Short Fiction, Writing

Week 291 – Names Should Be Names, Numbers Should Be Numbers And Confusing Terminology Is Asking To Be Misunderstood.

Well we’re now at week 291.

As we say here, ‘The nichts are fair drawin’ in’.

Which is simply translated as, ‘It’s getting darker earlier and that means that winter is just around the corner.’

Some submissions have given me the inspiration for this posting.

Continue reading “Week 291 – Names Should Be Names, Numbers Should Be Numbers And Confusing Terminology Is Asking To Be Misunderstood.”

Short Fiction, Writing

Week 289 – Shite Gold, Renee And Patrick Were Under Contract And Ethical Journalism: A Contradiction In Terms.

It won’t be long until our 300th post.

Any of you who have been reading those anniversary ones will know that we normally have a section on memorable lines. This year will be no different.

Continue reading “Week 289 – Shite Gold, Renee And Patrick Were Under Contract And Ethical Journalism: A Contradiction In Terms.”

All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, Writing

The Duke’s Black Bag by Tom Sheehan

Just pronounced ex-Navy and having breakfast in a small diner in Idaho, road dust claiming him as much as it did his old Ford convertible gracing the parking lot like an abused antique, he met Maybelle Hustings slinging homemade hash, the air full of morning’s riches. She was tall, neat in her apron for a hash house waitress, wore her hair pinned back severely yet evoking promise in its loosing. Corded movements in her neck, supple and graceful but fully pronounced as a woman’s, brought him early hungers, caught him leaning in the booth. Their eyes locked, gave out announcements, were decoded, and then, so as not to embarrass the other, were allowed to wander. Initial signals had been made, and illustrated; acceptance, of some order, duly noted.

Continue reading “The Duke’s Black Bag by Tom Sheehan”

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

The Viaduct by Hugh Cron – Warning – Strong Language

Fergie left early again. He was fed up with the self-acclaimed King Of The Pub. He was a cunt. He was a pumped up insignificant prick who walked about as if he’d shit himself. And the clothes, fuck the boy thought he was a gangster rapper, he was nothing more than a nipple-end with some ‘roid rage.

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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.”

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