No one can understand why Elena stays, and neither can I. If it had been me, I’d have left; there are plenty of other Cornish seaside towns to live in. Actually, if I really had climbed those steps and seduced a sixteen-year-old like Elena did, I’d have jumped from the watchtower onto the rocks below. They were discovered in the act by the caretaker, Jim.
Continue reading “Watchtower by Rebecca Klassen”
“I won’t talk about the past anymore,” she said. “I’m only talking about what will happen from now on. I’m using this pain to make something wonderful.”
He held her hand, like he had so many times. Her masculine hands. Creative hands for making wonderful things. Like her saddest smile.
Continue reading “Doll Parts by Ximena Escobar”
“I need to speak to Peter.”
Ann looked at him and worried straight away.
“What’s wrong love, why has he got you so riled – I mean, for fuck sake, he’s Peter, the most inoffensive wee guy that we’ve ever known.”
Colin gave her a hug, “I don’t want to say anything until I hear his side.”
Continue reading “Peter by Hugh Cron (Strong Adult Content)”
On July 5 of 2033 Antarctic bases McMurdo, Davis, Casey and others reported earthquakes of 6 magnitude on the Richter scale. South Africa and Tierra Del Fuego in South America had minor tsunamis shortly after the earthquakes. Helicopters flew to the suspected center of the disturbance near the South Pole. What they saw was deeply disturbing. An area of hundreds of thousands of square kilometers had subsided anywhere from a few to a hundred meters deep. What appeared to be naked humans were slowly digging out of the steaming slush. As the observers goggled at the scene, something like a red guided missile flew out of the depression so fast it was just a blur. There was no safe landing place, so the helicopters which were short of fuel flew back to their bases. When the film they had taken was released, the world observed a second odd event.
Continue reading “Kingdom Collapse by Doug Hawley”
“Sir?”
The Artist jumped, whirling away from the attic window out of which he had been staring.
“Stay there,” he barked, and the figure he had been sketching immediately froze, Lot’s wife on the heels of her one bad decision.
Continue reading “This is My Rifle, This is My Gun by Shannon Greenstein”
“I take it you eat most of your food at home, gorging, where no-one can see?”
“I suppose so, at home that is but never gorging.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“What’s your favourite? Kebabs? Chips and Cheese? Sweet And Sour? Trifle? All of the above?”
“…Probably fish.”
“Oh, I do like a fish supper but you know, my waste-line doesn’t look after itself! So is it chips and curry
sauce and a battered fish for you?”
“No. I like a Salmon Caesar Salad with a touch of lemon mayonnaise. Or a Sea-bass on a bed of
courgette, tomatoes, asparagus and mange-tout.”
“Really! Well fuck me! Puddings though, I take it you like your puddings? All of them/ Isthere any that
you prefer?”
“Yep, I love fresh fruit.”
“Well it’s getting a bit clearer now, you never see a skinny gorilla! I suppose it’s a good job that they don’t
like ice-cream…What’s your favourite flavour? I bet it’s chocolate”
“Ice cream goes right through me so I avoid it.”
“…But you are really fat, so maybe some of it sticks.”
“My weight is an enigma to me. I am the only person that I know who can defecate, stand on the scales
and be two pounds heavier…How that makes me laugh.”
“What about sweeties, you must eat loads or is it tonnes?”
“Nope, I prefer plain crackers.”
“With what?”
“Nothing really, just a glass of red wine.”
“A glass or a case?”
“…Just a glass, enough for my crackers.”
“Hee-Hee same sort of question, just the packet or a case?”
“A few does me.”
“So you’re telling me that you eat the way that you do and yet you are still fucking enormous??”
“I suppose I am.”
“I don’t believe you. You must be shovelling in a dozen or so doughnuts. Maybe you are one of those
weird fucks who sleep eat, walk, eat and walk…Does your food go missing? And does the staff of your
local twenty-four hour Spar look at you in a funny way?”
“No.”
“Exercise! I take it you are a lazy bastard and do fuck all?”
“I walk to my work so I do around twenty miles a week.”
“Twenty?”
“Around that and that isn’t counting me being on my feet all day.”
“You can’t be watching what you eat. I know fucking everything that goes into my mouth.”
“I don’t watch what I eat as I know that it doesn’t matter”
“I take it that you’re happy to be a fat cunt?”
“I don’t think any folks are.”
“Can you even see your cock in the shower?”
“Yes, it’s big enough thank you very much.”
“Jesus fuck…I could never be your size. I’d need to kill myself. But it’s great to see a bloater who is happy
with the way that they are – Fair play to you.”
“I can understand that and do you know what gets me through?”
“Chocolates??”
“No. Mindless violence to the likes of you, so I’m going to kill you now and save you from ever having to
take your skinny anorexic arse and vomit up another cheeseburger ever again you fucking weight
watching cunt!”
Well here we are, the holidays behind us, in a brand spanking New Year, which, in my eyes, already looks as fresh as a recently widowed elderly French rent boy cruising the cafes in search of a breathing benefactor. But to those of you who insist on at least benign, if not kind or P.C. expressions–well, happy new year to you and many more I am sure.
Continue reading “Week 462: Rule 17; Necessary Words; A to Z of Needless Words”
I’ll tell you, I saw my fair share of weird. It was par for the course when I was a belief policeman. I never passed judgment. I once tested a man whose One True Belief was a body part and a woman who worshipped a raw potato. It takes all kinds, but I moved on as long as my detector beeped twice and the OTB wasn’t harmful. If my OTBD beeped only once, I took the heretic to my district HQ. What happened next was outside my control. I told myself my hands were tied.
Continue reading “Scattered Faith by David Henson”
To supplement my pension, I had taken a summer job: crewman and ticket-collector on the Small Isles (Rousay, Wyre and Egilsay) ferry in Orkney – I was the full extent of the extra staff required to meet the demands of the enhanced summer timetable. It’s a fact that when you collect tickets you look at hands, not faces. So I didn’t notice him when he boarded. No car, no luggage, no band, no guitar.
Continue reading ” The Ferryman’s Tale by Mick Bloor”
The spring sea lapped upon the shore of Yokohama. In the city a familiar New Year tune played over a radio. It had been ten years since I heard that song. I mouthed along the words half-remembered from nights when, in drunken stupor, my friend, the poet Sunokaze Heki, would recite tanka alongside the music.
Continue reading “Rosa Rugosa by Thomas J Daly”
literally stories 