He smells late-spring grass.
Cold, wet dew caressing his cheek, Stanley blinks rapidly for focus. In dawn’s peachy glow, he is face-deep in dandelions and the lengthy shadows of his white picket fence.
Continue reading “Manifesting Raspberry and Apple by Lincoln Hayes”
On Sunday! See you on Sunday! I await you all. He called out, his voice brimming with unrestrained cheer.
What’s happening on Sunday? Someone would ask him with a mocking smile.
Continue reading “The Man with The Frozen Clock by Georgia Xanthopoulou “
A Word is Born
Human friction is often caused by a powerful negative response to something another person says is true. An exchange of loud exchanges of not listening to the other person occurs. You see it in bars all the time. Words spill from mouths, fists fill the temporarily emptied maws and loosened teeth are the innocent victims. Dentists prosper. Yet the situation is usually considered resolved.
Continue reading “Week 530: Tuncking; A Warning From Diane About More Corporate Slime Trails; Six Gems and Some High End Funny Bizness”
Big Benny Brailsford was slumped on the couch with a can of lager. More in hope than expectation, he was zapping the TV channels with the remote, it being The Early Evening Viewing Desert. He eventually settled on one of those antiques programmes. The expert on the TV was riffling through some old duffer’s collection of football memorabilia. The collection included an early F.A. Cup Final programme, which the expert reckoned was worth five hundred to eight hundred quid.
Continue reading “Family Heirlooms by Michael Bloor”
A single strand of hair drooped from Katherine’s thumb and forefinger as she held it in front of the waitress’s face, a tiny droplet of sauce or grease still hanging from the end where she’d plucked it from her plate.
“I’m really sorry, I can get you a fresh plate,” said the waitress, backing away.
Continue reading “Snakes everywhere by Alex Kellet”
Every woman was best dressed, shining, and swanlike in elegance when Wayne married Lydia in April. The men wore linen shirts with canvas texture, and high-waisted pants, giving the appearance of something strong, something of the fighter or the ballroom dancer. George wore trainers and loose slacks in a vain hope of comfort.
Continue reading “Shame by Mechant Deaux”
(Editors’ note: Happy Easter to everyone. And we thank Daniel for forgiving us (me) for misplacing his accepted story, which we are pleased to run today–LA)
The funeral is held in a large generation-spanning cemetery, with manicured lawns and polished granite headstones for the average, marble for the more-than-so, and pieces of nondescript rock hastily and carelessly inscribed for those who thought someone important enough for a marker, but not enough to break the bank.
Continue reading ” Eulogy by Daniel R. Snyder”
Crossing the city for a night shift was the last thing Luna wanted to do. The temperature was dropping, and a biting wind whipped through the dark streets, driving a fierce snowstorm, turning pavements white. Luna huddled in the broken shelter, but the bus- always late- was nowhere in sight.
Continue reading “Lions in Winter by Neil James”
‘Andrew, we need to talk.’
Andrew pauses for a moment, glaring at the torn Skinny Puppy poster he has taped to the inside of his locker. He feels like complete and total ass. He’d been up much too late the night before, doing bong hit after bong hit alone in his room, studying The Anarchist’s Cookbook in confused fascination. Just think of it – kablooe! He’d set it off in the Headley-Royce parking lot where the school royalty congregates, sitting on the hoods of their sixteenth-birthday Mercedes, sneering down at him as he trudges up the hill from the bus stop.
Continue reading “The Accident by Courtney Jean Day”
The kid sneaks in here every day, which is crazy because I’ve done my best to keep him out of my store. It wouldn’t be the first time a guitar, fiddle or banjo walked off. Kid likes to slide in while I’m with a customer talking trade or repair, head straight for the vintage instruments in the back room, get down the 1924 Gibson A-4 and start messing around.
Continue reading “McKenzie and Sons by Ed Davis”
literally stories 