The seagull cocked his head and purred. He dropped his beak into the sand but didn’t seem to find anything worthwhile. He put his head back and squawked loudly at me.
“Sorry buddy,” I said. “I don’t have anything for you.” It was the same way I used to talk to Jeter.
Continue reading “Crime Wave by Simon Nadel”
Reader Alert – Adult content
They rush us up the hill to safety like a herd of Caribou moving past the basketball courts. Sirens whoop in all directions. Black smoke pours out the windows—oxygen is key—she is really going now. Gilbert smiles. Gilbert is deranged. His brother killed eight people at the Lilly Street Mall.
Continue reading “In the Flames by Christopher Ananias”
This is a crime scene. I shouldn’t be here; I’m not a cop anymore. So, I ducked under the yellow tape strung across the two trellis supports and picked the lock. Dusting residue coated surfaces in suspect locations; someone had cut two patches from the cheap gray rug. A ceiling fan with a squeaky bearing rotated slowly, which helped me breathe because the smell of death hung like diesel exhaust.
Continue reading “Slither by Ed N. White”
I’ve been thinking a lot about Kurt Cobain. Not so much how he ended it, that lonely moment above the garage, surrounded by impenetrably dense, green, tall trees, surrounded by nobody. Not that, as I sit in the stall nearest the far window, the toilet closed, my knees bent so my Target sneakers don’t show beneath the door.
Continue reading “Nevermind by Matt Liebowitz”
Wednesdays were egg salad. Strong opening gambit from Linda: she was testing the waters. She and Clint were meeting for the first time. Her carer Lupe had shown her how to use the app which paired her with Clint, she explained, “just before she had to go back where she came from”. That left Linda alone, at the tail end of hip surgery recuperation, still prone to falls but with wits enough about her to click on Clint’s profile. Lucky for both of them, Clint was a fan of egg salad.
Continue reading “GranCel by Leah Mullen”
Nobody hitchhikes anymore. That went out in the ’60s when Nam vets and the hippies with their thumbs out could be found along any West Coast highway. But hitchhiking in January? Even some stoned freak knew better. Besides, it’s 2024 and I’m almost 80. This is stupid, really stupid. Maybe I can blame my poor judgment on dementia. But then, if I can understand what dementia is all about, I probably don’t have it.
I’ve already bit my tongue; I taste blood. I can’t feel the ends of my fingers. I’m such an idiot.
Continue reading “Cold by Terry Sanville”
The Exchange by Toye EskridgeBattalion after battalion, the towering pines stood rigid, guarding both sides of the blacktop the salesman barreled down in his cream Studebaker. The pointed hood knifed the stifling Southern air.
Continue reading “The Exchange by Toye Eskridge”
The thing that you need to understand is, living beings die.
It’s not welcome, yeah. It is not something to look forward to, but it does happen. And, at times, it is kinda funny.
When daddy killed the deer, I found it funny how she toppled over the ground and crumpled on its back. There is something intricately funny about tragedy, seeing something regal just fall and shatter. When, at the end, the sun dies, I think God will also sit back and have a merry little chuckle.
Continue reading “When the Sun Dies by Tathagata Banerjee”
Dr. Dylan Harrington removes the tubed mask from the nose and mouth of Kieu Nguyen—or Katie, as she calls herself on social media pages he’s visited. After shutting off the delivery machine, he gazes at her for several heartbeats. Her blue eyebrow stud matches the stone in each earlobe. Short black hair, upturned nose, bow-shaped mouth, unblemished skin with just enough color to make her exotic. She looks delicious without the thick black glasses now on the counter, atop her Animal Farm paperback. The faint slant of her closed eyes testifies to her mixed parentage. At last the uninsured high schooler reclines in his chair, under general anesthesia. She will stir in ninety minutes, jaw throbbing, wisdom teeth gone, a stitch or two in place, and dental cotton packed around four extraction sites. But before she wakes…
Continue reading “Hunting Ground by Gary Earl Ross”
Whenever the mystery of Colonel Corpse’s murder had been solved, a process happened which Bishop Aubergine could not fathom, and Colonel Corpse was resurrected and murdered yet again.
Continue reading “Murder Most Foul by Matt Cunningham”
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