Literally Reruns, Short Fiction

Week 325: Little Vermin Have Big Ears

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Advisory

No vermin have been harmed during the production of this post. The only vermin the author would like to harm are those who police matters of pronoun usage. In this piece Rats will be referred to in the masculine and Mice in the feminine (and yes, I know capitalizing vermin species deviates from standard usage). It could have gone either way, but mention of the late Audrey Hepburn, in relation to Mice, was the deciding factor.

For those persons who will still take offense on general principle, due to the combined deficiencies of their parents, mentors and education systems, I offer this item I found on Google yesterday during my research for this piece: Oxygen through the rectum aids in respiration. Since the persons addressed in this paragraph think and speak with and through their rectums, I find it fair to point out that there are health benefits to be gained from such ignorant actions.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Dying Things by Yancarlo

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There was a dog on the road. A mangy thing with grey fur falling out in tufts showing its wrecked body. I saw him one night limping up the road as I smoked my cigarette and did nothing. I watched it limp towards the side of the road snout burrowing deep into the dewy grass looking for anything to eat. He found the mouse whose body I had thrown there earlier in the day. I didn’t kill the mouse. Something else did. The mangy thing found the mouse and eyed it suspiciously for a moment, natural suspicion overriding starvation for an instant, and then ate the mouse. The mangy thing limped away just as I finished my cigarette and went inside.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

One Treacherous Evening by Claire Deans

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She shrieks, and the noise echoes through the vast space and up towards the high, glass roof. She is half running, half tottering through Glasgow Central Station wearing a pair of siren blue stilettos. They clatter. A huddle of lads, all pastel shirted up for a night in the town, look over and stare. She throws her arms around me as if it’s a feckin lover’s reunion. ‘Bernadette. Oh My God,’ she squeals. ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’ 

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All Stories, General Fiction

Bills by Yashar Seyedbaghari

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Two dollar bills lie on an empty table in the coffee shop. It’s a corner table, away from the world, a space no one seems to notice. I’ve sat there many a day, hoping they wouldn’t ask me to buy something.

I make sure no one’s looking. Pick up the bills. I run fingers through crispness. Pretend to peel them, relishing the crinkle of ownership and small power.

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All Stories, General Fiction

All My Darlings Waiting by Antony Osgood

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I caught her eye. Recognised a kindred spirit. Her head then converted into cruor popcorn. Colour of grey nail varnish, millet porridge. Scarlet white and woeful.

I feared I’d lose my lonesome bench for good.

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Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 324 – An Advert, He’s Behind You And I’ll Always Remember The Belter That Was Effie!!!!!!!!!!

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Before I begin, I send out a warning to ‘The Sensitives’ – God forbid us ever upsetting ‘The Sensitives’ by mention even one of the three trillion things that they’ll get upset about!!

To all you ‘Sensitives’ out there, I use the bad swear word three times in the last two paragraphs so either take some Prozac or don’t read those paragraphs.

And I mean the bad, bad swear word that sounds like Kent if you are from London. You know the one I mean, well maybe you don’t, the one that’s a term for a lady part and not the cheeky ‘f’ word for a lady part that I refuse to use as I hate it. So many folks do and think it’s a bit of a laugh but not me!

However…Have a look –

Anyhow – You’ve been warned!

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

Creep by Boshra Rasti-Ghalati

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The turbulence on the plane makes my skin creep. I hate airplanes, motion that I can’t control. Two lanes down I see the back of a punk’s rainbow colored mohawk. What makes someone decide to get a haircut like that? The air hostess is giving him some advice about transferring at the airport. He’s transferring, he wouldn’t be allowed in Doha looking like that.

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All Stories, Fantasy, Horror

Dust to Dust by A. Elizabeth Herting

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The sheet snaps crisply in the wind, perfectly white, a blank canvas hanging on a line. A woman, neither young nor particularly old, bends over a large, wicker basket. Her hands are large and red, prematurely knotted from the harsh, unceasing wind. She is a good-sized woman. An old floral print dress clings to generous haunches as she efficiently plucks each item from the line and places it in the basket. She is one of an unbroken line of generations past, hardened and forged by life on the plains.

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