All Stories, General Fiction

Crossing the Bridge with Thomas Tallis by Mick Bloor

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The minister, at her desk between afternoon meetings, took up the next set of documents requiring her attention. Her usual practice, following that of all government ministers, was to read firstly the summary prepared by her civil servants. Only occasionally and in dire need, would she then read the full report. This did not signify any lack of diligence on her part. Indeed, the work of the Scottish Government would’ve shuddered to a halt if ministers had insisted on reading every document that crossed their desks from first page to last. But on this occasion, she read the summary and immediately then read the full report, re-reading some passages and asterisking two or three sentences. Uncharacteristically, she was then ten minutes late for her next meeting.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Patience by Ed N. White

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Without thinking, she started smoking the day he left, nearly thirty years ago. It was just something to do when he walked away. She constantly sat at the window, hoping, peering, and smoking. One cigarette lit from the other, with the smoke dragged deep into her lungs. Everyone said that was a bad thing to do, but she still smoked, and most of them had passed away. She kept her hand outside to let the smoke drift into the clouds and considered it a signal, a beacon he could follow home. The ash burned close and scarred her fingers, so little pain remained. The pain was all in her heart.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Those Snowy Mornings by Gil Hoy

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On those windswept weekday mornings, asphalt driveway crusted with snow, my father would get up early, put on his secondhand boots and an old coat, and exit through our front door into the blue hour to get the motor running. That fifteen-year-old station wagon would stall if not warmed up properly and might not start again. My father would sometimes have to push it down the hill to get the engine going, my younger brother Bill and I sitting quietly in the back seat, the smell of alcohol already on my father’s breath. 

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Crime/Mystery/Thriller, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Little Green Men by Jason Abshire

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Young Toche, “the bird,” slight of stature and weighing no more than a bundle of palm leaves, was forever a dreamer. In his tiny village, deep in the jungles in Colombia, time moves slowly. He lived the life of his ancestors. Dinner came at the end of a spear, and fire and a thatch roof were luxuries. Modernity was yet to invade.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Syndicate by David Gershan

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I screwed all the lightbulbs back in. There was nothing in the sockets — no hidden bugs or cameras — but the feeling that I was being watched stayed with me. I had combed my place thoroughly that morning, and everything seemed to be in the right spot. I even threw away my cell, and all my electronics had been unplugged for days. But I knew they were somehow monitoring me, and I could have missed something. I went to the window and stared down onto the street, debating whether or not to leave my apartment and hide among the passersby, blend in.

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All Stories, Editor Picks, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Week 516: More Wonky and Wise Words

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Wonky Words

This week I again lost the battle of prescription v. “perscription.” It is a secret (well, not anymore) shame that inspires another look at certain words.

We all have our prejudices. These range from the meaningful to the downright insipid. Oddly, I find foolish prejudices more interesting and perhaps better telling of a person’s character.

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All Stories, Fantasy, General Fiction

The Charm by Ed N. White

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I loved the dark when I was a kid. That’s when I made up my best stories. I’d lay in bed with the kaleidoscopic images shooting through my brain like a meteor shower. My lips whispered the sounds of squealing tires, explosions, and airplanes, and sometimes fluttering with the staccato of a machine gun or the thwack of a wooden bat. These images were projected onto the inside of my eyelids like View-Master stereoscopic reels. I knocked out bad guys, hit home runs, captured criminals and won wars. I quickly advanced the scenes until the day after my tenth birthday. That’s when I saw my funeral, and it scared the hell out of me.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Parts of Speech by M.S. Nieson

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“Definition, please?”

She was dreaming again. Back on that same stage, the lights glaring in her eyes. The old elementary school auditorium with its thick crimson curtains parted. The microphone before her. Or sometimes she’d suddenly be in the gymnasium instead, the air rank with sweat and floor wax, the bleachers filled to capacity. It was never very clear. It was never . . . Wait, was it possible to smell in one’s dreams?

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