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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All Stories, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 280 – More Stories For Milky Tea Drinkers, An Aran Knit And Elongated Testicles – By Hugh Cron

Another seven days has bit the dust and we are now at Week 280

The submissions are fair flying in. Now I know that I’ve mentioned this before and there is a helluva strong hint about what we would rather not see in the submission guidelines, but there are a few others that I’d like to mention. If you are thinking on going with any of these ideas as stories please for the love of maybe there is something there, maybe not – Don’t!

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All Stories, Fantasy, Short Fiction

The Family in the Hot Air Balloon by Dave Henson

Still half asleep, I look to see if I need to fill the bird feeders before going to work and am shocked at the sight of a huge hot air balloon in the backyard. I get dressed, hurry outside and find a man, woman, boy, and girl in the basket.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

1932 by D C Diamondopolous

Pa decided to join the Bonus Expeditionary Force. After dropping Ma and the youngsters off at Uncle Vernon’s, he let me ride the rails with him from our home in Waynesboro, Pennsylvania, all the way to the Washington Freight Yard.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Buying My Mam Some Smack by Reynard Laverna. 

Human Alarm Clock

‘Could you just leave me alone for an hour please? I need some sleep before school.’ I say and I close the bolt on my door. I jump into bed fully clothed. Know I won’t get any sleep and she won’t leave but I pull the blanket over my face regardless.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Hans By Hugh Cron – Warning – Strong Language.

Hans returned home from the pub.

He stomped up and down on the bare floorboards of his living room. He grinned as he thought about the neighbours moaning at the noise but never complaining.

Hans turned on the radio, it was more static than station. He settled down on his white painted kitchen chair that sat in the middle of the living room. It was cold. The wind whistled up through the floorboards. He pulled the collar of his donkey jacket higher and pulled his cap lower and then put his hands into his pockets. He shut his eyes to sleep.

Something woke him.

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All Stories, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 279 – Fulshaw Crescent, Steve Nicol Played For Ayr And Dumbledum, Dumbledum, Dumbledum Vegetable Garden…Dumbledum, Dumbledum, Dumbledumdum…Corn!

Well here we are at Week 279.

Whenever I see the number seventy nine it makes me think of my first address that I remember as a kid. From there I realise that I can also remember our first phone number.

Firsts are good to bring to the forefront every now and again and I’m sure that many a first has inspired a story. (Or maybe an arrest.)

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All Stories, Horror, Short Fiction

Phillip’s Recipe for Lamb Stew by Max T. Beckman

The end of the world wasn’t so bad. It began with an argument between some self-important people who had a bit too much responsibility. It escalated. The end of the world was loud and hot and bright. Most people dried almost instantly to a pink Himilyan salt, their crystals scattered to the wind. Some took longer, their skin blackened like the crust of a wood fired pizza. Still, some survived, parts of their limbs and flesh melted like a mild gruyere cheese. No, all this was not so bad. It was the lack of good food.

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