Fantasy, Humour, Short Fiction

A Castle For the Roller Derby Queen

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(The image is of the actual Andy, who graciously posed)

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Charity and Baby Hope had been searching for the perfect place to build a castle. Magick Minion Andy had done some in person searches and returned with the best prospect, which he explained to Charity in his surprisingly good Wiccan. “Surprisingly good” because your basic Cat, although all are born understanding the Wiccan tongue, has a bit of difficulty speaking it due to some of the trickier elongated vowels. Whenever your basic Cat meets a difficulty that really is not his problem he ignores it, but Andy is not your basic Cat, even though he does somewhat closely resemble a heavily used mop head more than he does an immortal Magick Gray Tabby.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Dancing Woman by Bradley J. Collins

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She’s in the middle of the street – a blur, a twirl, of color, this woman with a boombox. She’s not safe behind barricades or idling in a car as the rest of us are. She wears no coat, no makeup, shielded only by her floral dress.

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Humour, Short Fiction

Fresh from Slaughtering Kittens by James Hanna

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(An excerpt from Lights Out Lizzie)

Author’s Note

After joining Women of Wrestling, Gertie McDowell, a naïve Kentucky girl with a talent for misadventure, has been crowned the “champion of the world.” She acquired this title after taking on former “world champion,” Samoa Moa, and knocking her out with a head butt. Gertie did not do this out of malice but because Moa, a bitter behemoth of a woman, was wrestling too aggressively and has a history of injuring her opponents.

Leo Hawke, director and pitchman for World Wrestling Productions, is so impressed by Gertie’s “triumph” that he stages a rematch in Afghanistan for the entertainment of American troops. Prior to the match, Gertie and Moa are bunked in the women’s barracks where they attract new fans.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Orange Sash by Harrison Kim

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Sounds burrow in, fill Walsh’s craving mind.  The bus door opens, like a hospital emergency room.  He lunges on board, his orange sash of the Buddhist colours close to his cheek, hiding the scratches and whiskers on his face.  The bus driver doesn’t even flinch, hits the accelerator.  “Their Union tells them don’t get involved,” Walsh thinks.

“This will be my healing ride. Over the bridge to the other side.”

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All Stories, sunday whatever

Sunday Whatever – A True Tale of Stories Literally by Dale Wiliams Barrigar

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“No one has ever written, painted, sculpted, modeled, built, or invented except literally to get out of hell.”

– Antonin Artaud, Van Gogh, the Man Suicided by Society

“We are all of us alone.” – Harold Bloom

“As long as I’m learning something, I figure I’m OK.”

– Hunter S. Thompson

            “Stan, don’t let them tell you what to do!” – Harold Pinter

            “NO EASY WAY TO BE FREE.” – The Who, “Slip Kid”

Warning to the Reader: The following essay will sometimes appear to jump and leap from thing to thing with no apparent reason. As in life, there is a reason, even if it isn’t apparent. While under the influence, the author believes this discontinuous form is a part of the modern condition. Thank you. – D.W.B.

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Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 574 – Satanic Third Month, I Never Mentioned S.O.B, And Impossible Travel Insurance.

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Here we are at Week 574.

I can’t believe that the first week in March is already now over.

Idiot gardeners are outside tiding up. They’re wasting their time. March is a sneaky bastard of a month. You think the weather will get better but it doesn’t. Rest assured we will be in for gales and snow. Twice I spun my car off the road and both times it was in March.

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All Stories, Short Fiction

Godfather JoJo By Hugh Cron (Adult Content)

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Gregor hesitated at the door of ‘Till Dawn Night-Club’. He took a deep breath and walked in. Two rather large gentleman walked over to him.

“Don’t think you should be here pal! We’re fucking shut.”

One stood in front of him and the other guy moved slightly to his side.

He took a deep breath, “I know. I’m not here for any trouble, I was just wanting to speak to JoJo.”

“Is he expecting you?”

Gregor looked round at the other man.

“No…”

‘Well fuck off then!!’

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All Stories, General Fiction

A Thousand Vultures by Christopher Ananias

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The sun is sunny—not thoroughly unpleasant—but not a sun for picnics with Mary Lou down on the Potomac. Mary Lou is dead and buried by some Godless creek in Kansas. Her cross will rot away. A weak hastily made thing of silver birch branches and binder twine. In a year, a month, a week? She will have no marker unless I can find it again. Find her under the creeks torrents of land-grabbing muddy currents and sulking floods. Find her under the black silt and plants rotting white and stinking. Carp flopping on her grave. Then the water washes over again- recedes- and pulls the entire bank and her into it. Best to leave the past in the past.

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