about watching Rick James videos on YouTube. I told Cheri and she went: “You know all he sang about was ‘bitches and hoes,’ right? Disgusting. And all he did was free base coke and have orgies! What’s your problem, have you sunk so low?”
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever – Channeling Rick James by Susan DeFelice”Week 572 – Medals, Trys And Advice.
It’s now week 572!
I feel that the year is fair flying in. I think that happens when there isn’t much to look forward to!
Before I start writing the usual pish that I do, I’d like to point out that the site now has over one and a half million hits!
Continue reading “Week 572 – Medals, Trys And Advice.”
Hell’s Half Acre by Danyl A Doyle
In the morning, the sun had long since risen above the horizon, casting stark, foreboding shadows over the Yampa River. We stood at the edge of the water, my wooden boat bobbing gently on the surface. The wind whispered secrets through the cottonwoods and I felt the weight of my history bearing down upon us. We had married, and this handsome kind man had promised to spend the rest of his life with me, knowing I was doomed to run this river every two weeks for all time.
We pushed off from the shore.
Continue reading “Hell’s Half Acre by Danyl A Doyle”
Trespassing by Liz deBeer
AJ slows his pace, hesitant to interrupt Lu as she tosses crusts to a pair of pigeons. When he crunches gravel, she doesn’t look up, just asks, “Why you back?”
Wanted to see this hellhole one more time.” He takes a few steps toward her. “And you, Lu.”
She stiffens. “Been a long time.”
Continue reading “Trespassing by Liz deBeer”
Asimov in the Operating Room by Barry Yedvobnick
I love the smell of antiseptic in the O.R. as the cool, dry air penetrates my mask. Even the acrid odor of cauterized flesh is tolerable after thirty years of incisions and excisions. However, this morning the room is foreboding.
Continue reading “Asimov in the Operating Room by Barry Yedvobnick”
literally stories 