Category: All Stories

All Stories, General Fiction

Ice Cream and Oxygen by Chris Klassen

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There are so many people here, in this space.  Where did they come from all of a sudden?  The space seemed empty just a little while ago.  And now it’s not.  It’s packed.  It may not be a problem legally, this crowd, but it must be a problem psychologically.  No proper room to move around, so much bumping and jostling.  It’s unsettling.  It’s a mass of people.  Or maybe a glut.  Is that the right word?  It’s a swarm of bees, a herd of cattle, a flock of birds.  Even a conspiracy of ravens, that’s a good one.  For people, it should be a glut.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Shove by Ronan Hart

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Sunlight streams in, catches the edge of a teaspoon placed just so beside The Good China cups, prized museum pieces brought out for an exclusive exhibition. Shadows of steam from the thrice-boiled kettle dance over the wallpaper, distant churning storm clouds the ship’s crew knows they’re destined to meet. The kitchen holds its breath. I’ve dreaded this moment since mum welcomed me home for the weekend by asking, “Guess who’s coming to visit you?” Her hands can’t stay still; a microadjustment to a napkin, the butter dish lid removed and replaced, a smoothing of the fancy table linen.

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All Stories, Science Fiction

Disconsolate Chimeras by Jie Wang

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I am standing on the beach. The sand under my feet feels like soot. An uncanny, organic look emerges from the bowing, rusting skeletons of the sea-view skyscrapers. He is gone, like his father, into the ominous, omnipotent water.

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All Stories, Editor Picks, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Week 406:Beware of the Vicars of Obfuscation; the Week that Remains and the Eight Articles of Rat Bastard

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Beware the Vicars of Obfuscation

I recently saw a documentary in which a scientist discussing the Big Bang said that there is a condition in which something can arise from nothing but went on to say that it is too difficult to explain what that means. Although I am positive that there are lots of equations in the explanation, the scientist was guilty of a form of religious hypocrisy; he behaved as though it were a secret knowledge to be dispensed to the unwashed by the learned on a need to know basis. The way it was with the clergy of the middle ages.

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All Stories, Fantasy, General Fiction

A New World by Peter O’Connor

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“Is that all?” she asks.

He offers her the strap of woven hessian. She runs it through her fingers feeling the soft weave.

“All natural materials,” he says, “natural colouring, as strong as steel and 98% recyclable.”

“What about the buckle bit?”

“The ratchet.”

He hands her the item. She turns it and lifts the bar. The click is sharp and staccato in the over stuffed office.

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All Stories, General Fiction

A Left-Handed Woman by Ann Harper Reed

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Frank noticed the couple when the Antique Collective shop doorbell clanged. Even to this day, he expected to see his wife June pass through that door as the bell reverberated. The couple came inside. She a bit mousy and dressed with some expense to look like she shopped at thrift stores; he was in expensive clothes meant to look expensive with a smartphone glued to his ear. They were the kind of patrons the collective needed to survive. They were the kind to admire his craftsmanship, while still needing furniture and having the revenue to purchase.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Music of Lana Jardine by Harrison Kim

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Lana Jardine always told me she’d be taken in the rapture, when God would gather up true Christians just before the apocalypse.  She accepted Jesus as her Lord and Saviour, so she’d never burn in hell.  “I confessed my sins,” she said.  “And he saved me.”

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All Stories, Fantasy

A Hell of a Story Part 2 by Frederick K Foote

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To whoever has the misfortune to find and listen to this recording, this is not a hoax, joke, or the results of delirium, hallucination, or a fevered drug dream. My name is Oslo Jennings, and I’m a 64-year-old victim of a fatal heart attack while driving. My medical records at the San Juan Medical Center document I was dead for 4 minutes and 33 seconds.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Village by Gene Bray

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 NYC 1978.  Just got here from Ohio, to be an actor.

Confession. To be a movie star.

 I get a single room on West 22nd st. It’s 15 by 8.

So I put the bed in the basement and get a mattress that stands against the wall.  A folding table and chairs

Voila.  It’s roomy.

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