There were precious few ways of getting your point across in life and so Vern liked to shout at people. He shouted at them in restaurants, he shouted at them in supermarkets, he screamed in their faces out on the street. He would go in to get a sandwich and the woman would apply too little mayonnaise.
Continue reading “Have Your Say by Scott Taylor”
Jimmy the Wizard and I stand in front of a large apartment complex. Jimmy says that somewhere behind this wood and stucco facade my guardian angel shimmers. It waits to be released. Jimmy takes two steps back.
“Examine the walls,” he says.
I once shared a cell with a con from Detroit named Marty Ballantine. He had a blazing shock of red hair and was tall and looked more like an ex-basketball player than the head of accounting until his firm realized he was skimming. He had a young girlfriend on the side, an expensive marriage and mortgage, and combined with greed, he got caught. Big surprise. I couldn’t really picture him in a blue suit and red tie, slaving away at debits and credits. But his orange jumpsuit went well with his red hair.
Continue reading “Killing Time by Michael Loyd Gray”
The ice cream the night before was so hard I couldn’t scoop it. Today it was a cloudy tub of sweet milk. The Budweiser, I swore off, was piss warm. Even so—with all my new promises made to Denny—that was disappointing. I clicked my dry mouth. Denny watched me like how the sparrow watches the hawk circling in the sky. She looked down at her bandaged hands.
Continue reading “Dirty Screen by Christopher Ananias “
My wife was born invisible, but she told me that it’s only at my high school reunion that she feels invisible.
A small percentage of Americans are born invisible each year. Naturally, this number is very hard to track.
Continue reading “Low Visibility by Matt Harrison”
Re-Reading John Steinbeck’s The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights
In my generation, every child in Britain grew up knowing at least three stories – the Christ story, that of Robin Hood, and that of King Arthur and his knights. The Arthurian Legend has been told and re-told by many different tellers for around one and a half thousand years.
Continue reading “Writers Read by Michael Bloor”
Of all things considered entertainment, comedy is the hardest to explain. Whether you spell it humor or humour (being based in the UK we will go with the latter), to my satisfaction no one has ever defined what makes something funny in one sentence.
Continue reading “Week 526- Humourisk”
“What happened was… He went a-midnight kissin’. Then he went a-woo-woo-missin.’”
Mama wiped her hands on a dishtowel. She just come in from the garden.
Continue reading “Somethin’ to Croon About by Carly Berg”
Back then, it wasn’t a fresh snowfall that blocked the Perth-Inverness train at the Drumochter Pass: rather, it was very, very strong winds that sprang up and blew lying snow off the mountains, quickly smothering the track. These days, the winter weather forecasting is so good that those Scottish train services thought to be at imminent risk of snow blockage are cancelled in advance. But it wasn’t the case twenty-odd years ago.
Continue reading “Warm Thoughts in the Drumochter Pass by Michael Bloor”
This Vood.
I have it on good authority that he recently scooped lumps of coal on to his dinner plate, believing them to be potatoes. Had it not been for the intervention of a scullery-maid, he would have eaten the lot! This is the kind of creature we’re dealing with here. It bears thinking about. Already I’ve heard tell of households where fractious children are hushed by mere mention of his name. ‘Bedtime now, or the Vood will come get you.’ I’d say that’s a worrying development. He’s acquired the definite article. People are afraid. These are decent people. When some of the children spoke of this Vood’s wearing , and I quote, “a hat of fire”, well, I was skeptical, naturally. But a hat of fire I’m afraid is exactly what this Vood has been observed to wear on several occasions! By those not given to voicing fancies, I might add. What to make of such a thing? Some demonic form of halo? Who knows. I suspect something stranger. This much, however, is clear: when this Vood is on the prowl, even the dogs of the town grow unsettled. His name alone carries implications. I shouldn’t wonder if it’s not already sprouted a suffix or turned into a verb. Or both. He’s already entered drunkards’ ditties. That can only bode worse.
Continue reading “A Certain Vood,by Geraint Jonathan”
literally stories 