People fling sorry at me.
Sorry, a person cuts in line.
Sorry, a biker knocks me over.
Sorry, my debit card’s been declined. Next customer, please.
There’s no sorry in rejected credit card applications. They speak only of delinquent obligations. Income. Balances.
Continue reading “Sorry by Yash Seyedbagheri”
Leila has picked out a real beauty this time. One of our most popular stories by wonderful Nik Eveleigh.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – A Single Grain of Salt by Nik Eveleigh”
I don’t know why I was wondering how many words a minute I could type. I decided to test myself. I can do around three hundred which I’m led to believe is quite impressive. I was so proud until I found out they all couldn’t be the same word without any spaces. No one appreciates my three hundred ‘a’s.
Continue reading “Week 313 – Speed, Alex O’Hara Was A Knob-End And Trust Me, ‘Old Shep’ Is Worse!”
It began when the weather turned. That cold, still brightness had gone. The leaves’ rusted gilt was torn from the trees and scattered across the tumbling grey clouds by the winds that knocked over the bins and beat down the last of the climbing beans in the vegetable patch. The shed’s corrugated roof flapped like a fish, clanging through the night.
Continue reading “The Plea by Craig Dobson”
Betty’s blue sneakers are alongside of the road. My sneakers are red.
Continue reading “Betty and My Sneakers by Townsend Walker”
The day had a head start on young Liam Craddock, he could feel it, and all that it promised. Across the years, on the slimmest sheet of air, piggybacking a whole man’s aura on that fleet thinness, he caught the sense of tobacco chaw or toby, mule leather’s hot field abrasion, gunpowder’s trenchant residue, men at confusion. If it wasn’t a battlefield in essence, or scarred battle ranks, he did not know what else it could be. And it carried the burning embers of memory.
Continue reading “Silent Retrieval by Tom Sheehan”
I had a theory that if I collected enough cigarette boxes and scrutinised the warning pictures – the obscene, grotesque illustrations of the sick and the dying – I would become so repulsed I could finally conquer my addiction. Of course, I knew I would smoke the very cigarettes I had gathered in order to quit. The cure, like chemotherapy fighting a tumour, would be as devastating as the illness. However, I had tried to give up so many times before this felt like my only solution.
Continue reading “The Last Cigarette by Tim Frank”
Mom costs me friends. She shows up drunk to my high school functions. Double-fists Merlot at a parent teacher conference. And it happens again at my drama club production of Hamlet, set in a Burger King. Although this time she imbibes Pinot.
Friends’ parents suggest I’m not good company. It’s not me, they claim. They just have to be selective. This is high school, it’s a volatile time for everyone. People are easily influenced.
Continue reading “Friend Request by Yash Seyedbagheri”
Leila has fished out a rather unpleasant character – I thought we’d tied him up in the corner but no – this is what she said:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Memories are Made of This by Diane M. Dickson”
We had Valentine’s Day this week.
If it made you feel all fluffy and unnecessary and gave you inspiration to write a romantic romance to warm the heart, you are welcome to send it hopefully to anywhere else bar us.
(Unless of course it has a sneaky and clever twist that will make us go OOOH – dd)
Continue reading “Week 312 – True Romance Is Quentin’s Best Work, Alternative Head Cleaning And A Nod To Lives Gone By.”
