Year: 2023

All Stories, General Fiction

World Tilting at Bedtime by Katya Lee

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By the time my mother mentions falling, I let the drone of her voice fade to the unawake part of my mind. Her words are a steady hum, punctuated by rattling breaths and muffled snorts as she clears the tangy scent of antiseptic from her nostrils. If I let my gaze drift away from her paper-white figure on the hospital bed, I can pretend that Iā€™m alone. In my peripherals, she blends into the monotony, clear and soft as water. The only thing that moves is her mouth, but her ramblings are like static ā€“ barely present, and even more unintelligible when I focus on them.

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All Stories, sunday whatever

Sunday Whatever

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A Favourite Place: Innerpeffray, Scotland’s oldest free lending library, established 1680.
Article by Michael Bloor

I’ve always been nuts about libraries. I’m pretty fond of bookshops, but libraries were my first and truest love. First of all, the local Carnegie library, where I went as a little lad, accompanying my grandad when he went to change his Zane Grey cowboy thrillers. Then, the central library in town, with its reference section, and its newspaper/periodicals section, with old men dozing in the central heating. The university libraries and The National Library of Scotland, where all manner of rare and wonderful books can be summoned up from the stacks for your study, all absolutely…FREE!

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Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 451 – Marvin / Scott – Which One Deserves The Plaudits, RETIRE!! – JUST FUCKING RETIRE!! And Rickie Bell’s Karaoke Extravaganza!

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Well here we go again and by fuck this might be random.

I loved when a kid who I worked with in the hostels used that word in a way that I had never heard.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Clown and The Kid by Ashley Laughlin

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The kid had this puffy bee-sting face I wanted to shove into the toilet bowl. I liked him as soon as he came, breathless and sweating, through the door. I liked him more when he offered me a cigarette.

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Short Fiction

The Slow Guiding Drift of Identical Things by J Bradley Minnick[1]

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Ms. Almond, our reading teacher, emanated a gaunt pallor and an unfit constitution, and she eschewed the bad breath of old age. She did not seem quite at home in her old woman waysā€”her shock of gray hair, her stoic and sad eyes, pools of blue that had seen far too much of the world, her permanent wrinkles that spread out like fans from the corners of her eyes and lips. Her etched forehead that told a thousand youthful stories.

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All Stories, General Fiction

When Every Breath is a Blade

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The FitnessGram Pacer Test is a multistage aerobic capacity test that progressively gets more difficult as it continues.

Our class lines up at the end of the court. The 20 meter pacer test will begin in 30 seconds. Itā€™s that time of the year, again. I passed the stretching test handilyā€“ā€“I like to tie my shoes standing up. Chin-ups and pull-ups I flunked, but it doesnā€™t matter. These results are for the state, not for a grade.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Bill Adam’s Book, “Miles” (With Shan’t” (Shall not) by Tom Sheehan

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After much madness here, poor vision, medical visits, bulb switching and light removal/replacements, securing the slanted rays of sun over my shoulder allowing those uses to spill across “Miles‘” pages, and a mind that neither attends reading for long stretches as it used to nor retains what it once was capable of, I have finally finished the reading of a fascinating book. “Mile’s” captivated me, the characters, the language, the new arc of a different story, another story and drama between people, but an arc having the same beginning and the same ending as many other arcs of my reading … life, lives, loves on the very planet, and resounding in daily sight.

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Short Fiction

Auld Author John Fante by Leila

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I had never heard of John Fante until I saw an interview taped with poet Charles Bukowki in the 1970s. Bukowski had enough ego to support a planet, and when asked his favorite writers he spoke his own name three times. But he then thought about it for a moment before delivering energetic and obviously heartfelt praise for author John Fante. The man he said was his only influence.

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Editor Picks, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 450: Halloween Memories and Horror Heroes

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The Caramel Apple Orchard

Although I will probably have another Saturday post closer to Halloween, it is on my mind now. And since all my other current ideas have the charm of razor bladed apples, I will go with the cheerier topic.

When I was growing up Halloween was mainly for kids, but over the years it has been taken over by The Failure to Launch Generation. I was one of those children who put next to no effort into a costume. I was goods oriented; people were giving out candy no matter how shoddy I looked. So Iā€™d get one of those cheap witch masks (the kind that always got sweaty and smelled like a runny nose after about a half hour of wearing), don a dark blanket for a cape and carry a whisk broom, which inevitably went missing early. The sack was the important thing. And I took the biggest one I could findā€“usually a pillow case.

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