Author: ireneallison12

Short Fiction

442: The Leader of the Dirty Dozen Disciples; The August Heat Times Five; The Next Voice of Choice

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The Mysterious Ways of Lee Marvin

I was with friends, waiting to be seated at a restaurant, and I kept hearing “So and so party of such and such, your table is ready” over the speaker. Since I cannot keep my mouth shut, I joked “Christ, party of thirteen, your table is ready.” This earned me a sour look from a lady across the lobby, whom God must have endowed with keen hearing. She was wearing a crucifix large enough for a rapper or eighties’ era Madonna. I sighed, for it seems to me that God probably has a sense of humor, although many of the faithful do not.

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All Stories, Editor Picks, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Week 440: Cherophobia; Another Sane Summer Week; Actual Site News and More Rejected Questions

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Liquifying Cherophobia

Cherophobia is the fear of happiness. Fortunately, it is a treatable if not curable phobia. I guess I have the condition, but I view it as more of an aversion to buying into happiness than the fear of it. Sort of like counting a Gift Horse’s teeth, certain that your free Pony has a set similar to those of a Great White Shark, and that they will be dripping blood–and not Horse blood, either. Cherophobics suspect good news and are constantly listening for the other Horse shoe to drop.

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Short Fiction

Literally Rerun – Walk on By by Jane Houghton

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Literally Reruns – Walk on By by Jane Houghton

A steady accumulation of the little things can crush the will to go on. A chore once too often; the incessant pecking of the distorted past; a great fatigue, boredom. It’s seldom the big things that move you to check out–but usually the steady drone of dead sins, memories over-handled to the point of nonsense and tired feet that get you.

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All Stories, Editor Picks, General Fiction, Short Fiction

436: Farewell Neighborhood Dive; Another Week That Was; and the Debut of International, Interstellar, Interdimensional Cloven Hoof Shaking Day

ireneallison12

Taking the Dive

Recently, after nearly forty years of business, the nearby Social Club Tavern has closed for good. There’s a special sadness when the wild things in life die.

Still, it’s strange to feel sentimentality for something that was one hell of a long way from sentimental during its existence. The Social Club was rough and tumble. I saw some guy punch the window out of the front door after a fight with his girlfriend. A piece of plywood replaced the window for about a year. I usually like to glance through the window of a bar to get a feel for the situation. Since the Social didn’t have any other windows except the one on the front door, entering blind was a roll of the dice. Only hell knew who or what waited inside.

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Editor Picks, General Fiction, Latest News, Short Fiction

WEEK 435: Crows; Brilliance and a Fourth of July Salute to the UK

ireneallison12

And the Brain Dead Shall Lead Them

If it weren’t for slogans and bumper-sticker philosophies, management would have very little to say at work meetings. Just the other day, at a meeting, I heard the slogan “Write What You Know” “shared” by a member of the “team” (as anyone who has worked at least one day in life, the preponderance of facetious quotation marks soon becomes obvious). I work in a government warehouse that delivers supplies procured from the “civilian sector” to various locations on base. Cases of toilet paper and flats of bottled water, that sort of stuff. There ain’t a whole lot of writing what I know in that field, yet it got said because it has taken its place among managerial verbal dingleberries such as “Wow, let me look into that and get back to you”–which, translated from management-speak, means “I do not care, and hell will grow petunias before I get back to you.”

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Fantasy, Humour, Short Fiction

SaragunVision ’23 By Leila Allison

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A Nocturnal Visit

I entered my office one morning and discovered a playbill pasted to the window. It was on the outside facing in. A quick check of the spy-cam I recently installed revealed that a Trans Weasel named Penrose had stuck the playbill to my window precisely at the stroke of midnight.

In Penrose’s case “Trans” doesn’t refer to gender (of which she or he is mysterious about). Penrose is a minion of the Witch HeXopatha; HeXy often endows her beloved animal toadies with abilities not normally associated with their species. In that context only, it was perfectly normal that Penrose had morphed into a Flying Weasel.

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All Stories, Editor Picks, General Fiction, Short Fiction

WEEK 433: Feral Advice; It’s A Big World Afterall; A to Z of the Kitchen

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Feral Advice

Come spring, Feral Tomcats, nature’s charming blighters, seek the bliss of temporary domesticity. Such is happening in my courtyard; or at least the attempt is being made. Both my Feral Tomcat friends, Andy and Alfie are doing well. But Alfie has been smacked with lovesickness.

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Short Fiction, sunday whatever

Literally Reruns – Dave by Hugh Cron

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Ah, the month of June. When I was a child June was a magical time. School was out and summer lay ahead like an endless fantasy. It was impossible to believe that something that wonderful could go bad. But it did; when school let me out for the last time I immediately began working at a job I needed but already hated.

So it is fitting that we mark this June with a tale of regret for something wonderful that was lost and always will be, with Dave by Hugh Cron.

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