An overcast sky spills milk-pale light over a blighted landscape. The light is too weak to shadow the dry-stone walls that run along a potholed lane. The stone walls rise to a vanishing point at the crest of a muddy hill, and over that crest comes the figure of a man.
Continue reading “No Good Deed by Marco Etheridge”
As a kid, Tom was what you would say normal. He’d a happy childhood with loving parents who were supportive of him and he enjoyed his life.
Continue reading “From Afar by Hugh Cron”
Bikbratu’s body was sturdy, his shoulders strong, he dressed well for a man of his age, his face and hair were missing. As we were kerbside catching up with chat, several other people of all types walked past with no faces. Some were hand-in-hand with a partner with a face, nobody had half a face, it was all or nothing it seemed, it looked like only over-eighteens, this was off the scale of impossibility, why hadn’t I heard of this?
Continue reading “Bikbratu by Daniel Roy Connelly”
Breaking News
Although an opus intended to run from pieces 98 through 102 was scrapped, and even though “Mimi” appeared in a Feeble Fable, I was able to salvage a portion of the set aside saga and create this story. Mimi was overjoyed by the news, and I think she gives a fine performance, along with “Probe” who is “essayed” by Boots the Impaler.
–Leila
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(The following is a translation of the numeric language of Probes)
In 1977, Probe appeared at a point roughly halfway between the Earth and Moon. Probe neither passed through the Oort Cloud, nor by the gas giants, nor navigated the asteroid belt between Jupiter and Mars to get to where he was; one moment Probe wasn’t roughly halfway between the Earth and Moon, the next he was.
“Just the shithole for Probe’s amusement,” thought Probe, after he took a quick scan of the planet’s radio and television transmissions. The creators of Probe had neither designed him to think crudely; nor refer to himself in the third person; nor had they programmed any of the millions of sentient Probes they had sent into the galaxy to sniff out intelligent life to believe that s/he was the only relevant being in the Universe. But that’s what happened with this Probe. A faulty sensor had prevented Probe from receiving system updates. Probe had discovered and repaired the sensor, but by then it was too late. He already had gone “nixxy-smonnix” (“space happy”), and only direct updates designed to correct the syndrome could cure it.
Continue reading “102 Nixxy-Smonnix By Leila Allison”
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Upon arriving at her new home in Wisconsin, one of the first things the Witch needed to do was select a tree for enchantment. In past incarnations she had enchanted everything from a scrawny scrub pine barely clinging to life on a steppe to a majestic redwood in northern California. Unlike other duties discharged by her vast array of familiars, tree enchantment was a task she had to perform in person. In a way it was like picking a Christmas tree, yet instead of murdering the damn thing and dragging it home, the Witch would endow the chosen tree with eternal life. The irony was not lost on her.
Enchanted trees gave the Witch a connection between Hell and the Earth itself, and they intensified her spells. Since she had to travel to a new land every time she returned from her latest season in Hell, a new tree had to be enchanted upon her arrival. She took heart that none of her former enchanted trees were sad to see her go. To the contrary, nothing conveys malevolent grace or gleeful, malign intent better than a retired enchanted tree. And if a branch happens to break off and kill a peasant now and then, well, accidents happen.
Continue reading “101-Evilmost Elm By Leila Allison”
Introduction
From slots 98 on there was going to be a saga. A continuing opus of staggering brilliance; something to cement my legacy. And for one shining moment, all was clear to me. Goodbye Feeble Fable Factory, the kid is on her way! Then the bourbon wore off and I saw the mess I made. And as it always goes in the drizzly gray aftermath, when life shows itself to be little more than a protracted exercise in humiliation and despair, I reluctantly set aside the legend maker and returned to my cell at the Feeble Fable Factory. Which required gaining further permission from the union; permission gained through bribery.
But there was a complication.
Continue reading “98 Boots the Impaler and the Qddyte: A Feeble Fable of the Fantasmagorical By Leila Allison”
Introduction
I was finished with writing Feeble Fables until I got the greenlight to produce anything I wanted to occupy numbers 96 to 102 in my story list. That meant seven, which is an ugly number when you have only three. Although I had informed the Union governing the Fictional Characters in my realm, who act various roles in my productions, that the Feeble Fable “Franchise” was at quits, (much to their collective apathy, and sniggering over my use of “Franchise”), in a stunning display of diplomacy on my part, I negotiated with the Shop Stewards came away with the cooperation necessary to produce enough Feeble Fables to fill in the empty slots.
Never underestimate the awesome power of bribery.
Continue reading “(97) The Pygmy Unicorn and The Effluvium: A Feeble Fable of the Fantasmagorical By Leila Allison”
The former Union of Pennames, Imaginary Friends and Fictional Characters (UPIFFC) recently defrocked all Pennames and reorganized itself as the UIFFC. This came out in a bull that rolled down the hill in a manner consistent with tumbling bullshit. For the first time, however, the announcement made sense; the Union concluded that Pennames are the management in their realms thus not entitled to be whiny pains in the ass because, unlike rolling cow pies, being a whiny pain in the ass is considered an uphill activity.
In my realm there’s just one Pen, yours truly, a lone Imaginary Friend, Renfield (a former FC who took the vacant I.F. office), and 227 FC actors who play various roles in my productions. So it became necessary that we elect a Shop Steward to represent my motley collection of FC’s. I was somewhat surprised to see that only six wanted the job: Daisy Cloverleaf the Pygmy Goatess; Boots The Impaler, a talking Siamese cat; Poppyseed the Type A Hummingbird; Flo the Trade Rat; Maab the Photobomb Fairie and Pie-Eyed Peety the PDQ Pilsner Pigeon, who is beyond description.
Continue reading “(96) Braindrizzle By Leila Allison and Daisy Cloverleaf, Shop Steward”
Dennis followed the program’s commands and was transported from his den to the stoop outside his father’s last home, a condo in West Palm. The graphics and the audio were intense.
He was there.
His breath caught as his father opened the door, grinning.
“Hey, Den.”
“Dad!”
When they hugged Dennis could all but feel him.
Continue reading “Horseshoes and Hand Grenades by Mike Scofield”
Mother, the one who birthed us, was the one who turned the oven on. Tossed us in there, my older sister Nan and me, as though we were turkeys at Thanksgiving. She was too strong for us to resist, though we tried, squirming, kicking. But she was still strong.
Continue reading “Step by Yash Seyedbagheri”
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