Category: Short Fiction

Me and Ivaloo were honeymoonin’, a sure out shindig, shivaree and hellfortootin’ honeymoon time, and I’m Everett Musdane, along with some of our celebratin’ friends at a mountain motor court, on a grand flat spot in the Ozarks, being Lorded over by the midnight stars across the sky like bright sand pebbles flung out of a huge bucket. The small cabins, all with porches out front and parkin’ spaces out back, were arranged in a circle around a fireplace in a grassy court and celebratin’ area, with only one entrance to the grassy court for the owner’s vehicle for service stuff. The owner was Slim Slocum and the place was called Slocum’s Cozy Cabins and he one-time pitched for that St. Louie team.

Continue reading “Shindig, Shivaree and Hellfortootin’ Honeymoon Time by Tom Sheehan” →

Her name was Sandy and she lived in a small town everybody thought was rotten. A stench of decaying mashed beets permeated the stagnant local air because there was a sugar factory in the middle of the town and half its population was employed there, squashing sugar beets for a living, stinking up the atmosphere. You couldn’t escape from that foul smell, it haunted you like the ghost of somebody you murdered, day and night, ever since the mayor had thought it’d be a fabulous idea to have the sugar factory running twenty-four hours a day every day, to lower the unemployment levels that way and keep the revenue flowing in steadily.

Continue reading “On This Warm July by J Kierys” →

Ah, Saugus, the town I took to Korea many years ago, savored, brought back! Images strike here, deadly accurate in their mark. Metaphors, booted and buckled and loaded for bear, ride horseback through my town, holding forever in place. At times they ride roughshod or, taking a breath, saunter a bit, smelling new-cut hay over hill, or marsh grass caught up in light appreciation of salt about the air, all Atlantic talking.

Realization comes too. Times there were when our river was like an old man trying to get into bed, slow climb at banking, belt or pajamas astray, slight failures. Some springs, it would be caught up in flume’s rush.

Water talks, the sea, the river, the pond.

The town talks. It is heard.

Continue reading “The Story of My Hometown, Saugus, Massachusetts by Tom Sheehan” →

‘Guilty Pleasure’ is a term that should never be used. If you enjoy something, be proud of it. Why should you hide what gives you pleasure? Don’t you bother about what other people think.

Although I’m not talking about child molestation, incest or human sacrifice, keep those to yourself. Our royal family do.

Continue reading “Week 267 – Staple Titillation, Wondering What A Butterfly Tastes Like And Frying Tonight!” →