Taking one last drag, Joe flicked the butt between his fingers out into the yard. He weaseled out his keys, unlocked the front door, and stepped inside his house. The old man was waiting for Joe the moment he walked into the kitchen.
Tag: fiction
A Single Grain Of Salt by Nik Eveleigh
Other than dying, there aren’t too many things I recall about my sixth birthday. I know I had a new bike because I was riding it when I was killed. It was green with black trim and it had one of those little single chime bells you could twang with your finger to warn off pedestrians who had stumbled into your path. I can’t remember if I chimed it at the car that was heading to the crossing too fast or if it got hit by some part of the car at the same time I was struck but I know it was the last sound I heard. Still, it was a proper big boy’s bike that I could grow into; except, of course, I didn’t.
Sorry, I should probably clear a few things up. You see, I’m not dead. I’ve had plenty of other birthdays and plenty of other presents. Never a bike though. I just couldn’t face it. Besides, dad was always a runner.
When I lived in London I heard that you were never more than three feet away from a rat. It’s a bit like that with cyclists around here Danny. Continue reading “A Single Grain Of Salt by Nik Eveleigh”
Fulfilling the Promise of Fire by Ashlie Allen
I burned my face off last night. At first, I thought I’d use a gasoline soaked rag, then remembered all the candles in my attic. I lit two of them. Once the flames had grown larger, I lifted them to my face, letting my skin slowly melt as I hummed in delight. Of course it hurt, but the agony was spiritual. It was the type of pain you are proud to endure, like dying a violent death for a lover.
Continue reading “Fulfilling the Promise of Fire by Ashlie Allen”
The Louder You Scream by Martyn Clayton
Every girl loves a showman reckoned Big Micky Taverne.
Stand behind their car as the waltzer takes a group of them up and down. Watch as they huddle up, heads rested on shoulders, screaming in unison. One if not all will be giving you the glad eye, willing you on. Come on they’re saying, give us a spin. So, you do and they scream so loud it would burst your eardrums if they weren’t already bust from the music.
The Deep End by Sarah Dara
Note: There is some Urdu used in this piece. Translation is provided at the end of the prose.
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My toes sank into the warm sand. I wiggled them in deeper, walking toward the fierce body of water ahead. The sand became cold and wet. Wind blew against my face; echoes of the past whispering in my ears. I brushed my hair aside and started to move towards the ultramarine waves. My family called to me as I neared the sea. Shouts of ‘what are you doing,’ ‘come back,’ ‘it’s too dangerous’ were heard spreading in the wind, but I kept going. Waves tickled my feet as I wandered deeper and deeper. The sand beneath my feet vanished and I was paddling. The sea enveloped me. Waves struck me violently. I was deep enough. I stopped paddling.
Dudes Chilling by David Turko
It was a few weeks ago I made the conscious decision to start trying. After that things went miserably downhill. My girlfriend that I now realize was hardly my girlfriend – more like girl I slept with semi-regularly – left me; I was fired from my mindless dead end job – which was somewhat liberating until I realized it meant I was unemployed; I was broke – which is surprisingly common among twenty-somethings but that didn’t make it any more tolerable; and I was having mood swings that made me question my sanity. I was feeling the dreaded weight of the real world settle on my shoulders and I knew this wasn’t something I could just shrug off.
Without a job, girlfriend, or any money, I did what any responsible almost-adult would do and moved back in with my parents in my hometown of Vancouver. My parents were cordial, and kindly informed me I had two weeks to find a place before they would start charging rent.
Two Too Many by Brenda Catron
“So what brings you here today?”
Marguerite, as she told us to call her, was one of those confident women who left you with the impression they always had it together. I was pretty sure I didn’t like her already. Marguerite. Who names their kid that anyway.
Annie’s Shoes by Donna Aversa
The remarkable thing about catalogues is that Annie could lose herself in the glossy possibilities of the pages. She could pretend that her body, swollen by the side-effects of the steroid treatments, once again could wear the same styles that the impeccably tailored models did. And that she had someplace to wear them. The brunette in the cardinal-red cashmere-blend twin-set with three-quarter sleeves didn’t judge. She had a half-smile that welcomed anyone, even Annie, to copy her look. The paisley scarf is available on page 27 where inset photos show just how to wrap it in three simple steps. The classic black pointed toe pumps are on page 56.
Week 113 – Pickles, Crackers And James Wayne.
Another week has come and gone. I can’t believe that we are into March with Week 113.
I’ve been thinking about all those friends and relatives who say things that inspire. Oh and I’m not talking about any sense what-so-ever! I’m talking about the belters that make you choke on your chocolate milk!
Continue reading “Week 113 – Pickles, Crackers And James Wayne.”
Descension Day by Jeff Blechle
“Have another taste of stair carpet, bitch!” Oleo threw her down the stairs for the third time this morning, but she crawled back up once again and shook her fist at his shiny shins.
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