Adult content – see tags at the bottom of the story
I don’t believe in God; and I’ll tell you why. I don’t believe that good exists. There’s just evil and the absence of evil. It’s like your air conditioner doesn’t actually blow cold on you. It simply absorbs the heat and expels it elsewhere.
Continue reading “The Absence of Good by Thurman Hart”
The thing that you need to understand is, living beings die.
It’s not welcome, yeah. It is not something to look forward to, but it does happen. And, at times, it is kinda funny.
When daddy killed the deer, I found it funny how she toppled over the ground and crumpled on its back. There is something intricately funny about tragedy, seeing something regal just fall and shatter. When, at the end, the sun dies, I think God will also sit back and have a merry little chuckle.
Continue reading “When the Sun Dies by Tathagata Banerjee”
My landlord Enid lived above my garden unit in a tchotchke-coated little old lady apartment which I had never visited until that fall evening. A Sunday. On her kitchen table were placemats of art nouveau nymphs and salt and pepper shakers fashioned like bowling pins. She handed me a coffee mug in the shape of a cartoon character and said, “I hope this is good.” I didn’t say how I like my coffee, so on her own volition Enid put in lots of cream and lots of sugar.
Continue reading “The Random Roommate by Adam Kaz”
It’s a Thursday, and Ben watches Ellie through sleep-filled eyes as she dresses in the gloom of their bedroom. She rolls thick, woollen tights over her legs and pulls a long skirt up to her waist-line. She adds a bulky cardigan.
Oh, he says. Sexy.
Give over, she laughs. And go back to sleep.
Sexy teacher, he says, below the cover, his voice already thickening with sleep.
Continue reading “The Canal by Jill Craig”
Dr. Dylan Harrington removes the tubed mask from the nose and mouth of Kieu Nguyen—or Katie, as she calls herself on social media pages he’s visited. After shutting off the delivery machine, he gazes at her for several heartbeats. Her blue eyebrow stud matches the stone in each earlobe. Short black hair, upturned nose, bow-shaped mouth, unblemished skin with just enough color to make her exotic. She looks delicious without the thick black glasses now on the counter, atop her Animal Farm paperback. The faint slant of her closed eyes testifies to her mixed parentage. At last the uninsured high schooler reclines in his chair, under general anesthesia. She will stir in ninety minutes, jaw throbbing, wisdom teeth gone, a stitch or two in place, and dental cotton packed around four extraction sites. But before she wakes…
Continue reading “Hunting Ground by Gary Earl Ross”
Yo, Skeevy! C’mere!
Skeevy!
Whatta you starin’ at me? You don’t like it when I call ya that in front of that skank you’re hittin’ on? (’Scuse me, honey, no offense.) Better I should call you Sir Vincent Schiavoni, your Royal Friggin’ Lordship? Get your ass over here, okay?
There you go. What’s ’a matter, you ain’t got time for your Uncle Sal no more? C’mon over to the end of the bar so we can talk.
Continue reading “Goomba Columbus by Lenny Levine”
Whenever the mystery of Colonel Corpse’s murder had been solved, a process happened which Bishop Aubergine could not fathom, and Colonel Corpse was resurrected and murdered yet again.
Continue reading “Murder Most Foul by Matt Cunningham”
Mr. Randall prided himself on his ability to imagine a person in animal form, a technique he furtively employed, quite frequently it turns out, when he suspected the person might be smarter than him. This method reduced the individual into someone easier to deal with. As such, the small, long-necked man interviewing him from behind the desk in his bowtie and buttoned cardigan was perceived to be a bureaucratic turtle. The image, however, caused Randall to stew in disappointment. He had expected something more for his money—something out of The Sopranos—maybe a gorilla, or a bear. And that wasn’t all. Turtle-man’s office reeked of potpourri, for high on the wall a plastic dispenser spat out a staccato “phft,” and just about the time he forgot its annoying existence, it would “phft” again—signaling the imminent descent of chemical lavender.
Continue reading “Button by Joe Manion”
(Adult content – refer to the tags at the bottom of the page)
Mick blindsides me as I finish a cigarette and I fight the urge to crack him.
I’ve never liked him. His teeth are black from all the bootlicking and he’s punchable in a way that would make a heavy bag jealous.
Continue reading “The Summoned by Alex Sinclair”
Warning – Content that some readers may find upsetting – refer to tags on the bottom of the page
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What do you say to a person who tells you, when they get one of those shivers-running-up-and-down-the-spine feelings, that not only is someone really walking across their grave but that they can tell who it is …? Well, I can state for the record that what you absolutely do not do is laugh. I learned that the hard way. So, when he sat bolt upright in his armchair, rolling his shoulders and glaring at me as if it were somehow all my fault, I knew better than to look up from my ironing.
Continue reading “Grave Stepping by Steven French”
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