All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

The World From This High by Andrew Jason Jacono

The World From This High

The stars are out chittering over the water and the bridge is cold on the backs of my thighs and for the last three years He The One has been jabbering in my head telling me to jump. I haven’t listened to Him until now, I’ve been strong and I’ve resisted, but there comes a point when you just can’t take it anymore and you give in and so here I am. I’m not happy about it but at least when I jump They’ll stop beaming all those messages into my head and They won’t be able to torture me anymore.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

The Line Man’s Last Drive by Harrison Kim  

Scrawny old Bill Jackson worked twenty years as janitor at the mine.  He swept the lunchroom, washed and waxed the office floors, operated the snowplough and weed whacked the grass.  He liked to see things clean.  After the mine closed, he spent most of his time driving up and down the highway and side-roads picking up cans and bottles.  “Without me, the garbage would just pile-up” he told anyone who’d listen. He hauled discarded tires, old couches, rotten mattresses into the back of his pickup and drove them to the landfill.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Where They Are by Hugh Cron

David

I just don’t know!  What’s this world coming to?  A security guard who is nothing but a slip of a girl.  It’s not right.

But no matter.  It’s the shopping centre’s problem.  I have to admit that it’s nice that they give me my breakfast.  But in saying that I’m paying them enough. She does check on me, I’ll give her that.  But surely that should be a man’s job? 

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Walk on By by Jane Houghton

Christ. Almighty. Aunt Nell. Aunt. Fucking. Nell.

Bloodshot, enflamed eyes – well, eye: the right one. Skin like crumpled autumn leaves. Fleshy folds beneath her chin, dangling down like an over-spill tray on a coffee machine. A red, bulbous nose, courtesy of the ‘bloody rosacea’ that plagued Aunt Nell her whole adult life and transformed her nose into a beetroot.

It had happened. The unthinkable. The thing that she had been dreading for four years since finding out. She was morphing into Aunt Nell. Weird, you might think, turning into her aunt; turning into her mother would be more like it. A natural progression. What happens. This was what she found out: Aunt Nell was her mother. More on that can-of-worms later.

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All Stories, Literally Reruns, Short Fiction

Literally Reruns – You Got That Right by Adam Kluger

Leila has brought out a piece by a regular contributor to the site. Adam keeps us on out toes with his off the wall stories and his art. He is a great friend and an unusual and entertaining writer. This is what Leila said:

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All Stories, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 281 – Head Eating Demons, Sharing Arse Administered Medication And Gaye Over Dion Everytime!

Well here we are at Week 281.

Every now and then I am slightly happy.

The last time I was truly happy was the 8th November 1983.

This week was not of that calibre but I did find something that I’ve been looking for, for a very long time.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Disorientation Day by Leila Allison

Walking Boss Cooper scythed me at the loading dock. She’d set up a blind and waited until the large “agricultural investment order” I’d charged to the company arrived and forced me out of my secret sanctum. Renfield had warned me that “the WBC” was prowling the campus for two suckers to present Orientation to the “fresh fishes” that day, as well as a butt to fill an opening at the Neverending Crisis. Although it was most definitely a day for streaming Hulu in a utility closet, necessity led me to venture onto the open tundra.

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Short Fiction

Deleting Eve by Jessica Holzhausen

My client bought model T17 in April 2027 as a – I quote – ‘customizable sex toy with programmable character traits mimicking the behaviour of a real woman’. Mimicking – that is the code word here! Mimicking! The sex robot the prosecution likes to refer to as ‘Eve’ has never ever been a real woman. T17 was an advanced tool that might have looked like a human, acted like one, but only because its programmers and my client’s own adjustments embedded that into its code. Mimicking! My client did not commit murder, he deleted a computer programme he himself created according to standards set by T17’s original programmers. He deleted a computer programme from his own device. My client therefore pleads ‘not guilty’.

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Short Fiction

The Roquethford Problem by Zachary Hart

Attempt #53:

Our unit arrives at the Roquethford base at approximately 14:09:73, Standard Universal Time. Upon approaching a distance of 43 meters from the outer wall, Hive Designate “Samuel Peckingforth” emerged from the automobile and began to approach on foot, hands up, palms facing forward. He gave a standard Earth greeting while offering a friendly facial expression. 43 microseconds later, a loud bang shot out from the base wall. Designate “Samuel Peckingforth” fell to the ground, now no longer functional. Chlorophyll leaked from Designate “Samuel Peckingforth’s” cranium, indicating breakage via one of Roquethford’s firearms. Upon observing this, Hive members “Sally Brown” and “Charles Devingauh” stayed in the automobile to avoid further loss of Hive members. Firearm bursts continued sounding for the next minute, cracks appearing in the glass of the windshield, indicating Roquethford was continuing his barrage. Upon private discussion, designates “Sally Brown” and “Charles Devingauh” reached conclusion Roquethford would not waste too much further ammunition. After some time, bursts ceased to sound, indicating ceasefire. Designate “Sally Brown”, concluding that Roquethford may react better to female presence, volunteered to speak to Roquethford. Following is complete and accurate transcription of conversation, as can be seen in memory file #3476-JK3:

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Crime/Mystery/Thriller, General Fiction, Short Fiction, Writing

A Mother’s Love By Hugh Cron – Warning – Adult Content, Strong Language.

June 1st 1990

Sharon walked into the office. She saw her workmate Jim staring into a half empty coffee cup. He looked up. His face was flush, his eyes tired and she could have sworn that there was another line on his forehead.

“Do you know what I caught that kid doing?”

She began to chuckle. Jim had been trying to keep his cool since wee David and his mother had moved in.

“We know that it is the spawn of Satan, but go on…Surprise me.”

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