Leon drank a coffee with crinkly eyed, cookie eating car salesman Bob, Saturday afternoon at Desliles,
“Service is great at this altar of consumption,” Leon thought.
It was a few months ago he’d last met with Bob, and they’d discussed hats and bears as well as tales from the past and the quirky nature of circumstance. Bob never forgot anything, but this time, they didn’t mention clothes.
Continue reading “What Bob Remembered by Harrison Kim”
It was no one’s fault: a catch and a lurch as he sat in the back of the truck, legs dangling, half asleep. The planet stopped him or he would still be falling. No cars came by, but evening did – softly -as he lay there. A maple tree grew at the side of the road. The moon grew from a branch of the tree, detached itself and floated up to clouds where it became embedded in the misty horizontal filaments. But this was all a dream to him as he lay in the middle of the road.
Continue reading “The Natural Man by T.A. Young”
My son Jamie brought me to all my treatments at the hospital in Danvers, a 7-minute drive for him as he says for more than three years (I am loaded with many ailments of various kinds) and I always noticed a lady who brought her father for his appointments, but dressed as though she was going to a ball, a fancy dress, and a marvelous pair of legs that could dance her across Broadway in her day, being the knockout she was, and carried yet a boatload of her beauty into a few years of time.
Continue reading “Just for Now by Tom Sheehan”
It wasn’t until he was on the bus that his hangover started to kick in. Until then he hadn’t had time to feel anything – he hadn’t set his alarm (couldn’t even remember getting into bed in fact), and when his eyes had snapped open suddenly and he’d seen the time, adrenaline had taken over. He was up, dressed and running for the departing bus before the panic subsided and the nausea thundered in.
Continue reading “A Night, Out by Jessica Nilsson “
She’s there, behind the bar as I walk in. Immaculate white blouse, tucked into a pair of faded jeans. 501’s. Belt buckle tight at the waist. Blonde highlights in a short bob, cut into the neck. Silver ear studs. Big white teeth as she greets me.
Continue reading “Nicky by Graham Mort”
Cookie Simms loved a single piece of furniture in her home, the two-foot wide, seven-foot-tall mirror in her bedroom, away from all the other fuss and bother in the house. She found it easy to favor the mirror because it favored her ass, her breasts, the elegance of timid nipples, the unnerving black clutch of hair highlighting her pubic area, after her ass or nipples, that dark and mysterious claim to feminine wares was knockout number one in the man-parade of gazers, she was ultimately sure. It had begun when she was a mere 15-year-old sophomore in high school and often heard the boys saying, supposedly in private, what was so good about the privates that roamed around them all day in school and much of the balance of day rushing to midnight, where new and nightly dreams about hidden female treasures flooded dark hours as well as supposedly sleep-like twists and turns of growing boys. Those secret hours were loaded with ideas of how all such goodness would soon be theirs, by hook or by crook.
Continue reading “The Fair and Dear Damsel in Distress by Tom Sheehan – Adult Content”
Everyone showed up to the funeral. They grieved, they said nice things, they ate a nice meal, and then they left. And moved on. Or at least tried to. But then it happened again, just a few days later, and they were back at the same church, the same cemetery, saying the same nice things and eating leftovers from the same nice meal. And this time, they were afraid to leave. Because the important questions aren’t usually asked this close to the grieving process. The important answers aren’t usually as necessary. One death is sad, but two, and so similar in nature, is alarming. Were they both accidents? Or were they linked? And if they weren’t accidents and they were linked, the questions that came to mind among the grieving townspeople were as follows: Who killed them? Why did they kill them? And am I next?
Continue reading “Aunt Sarah by Jeff Hill”
literally stories 