All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Skin and Bones by Sherry Shahan

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When she was wheeled into the day room, attended by her IV drip, Jack thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She seemed absolutely pure, evacuated of all evil, honed to perfection. Her head was an imported melon covered by the finest filo pastry, stretched and rolled thin. Her cheeks were eggshells. Concave. The hair on her head was shredded coconut. The hair on her body was dark and fuzzy, like the mold on Gorgonzola. Her skin was the color of Dijon mustard – that wonderful brownish tinge that comes from lost vitamins and minerals. She was everything gourmet Jack had denied himself.

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All Stories, Humour, Short Fiction

The Drag Queen and The Dozen Dicks by David Henson

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I met Libby through an online dating site after I graduated college. Our “In Tune” rating was exceptionally high. I tended to get nervous and tongue-tied around women, but it was different with Libby. We had so much in common we finished each other’s sentences half the time. I was so taken with Libby, I found myself growing more and more concerned about her spending time with anyone else.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Piranha by Roger Ley

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The piranha grinned at Riley through the window of the thrift store. Yellow green, shiny, about six inches long, teeth projecting forward from the jaw bones, a personification of evil mounted on a simple rectangular wooden stand.

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All Stories, Latest News

Week 177 – Time, Jimmy Hoffa And A Cure For Tarzan’s Constipation

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Week 176 has come and gone and here we are at week 177.

I’ve been working on a story this week. I’ve enjoyed thinking about it, structuring and editing and trying to spot the inevitable mistakes that are invisible to me but obvious to Nik and Diane! I’ve spent quite a bit of time and that doesn’t bother me. It’s a lot of fun.

Enjoying time is relative. I can spend hours cooking, reading, working on this site, listening to music and appreciating alcohol. Time doesn’t matter when you are doing what you enjoy. But working, getting a haircut, travelling to work, watching TV all does my head in. I resent the time that I spend. But the worst ever is gardening. Sorry folks, but those of you who enjoy this activity are masochistic perverts. To be fair, I have let my garden become fairly manic this year and yesterday was its first cut. I’m hoping for a drought from now to September, then the frost to hit. One cut a year is more than enough.

I had to borrow Death’s scythe due to the length of the grass

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Fool on the Hill by Dave Gregory

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I work for the federal government.

Federal.

Government.

I don’t know what that means.

Yes I do. It means pushing this broom from one end of the hall to the other ─ this end to that end ─ when it’s dark outside. Like now. I don’t like the dark, but these humming lights always work. If they don’t, I must report them to my boss. Mr. Shapiro.

Report them.

Does that make me a reporter? No one likes reporters.

Jackals. Hounds.

I hope the humming lights never burn out.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

All Dogs are Singers by R. Harlan Smith

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 The people of the village of Dos Cruces believe every event in life is a story that teaches a lesson.

They sat wrapped in their cobijas around a quiet little fire that made dancing shadows on the Sajuaros. Cocopeli, the coyote, watched them from the brush with great curiosity, trying to think of a trick to play on them. He kept an eye on Dolores.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Wait by Julia Retkova

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Amanda would lie awake at 3am, swept under blankets, watching the darkest bedroom corners twist and snap spines and smile. And then she’d get up, and start the day like nothing happened. Like she didn’t know what it was like to be beckoned, to be wanted.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Butterflies & Lima Beans by Adam Kluger

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“Yeah, so this is not such a big deal…,” thought  Brad Whiskerton, “who really cares if Campbell’s Vegetarian Vegetable soup in a can (obviously) decided to do away with lima beans in their soup? (according to the back-label’s list of ingredients).

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All Stories, Writing

Week 176 – Piles Of Ironing, Blind Reads And How Much I Hate ‘I Just Called To Say I love You’

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I’ve been thinking on how much we reveal within our writing.

I don’t mean this to be insulting but I think those that read can’t always spot something personal, whereas for those that write, it can be pretty obvious.

I will not be as crass as giving out examples but what I would say is that most of our writers have on occasion shown us more of themselves than they would probably admit. If anything is questioned, we all hide behind the ‘It’s a story’ argument.

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