He found her sitting in a tree. Her legs dangled over the edge, her dusty feet kicking back and forth. It had taken him a while to find her. It wasn’t as simple as it usually was. Each hourglass of life came with coordinates, of course. The tiny numbers ascribed on the bottom gave approximate locations. It wasn’t a perfect system. Humans weren’t as predictable as, say, ants. Things had gotten tricky when they domesticated the horse, for example. It had gotten worse with the engine. Obviously airplanes had kicked things into gear. But the hourglass makers, those bright-eyed creatures, were quick to adjust. They usually got it in the ballpark.
Category: All Stories
For Thee by Chella Courington
Wednesday at Chaucer’s I was digging through the fiction for a Christmas Eve book. Pulled Elizabeth Hardwick’s Sleepless Nights from the shelf when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Startled, I turned to face an older man in a gray sweater, the kind with a ribbed neck, and a salt and pepper beard.
The Saugus at Odd Hours, Odd Times by Tom Sheehan
1.
The river here heaves up on the bank like an old man getting into bed.
Birds cry downstream. A gull perfects a theft, executes drastic turn in air that could break bones. I do my duty walks like perimeter guard, shoulder walking cudgel the way I carried my carbine back there at 23, know the pound of it to an ounce; knowledge of the scabbard hangs on.
I’d rather the river and the tired water’s run as 86 years weigh a heavy canteen. Nothing is like a river’s to and fro against this sea, tide-wash, catch of kelp, air sting full of briny sea’s salad smells, perpetual anger, always earth-dig, sand-flush and rock-wear, drag on the moon, where a ship’s ghost and canvas call.
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Maleware by John McLaughlin
Damaged.
It’s written in the lines of her face. The mottled flesh scrawled across her cheeks, the tangle of scar tissue weighing on her eyelid. Battle scars? A robbery gone wrong? In any case, she’s seen some shit. And the story’s not finished.
Literally Reruns – the Rise and Fall of Johnny Thunders by Adam Kluger
Leila has chosen a piece by one of the ‘old timers’ to the site. We are pleased to see Adam being featured here and I for one do hope that he answers her second question. This is what she said:
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Week 256 – Invading Illuminati, Imbalance And Pastimes For Pricks.
Hello there folks.
Another week bites the dust and we’ve reached posting number 256.
Continue reading “Week 256 – Invading Illuminati, Imbalance And Pastimes For Pricks.”
Hardwood by Jeremy Salo
The kids in town nearly ignored marijuana altogether; they moved straight to heroin. They smoke it off of aluminum foil and to them it’s like taking communion. Not many shoot it, perhaps because they’re afraid of explaining away the marks during gym class.
Samphire Lighthouse by Tracy Gaughan
He put the button on her tummy. ‘Breathe now Hetty’ he said, ‘and watch the button … that’s what it’s like for a boat, going up and down on the sea.’
Two Live Here by Samantha Swain
Alexia hiked ahead of Cian. Frozen pine needles crunched under her boots and frosted ferns brushed past her jeans. The denim shimmered silver for a moment then grew dark as the ice melted into the fabric.
Send Galabicus by Tom Sheehan
Spiel: I’ve always admired the under-achievers who were small men, supposedly sour at life’s humble start with a small stature, but who bust their way out of the harsh beginning.
