All Stories, General Fiction

The Call of the Bacchante by Matias Travieso-Diaz

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No retreat offers someone more quiet and relaxation than that into his own mind, especially if he can dip into thoughts there which put him at immediate and complete ease.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

She was foaming at the mouth. Her eyes dilated rolled.
Her mind was gone–possessed by Bacchus– she could not hear her son.

Euripides, The Bacchae

Marcus sat alone, cross-legged, in the quiet of his studio, having dimmed all lights. He sought to set his mind at rest by deeply inhaling and exhaling; as errant thoughts floated into his mind, he considered each one for a moment and dismissed it.

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All Stories, Fantasy, Humour, Short Fiction

Simply Sinsational by Leila Allison

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After eating, drinking and making more of themselves, Raccoons live to roller derby. It comes naturally. You don’t need to use magick to make them like it. Just bring a pack of Raccoons to a roller derby track, supply a generous heaping of beer and snacks, place Rachel Welch’s brilliant Kansas City Bomber on the dvd and the critters know immediately what to do without spell casting or even training.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Should Be Seen and Not Heard by MJ Burns

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The father didn’t need to give the orders anymore ‒ the curtains were to be closed at four o’clock. Even if it was sunny. The boy blinked in the chilly shadow of the lounge and watched his father sink into his chair. The father sat where he always did: the single armchair by the hearth ‒ the deep-winged, plum one that blinkered him left and right. The boy sat opposite.

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All Stories, Editor Picks, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 587: Sometimes it Helps to Hear Another Voice

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(Elliott the Pigeon is on Vacation this week; Daisy Kloverleaf and her brother Fenwick are the header stars. Daisy is on your left)

One of life’s burdens involves processing repetition. Some people are sensitive to it, others meet it with the awareness of a cantaloupe. I am not always smarter than produce, but I have a keen sense for repetition. Therefore I know that the eternal concepts of Good and Bad dictate the perception of welcomed and unwanted repetition. A woman who keeps peeling off twenties is obviously a good thing to have repeated at you, but unless she is gaining something worth it the peeler may have different feelings in her cold little heart–that emotional storage bin that imploded eons ago and is so compressed into inner dimensions that it takes three journeys through as many event horizons just to reach the outskirts of her kindness. You may assume that she, the peeler, has developed a sense of negativity for the old “again and again.”

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All Stories, Fantasy

How to not keep a Vampire out of Your House (in Eight Easy Steps) by Bob DeRosa

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STEP 1 – When the undead thing scratches at your window and asks if it can come in, say no.

STEP 2 – When the thing says something that stirs your soul and awakens your senses, and when it promises that it doesn’t want to hurt you, it just wants to be with you, and when it asks to come in so you can have a really good talk about it, say no again.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Kinda Blindsided by Karen Uttien

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The pedestrian crossing ticked slowly as the little man flashed red.

Emma sat alfresco in her favourite café watching from across the road.

She knew it was her by the perfect silhouette. Tall. Slender. Dark hair pulled back into a low bun. Chunky gold earrings catching the morning sun and the approval of fellow pedestrians.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

James and Pruina by Mitchell Toews

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James put another piece of birch on the fire, the stove hinges creaking with hot dryness as he closed and latched the door. The papery bark crackled immediately to life, curling black and sending smoke and flame up the stovepipe. On days this cold, the single-paned glass in the old cottage windows looked triple thick owing to the rime coating the inner surfaces. He reached out to touch the slick, silvery skein, feeling his fingertips numbing and a rivulet of meltwater running down and then along the underside of his hand. The bottom panes were frost jacketed, those higher less so, the hot, rising air from the stove keeping them clear.

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All Stories, General Fiction

My Dad the Dragonfly by James Staynings

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I’ve kept this screensaver because it connects me with my dad. Every morning, he gets up, opens his flaps (of his tent) and is greeted by a sunrise. Wildlife and country air, instead of a phone alarm, wake him. I’ve never been camping, but I would like to; I’d love to camp with Dad, but the social says I’m not supposed to see him without supervision, and I doubt his tent would fit three of us. Still, one more year, they won’t be able to stop me.

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