There was a disassociation between my body and my mind. My body begged for sustenance, but my mind refused. And I stood on the outskirts, watching it all play out.
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Category: All Stories
The Outsider by Tom Sheehan
Piling onto the sidewalk after the celebration of Mass, the chatter was all the same. Mildred made the most noise, her face turning redder with each phrase uttered. “Who does Anna think she is! Refused my hand when the priest said give those around you a sign of peace, shake hands like you mean it. Just kept her head down like she didn’t even see me.”
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In the Land of the Salamander by Harrison Kim
I’m chopping wood with Norbert. We chop in man bikinis, on Catfish beach. I consider the meaning of life as my axe head cracks into the wedge that splits the stump. I’m here as part of the “Campfire Quartet” reality TV show. Our mission today is to create and mime a song, yet also to show off our other attributes, which for me include long hair and axe whacking.
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The Dog by Paul Goodwin
My new neighbour is on the doorstep, towering and muscular, jaw thrust forward, bushy grey whiskers like a Victorian. “Your dog kept me awake last night,” he says. “Incessant howling. Given me a headache.”
“Impossible,” I say. “I don’t have a dog.”
He leans forward, slow like a crane. His face is close to mine. I see madness in his eyes. His breath smells of tobacco. “Don’t give me that. Think I’m stupid?”
I force a nervous laugh. “I’ve never had a dog. Stick insects and a hamster when I was a kid. Never a dog.”
He’s walking away. He tells me he’ll get the police onto me.
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Week 426 -Protective Sports-Wear For Those Who Need It, Erika The Legend And An Eye-Witness Account.
Another week to be rounded up.
We are now at number 426.
Let’s start with a question.
If you submit your work to a site/publisher /whoever, would you rather that they were drunk whilst reading?
If I threw in a ‘You would be guaranteed an acceptance’, would that change your answer?
And if I throw in a further, you’d receive a payment, does that make any difference?
Let’s find out those with principles and the other sensible folks!!
Continue reading “Week 426 -Protective Sports-Wear For Those Who Need It, Erika The Legend And An Eye-Witness Account.”
Your Garden of Contempt Dominique Margolis
Dear father, I’m sorry you think that I have been such a despicable daughter, but I wish you health and happiness so that you may spend yet another wonderful birthday in your Garden of Contempt for me! You’ve indeed worked long and hard to make that space luxuriant, so you deserve to kick back and enjoy!
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Encounter at The Green by Edward N McConnell
The loud noise in the hall was getting closer. I knew what that meant, study time was over. Within seconds my door burst open. It was three of my frat brothers, notorious partiers. The fact they came to me was not surprising. I was one of the few people in the house that had a running car.
One of them said, “Hey, Sparky, want to go to a great bar in Youngstown?” What he meant was, “We need a ride to a bar in Youngstown.”
A little bit about these three. I remember their names, but I’m not going to reveal them. All you need to know is that each came from a very religious family. Their fathers’ were ministers. That’s why they were at an evangelical Lutheran college instead of secular state school.
My Dad used to say, “The biggest troublemaker in town is usually the minister’s kid.” In this case, multiply that times three. I was in college to get a degree, not cirrhosis. These three had other educational goals. What those were, your guess is as good as mine.
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Feathers by Lindsay Bennett Ford
The plasticity of the charity bag felt like another cruel humiliation to Marilyn. Her once fashionable flowered sleeved blouses and trim-line shift dresses had been taken down from their hangers in the wardrobe – only to be dragged out in handfuls by the spiky haired shop assistant with youthful enthusiasm while Marilyn’s cheeks burned. Bright colours clashing like layers of a trifle, chiffon and polyester laid on top of one another in the bag, pressed trouser legs are unseemingly wrapped around a starched collar, polyester and cotton acting like reunited accomplices caught and stretched out on the counter, inspected and held up against the harsh fluorescent light. Something bounces out the bag and with a loud ping, rolls across the floor.
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Requiescat in Pace by Bill Huey
Patrick Mulcahy awoke with a start after a night of fitful sleep. It was Monday, October 23, and this was the week he would die. On Thursday, October 28, at 3p.m., Patrick Mulcahy, 62 years and six months, would depart this life.
This doleful fact had come to him in a dream, but Pat had always had a knack for prediction, especially for death. He wasn’t a shaman or a mystic, but his gift was prediction. This made many people wary of him, but others flocked to him for predictions about sports, elections, and even the weather.
Being certain of the time and day of his death had its advantages, because it happened soon enough for Pat to enjoy a full life. His work as an actuarial consultant furnished him with both ample time and income, and Pat visited every major league ballpark in the United States. He went to spring training for his beloved Red Sox every spring, and even went to Cuba for the historic game in 2016, as a guest of David Ortiz.
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Helen vs The Gas Pump by Joel Pedersen
Helen stood at the back of her car, in the unrelenting heat of summer in the desert, staring blankly at the pump. This was the first time she had pumped gas since David had passed. A great, vital man. A locomotive halted by the failure of the tiniest part, cascading into ever progressive, irrevocable destruction. It was one of the worst things she had ever experienced, and when the end came it was the worst relief. She had her hand on the valve when, looking back at her car, past the faded McCain 2008 bumper sticker, there was no gas cap cover. She remembered then that she had always been on the opposite side of the car, in the passenger seat, as David pumped gas. So she got back in the car and turned it around.
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