The town’s children were eager to help. They would gather sticks and small logs from the forest to add upon the pile. It gave them purpose, a role to play in what was to happen. The town’s folk had long been gathered. Many held small crucifixes close to their hearts, whilst memorized prayers left their lips. Others stood patiently, echoing silent whispers of what was to come.
Continue reading “Burning Away Sin by J.J. van Schaaijk”
Wanda missed the bars that had surrounded her since she was fourteen. They weren’t really meant to imprison her, of course. They were meant to add to her mystique, to convince the carnival customers that she was wild and dangerous, that the fur on her face made her kin to the wolf that had eaten grandma. Turns out, she’d needed those bars to protect herself. Full-grown men, probably deacons in their churches, had growled and laughed and rattled the bars to get a rise out of her. Her mother had trained her not to respond. Middle America was full of idiots who stroked their shotguns like they stroked themselves in darkened movie theatres. Although she was on display, in truth she was the one who had a front-row seat. She’d sat behind those bars for nearly forty years watching a parade of men who grinned like fools when their crops came in and snarled at their families when they didn’t. She was there when young men started coming through with empty shirt-sleeves and even emptier eyes. She’d heard the grumbling when the law said that Blacks could come to the show “right alongside the upstanding White folks” of rural Atlanta. Two-years-ago, she’d reveled in the South’s dumbstruck disbelief when a Black man took a seat behind the desk in the Oval Office.
Continue reading “Beards by Ann Marie Potter”
Sitting forward on the hard plastic cushions of what some might call a couch, you remember your sister once told you death is an ocean: waves crashing and receding again into the watery stuff from whence they came. You remember how you used to find that image comforting, the oneness of it all, and shake your head now at the thought of it. The sterile smell of the room around you isn’t quite sharp enough to cut through a wandering mind, so you press your hand against the looming incubator to your left and hum some tune from your childhood loud enough to drown out the CPAP machine—the one that whirrs and hisses in the unmistakable timbre of crashing waves.
Continue reading “Eggshells by Amy Rains – Includes references some readers may find distressing – see tags.”
The D train doors closed just as Sammy stepped onto the platform of the West 4th Street station. Slightly miffed, he was nevertheless glad to be out of the January cold. He removed his pipe from the pocket of his overcoat, filled the bowl with loose tobacco, tamped it down into a wad, and lit it with a strike anywhere match he ran across the metal No Smoking sign on the station wall.
Continue reading “The Doppler Effect by Mark Russ”
Dr Williams soaped his hands under water. Important to keep them clean, he thought. For me more than anything. He watched the suds spill into the sink, twirling in clean white loops, neatly gurgling, almost comforting. At last, he withdrew; hands blue and sparkling from the cold.
Continue reading “Clean hands by Otto Alexander”
When an Antarctic scientist uncovered an alien space ship while digging for a latrine, he sent for the best crypto-biologists, archaeologists and astronomers to come to the Antarctic base. After the local Antarctic scientists were assembled, they entered the ship which had unrecognizable instruments and made weird sounds like those of a Theremin. They quickly discovered something encased in ice, which they hauled off to their camp.
Continue reading “Brave (not nude or new) Newt World by Doug Hawley”
Today is a real delight we have three wonderful pieces by the star who is Tom Sheehan. Anyone who has read much of Tom’s work will know how much his location near the Saugus River means to him and how it feeds his writing to take us all there with him. Tom’s time serving in Korea is another strong and most often stunning content in his huge cannon of work and Interception by a Muse includes both of these and though it may not be strictly fiction it’s a darned good read. And while you are still pondering the quality of wordsmanship read on and treat yourself to two more examples of fine writing. Upon My River, Upon My Soul and Words make up the rest of this Triple Treat.
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever – A Triple Treat of Tom’s”
There are, of course, spooks and sprites, goblins and ghosts, on every habitable planet in all the galaxies. Even here, in the Ant Nebula.
Are they indigenous to those planets? Or were they brought there by the space travelers who journeyed millions of miles from the earth?
Who knows?
Continue reading “Goblins and Ghosts in the Nebula of Ants by Steven Lebow”
One. Two. Three. Four. How. Are. You. Today? One. Two. Three. Four. How. Are. You. Today? One. Two. Three… What is that? A mole? When did that get there? Oh god. Fucking fuck. It’s OK, you’re FINE you ugly hog, you. Ian is going to hate this. You think he’ll take you in? With that thing on your face? Keep dreaming. People, better yet, Canada doesn’t care what’s in that peanut brain of yours, they care about what is covering it up. Go ahead, tell yourself that’s a stupid thought. Tell yourself you’re OK.
‘You are OK’.
Continue reading “Meeting of the Minds by Neil Jefferies”
literally stories 