Tag: fiction

All Stories, Humour

The Time My Dad Chewed Out a Cop by James Hanna

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Dad and I are shooting brown rats at the Putnam County Dump. I’ve got me a .22 Long Rifle while Dad has a Winchester 70 with a scope. We keep a tally of the rats we shoot ’cause that makes it a bonding experience. So far, I’ve plastered six of them while Dad’s shot seventeen. We’re shooting good ’cause there’s a harvest moon out and we can see them like it was daylight. And Dad’s been swigging Johnny Walker to keep his hands from shaking. A couple belts of Johnny Walker turns Dad into Daniel Boone.

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All Stories, Latest News

Week 161 – Feeding Ducks, Showing Us Yours And Shamar English

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Our regular readers will know that every now and then we post something on a Saturday that is a bit beyond what we would normally class as a story. We have another one for you this week after the round-up.

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All Stories, General Fiction

My Third Divorce by Terry Tierney

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My first divorce is a hippie divorce. We have few worldly possessions other than our record collection and our philosophy. We remember who bought each of the records, but the philosophy has no origin we can identify. We don’t fight over the wire spool, our major piece of furniture, or our Sears portable stereo. Since we never got around to having children, there is no custody fight, except for the dog, a black and white beagle mix my wife rescued from the pound. When he brings home the blackened carcasses of chickens and other animals, she says they are gifts for me. She claims he loves me best. You take him, she says. No, you take him. We agree on a visitation schedule carefully planned with intervals for cleaning and disinfectants. I consider running away when it is my turn, but he runs away before I can. I know he survives to terrorize another neighborhood and sire a pack of vicious little dogs. One day I expect the pack to come for me.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Cannibal Pretendians From Outer Space by S A Hartwich

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Pale Rider needed a good sweat. His body craved the release of toxins and his mind felt clogged with civilization. He needed to sit with People of the Earth and chant, allowing the free flow of culture and wisdom to pass between and fill the holes in his life. It didn’t matter if his sweat brothers were Apache or Shoshone or Lakota as long as the tent held steam enough to clear his mind.

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All Stories, General Fiction

My Brother Jesus by Larry Lefkowitz

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Jesus was ever the apple of his mother’s eye. Me – the lemon of her tongue. Was it my fault that I was a clumsy brute, poor with words, while my brother Jesus was skilled of tongue and handsome of face? My father Joseph had more patience for me than did my mother – but then he, like me, was taciturn of character.

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All Stories, Latest News

Week 160 – A Challenge, Bastardising Stories For Films And CGI Porn.

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Firstly I need to thank Nik for giving me the challenge of seeing how much pish I can come up with in short notice! (You know I’m only kidding pal, being put to task by the Welsh is something us Scots are sadly used to!!)

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Smiling Face of Darkness Glows Green By Leila Allison

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Walking Boss Cooper (from here, WBC) attempted to lure me and Renfield from the company bowels to her palatial office on Tuesday, for a “little chat.” She did so by email. As anyone with more than ten minutes’ life experience knows, an email come on is just that–an email come on. Like the confession of true love the magical soul of an email come on usually exists only in the heart of the sender, whereas the recipient may choose to reply or (as we had) blow the damn thing off until something better comes along.

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All Stories, Fantasy

Between Sleeps by Salvatore Difalco

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There was a hole in my ceiling, directly over my bed. I’d been awoken from a deep and nurturing sleep by a whooshing sound. Air pouring in through the hole made this sound. As I rubbed my eyes, I wondered if a meteorite had smashed through the roof. I live on the top floor of my tenement and have often speculated what would happen if a meteorite were to blaze down from the heavens and smash through the roof. I arose and thanked God for no rain. Had it rained that morning my bed would have been doused. But as it was the sky presented a plentifully blue bouquet, with feathered boa clouds gently snaking over the city ramparts.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Writing

Twelve Weeks by Hugh Cron

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Week 1.

You are here now and it is you who calls the shots.

If there is anything you want to talk about, you can.

I see you’re doing very well in English. Miss Patterson is impressed by your story telling. You express yourself very well.

But that’s writing, it’s not real is it?

And even if there is some of you in there, nothing is as powerful as hearing your own voice.

When you are ready…

…Talking is what you need to do

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