Fantasy, Humour, Short Fiction

Wuthering GOAT by Leila Allison

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Meanwhile, “inside” a song playing in the fantasy multiverse….

A middle aged man dressed in late 18th century finery stood pensively at a window. It was late in the evening and he was gazing across the wily, windy moors at an ethereal, yet extremely familiar young woman in a fleecy white dress. She was singing (incredibly, accompanied by an invisible orchestra) and steadily progressing toward the window in an artistic dance. He heard his name in her song, “Heathcliff.” (The lyrics also contained some character observations that Heathcliff could have done without.)

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auld author, Short Fiction

Auld Author – A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith – By Leila

“They learned no compassion from their own anguish. Thus their suffering was wasted.”

Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

There was a good film of the same name based on Betty Smith’s autobiographical novel, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, which came out shortly after the book was published in 1943. But as it went during the days of the Hays Code of “decency,” much of the book could not be filmed due to content that the movie people figured viewers would be offended by. This involved a wildly over-sexed female character, pedophiles, alcoholism, antisemitism, children pulled from school to work after sixth grade, suicide, racism and persevering only for the sake of survival, for no greater aim than to prolong the misery. Some of those topics (especially the gentle father’s self destruction via the bottle) were addressed passingly while others were let alone.

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Editor Picks, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 464: Happily Never After and Antisocial People Have Feelings Too

Happily Never After

I cannot help but knock feel good fiction. It reminds me of Heaven, which no one has ever described to my satisfaction. From what I have seen, Heaven looks like an eternal installment of Songs of Praise (I thought the USA had a monopoly in the department of hokey religious programming, but the UK has once again exposed my ignorance).

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All Stories, General Fiction, Historical, Short Fiction

Hartshead Moor Services – Westbound by Matthew Roy Davey

The service station was different. While it was busy, it was quiet: a gentle hum of conversation and the odd rattle of cutlery and crockery. Everything was calm. There was no panic, no urgency, no pain.

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Short Fiction

Ian by Hugh Cron

Ian was a stereotype.

I didn’t really know him but I knew his wife.

The reason I say ‘stereotype’ is that he was a raging alcoholic but unbelievably functional. The usual story here, he worked in the entertainment industry as a lighting man for a theatre and that was a life that had alcohol not just at the end of the day, also throughout. As long as he could shine a spotlight and in these more technical days, programme a system, no one gave a shit.

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All Stories, Short Fiction

Week 463 – Transparency, Blanketing Eradication And He Also Knocked It Off.

This is my first posting of the New Year and I hope that you all had a cracking time that you either can’t remember or won’t regret!

I should be happy and uplifted.

And I am in an inverted way due to some shite that we need to put up with. (It gave me this posting).

Continue reading “Week 463 – Transparency, Blanketing Eradication And He Also Knocked It Off.”
All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Peter by Hugh Cron (Strong Adult Content)

“I need to speak to Peter.”

Ann looked at him and worried straight away.

“What’s wrong love, why has he got you so riled – I mean, for fuck sake, he’s Peter, the most inoffensive wee guy that we’ve ever known.”

Colin gave her a hug, “I don’t want to say anything until I hear his side.”

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General Fiction, Short Fiction

This is My Rifle, This is My Gun by Shannon Greenstein

“Sir?”

The Artist jumped, whirling away from the attic window out of which he had been staring.

“Stay there,” he barked, and the figure he had been sketching immediately froze, Lot’s wife on the heels of her one bad decision.

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Short Fiction, sunday whatever

Weight Gain by Hugh Cron

“I take it you eat most of your food at home, gorging, where no-one can see?”
“I suppose so, at home that is but never gorging.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“What’s your favourite? Kebabs? Chips and Cheese? Sweet And Sour? Trifle? All of the above?”

“…Probably fish.”
“Oh, I do like a fish supper but you know, my waste-line doesn’t look after itself! So is it chips and curry
sauce and a battered fish for you?”
“No. I like a Salmon Caesar Salad with a touch of lemon mayonnaise. Or a Sea-bass on a bed of
courgette, tomatoes, asparagus and mange-tout.”
“Really! Well fuck me! Puddings though, I take it you like your puddings? All of them/ Isthere any that
you prefer?”
“Yep, I love fresh fruit.”
“Well it’s getting a bit clearer now, you never see a skinny gorilla! I suppose it’s a good job that they don’t
like ice-cream…What’s your favourite flavour? I bet it’s chocolate”
“Ice cream goes right through me so I avoid it.”
“…But you are really fat, so maybe some of it sticks.”
“My weight is an enigma to me. I am the only person that I know who can defecate, stand on the scales
and be two pounds heavier…How that makes me laugh.”
“What about sweeties, you must eat loads or is it tonnes?”
“Nope, I prefer plain crackers.”
“With what?”
“Nothing really, just a glass of red wine.”
“A glass or a case?”
“…Just a glass, enough for my crackers.”
“Hee-Hee same sort of question, just the packet or a case?”
“A few does me.”
“So you’re telling me that you eat the way that you do and yet you are still fucking enormous??”
“I suppose I am.”
“I don’t believe you. You must be shovelling in a dozen or so doughnuts. Maybe you are one of those
weird fucks who sleep eat, walk, eat and walk…Does your food go missing? And does the staff of your
local twenty-four hour Spar look at you in a funny way?”

“No.”
“Exercise! I take it you are a lazy bastard and do fuck all?”
“I walk to my work so I do around twenty miles a week.”
“Twenty?”
“Around that and that isn’t counting me being on my feet all day.”
“You can’t be watching what you eat. I know fucking everything that goes into my mouth.”
“I don’t watch what I eat as I know that it doesn’t matter”
“I take it that you’re happy to be a fat cunt?”
“I don’t think any folks are.”
“Can you even see your cock in the shower?”
“Yes, it’s big enough thank you very much.”
“Jesus fuck…I could never be your size. I’d need to kill myself. But it’s great to see a bloater who is happy
with the way that they are – Fair play to you.”
“I can understand that and do you know what gets me through?”
“Chocolates??”
“No. Mindless violence to the likes of you, so I’m going to kill you now and save you from ever having to
take your skinny anorexic arse and vomit up another cheeseburger ever again you fucking weight
watching cunt!”

Hugh Cron

All Stories, Editor Picks, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 462: Rule 17; Necessary Words; A to Z of Needless Words

Well here we are, the holidays behind us, in a brand spanking New Year, which, in my eyes, already looks as fresh as a recently widowed elderly French rent boy cruising the cafes in search of a breathing benefactor. But to those of you who insist on at least benign, if not kind or P.C. expressions–well, happy new year to you and many more I am sure.

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