What most disturbed Ben Sykes about his present situation was how it had crept up on him: Ben had lost his home, his wife, and he had thrown away his job. He wasn’t able to say which one thing brought him to this—the world was certainly a more complex and complicated place than placing blame on one thing. If it wasn’t for his ex-mother-in-law, Mrs. Edna Ferbish, allowing Ben to stay with her, well.
Continue reading “A Pebble at Dawn by J Bradley Minnick”
To some, hindsight proves a faithful if fashionably late companion. Though it often offers questionable advice, reflexion is more tolerant than people, each of whom seems keen to speak of subtle feelings Chas rarely recognises. His, ‘I’m just angry’ stock response fails to satisfy those in search of his finer feelings.
‘Sad–’
‘No space for sadness when you’re angry.’
Continue reading “As Ever, the Nun by Antony Osgood”
I’ve had a problem controlling my temper my entire life. It started when I was young. If I didn’t get my way there’d be hell to pay. I used to get into a lot of fights. A few times I even ended up in the hospital. And that all happened before I got out of grade school. Fortunately, over time, I was able to change. What happened? I wish I could say that I had a simple answer or a magic formula, but it really just came down to wanting to do more with my life than spending it being a pugilistic jerk who settled his arguments with his fists. At least I never used a gun.
Continue reading “Storm Clouds by James Bates”
Cognitive Dissonance, my jazz combo, show signs of being on an upward swing, even though we left the audience at the altar last Fall when we almost but not quite played “A Love Supreme.” The show was a victim of unexpected interference from my day job, when my boss Ronnie was thrashed by the competition’s guys. I had to run to see him at the hospital minutes before we were planning to hit the stage. It was mandatory.
Some band members blame the inexplicably awol drummer, who prioritizes a half-week relationship over Cognitive Dissonance’s long-term reputation. Months of practice down the drain. However you frame the situation, our musical reach exceeded our grasp.
After I refund the ticket sales out of my own pocket, it’s ketchup soup and toaster leavings until Spring.
Continue reading “The Kid Who Thinks He’s Grown by Todd Mercer“
Blood puddled like pureed cranberry sauce on the floorboards, seeping into cracks and staining the reindeer-skin rug. Erica the Elf sat in the cosy armchair by the fire – His chair – watching the red liquid trickle in tiny tributaries towards the television cabinet. She took a cigar from the box on the coffee table and lit it, letting the match scorch her fingers, the smell of smoke mingling with the metallic stench of death. Glancing at the Fat Man’s corpse lying semi-naked in the centre of the room, Erica dialled the emergency services number and waited.
Continue reading “The Bad Elf by David Christopher Johnston”
Oh, how satisfying it will feel to fill that final gap on the wall! In just a few hours, his collection will be complete at last, the wall completely covered in carefully measured rows and columns of black and white stills. The precision of the white gaps (28 mm) between each photograph gives Andrew great pleasure – he has always been exceptionally neat. It is extraordinary how many memories are held, suspended, within these grains of film. His favourite is 8 across 6 up, the one with a small 36 inscribed on the bottom corner.
Continue reading “The Darkroom by Freya Williams – Warning – content that some readers may find disturbing.”
‘I’m so sorry, I really wasn’t paying attention,’ the middle-aged man was told by an older woman. They were the same height. George, being six foot three, had found the novelty of not looking down for their conversation quite refreshing, though he suspected in the morning he’d discover a plethora of aching muscles he never once suspected he possessed. Her attention was fixed on undexterous fingers shaking an empty not-quite-glass, a bubbly flute of clouded plastic. It was as if, George imagined, the last drop of wine had proven impossible for her to access, and for the life of her she had found no way to solve the puzzle. She kept holding the flute up to the noisy strip-light, seemingly either looking for fingerprints or a miracle. She appeared forensic in her analysis of unobtainable alcohol. George was reminded of a video he’d once seen on YouTube, of a goldfish obsessed with its image in a mirror. The poor fish had been unable to free itself from the mistaken belief it was threatened by itself. It was the saddest thing George had seen.
Continue reading “Keep Dancing by Antony Osgood”
The woman at the door stared at the children. She was pregnant. Seven months low to the ground with what she knew to be a boy. She ran a hand up and down her stomach. It had snowed overnight, and it was snowing still.
The boy and the girl were sixteen or seventeen. Maybe younger. Neither was dressed for the weather. Blue jeans and black t-shirts. Black sneakers.
“They want to come in,” she said.
“Who did they say they were, again?”
The woman looked through the glass eyehole, past the strange children. A white horizon absent direction. There were no tracks in the snow. It was windy, and the wind pushed and pulled the fallen snow. Still, it would have been nice to see tracks.
Continue reading “The Other One by Richard Leise”
He sat on the couch with his arms crossed around his middle like he was hiding something precious from some malevolent authority.
“I think I might have gone,” he said.
In a moment the water stopped to a drip in the kitchen sink.
“I’m coming,” she said.
She went to him compressed by the years. Shrunken like wool in the dryer. Her shoulders pushed down from holding all the clouds above the world.
She helped him to the bathroom.
Continue reading “Wig Shop by Jon Fotch”
It is far too quiet for a room with two people, a room where the brush of bare feet on wooden floorboards struggles to fill the air. A room where dim, flickering shadows writhe unbidden across the wall, called forth by a candle sputtering futilely in the corner. It is the silence of empty air where people ought to be, and the bar is fully brimming with it.
Continue reading ” The Girl Who Does Not Exist by Kaela Li”
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