All Stories, General Fiction

Dreaming in the Third Person by Adam West

He dreams he is a young Asian woman. Diminutive. Pretty not beautiful. Not distinctly of Indian or Pakistani heritage but notionally from that region of the world sometimes known as the Indian Subcontinent.

And yet in his dream he isn’t actually the young woman in question. Not as such. More, he is her in the third person.

Whilst the dream lacks structure he experiences a resonance throughout the day. An intangible notion of being someone else. It’s a novel experience but one that returns periodically.

Earlier in the day he had a fall.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Hill 407 Reboot by Tom Sheehan

He was uphill again, part way on the steep incline, where time, circumstance and opportunity had taken him. But time had crumbled, and with it the matter of circumstance. Only opportunity, sometimes a laggard, held on, fate deciding issues as it had decided his. Downhill he could see how difficult the climb could be to anyone determined to go top-side, as jagged rocks appeared, thick clumps of trees turning toward the awed colors of fall, now and then a formidable gorge in the way of quick ascension. At his backside lurked the sense-awakening pain and the phantom ache lingering in his legs, as if archived for history, remnants of another climb, on the real Hill 407, northwest Afghanistan, in the formidable quarter of activity in that distant country.

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Literally Reruns, Short Fiction

Literally Reruns- Mary J Breen-The Bride of Christ

Whenever I reproach God I do so as a reproach of humankind. As far as I’m concerned, if there is God, then I figure that something I once heard is true, God placed us in charge of what we do and whatever happens isn’t by God’s hand, but is just stuff that happens. The “time and chance happeneth to them all” sort of thing; of course this is all due to our turning away from God–something well described in the Cohen song that goes “Lover Lover Lover Lover Lover Lover, Come Back to Me.”

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Latest News, Short Fiction

2000+ Lovely People, One Arse For Number Ten And No, I Didn’t Forget ‘Pulp Fiction’, I Wanted It In The Title.

We have now reached 2000 followers (At the time of writing) which I am so proud of. But in the whole scheme of things, that isn’t that much. If I was a Kardashian holding a puppy with my nipple out, I’m sure that number would be in the millions in less than a day. I think I used that line when we reached a thousand but as that was about three years back I thought I could get away with it once again.

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All Stories, Fantasy

My Wife’s Short, Strange Career as a Certified Ouija Boardologist  by Dave Henson

Lois let out a whoop. “I passed!”

I went to my wife, who was sitting cross-legged on the sofa. The laptop’s screen displayed an image of the certificate. “I knew you could do it, Honey.”

We were out of college five years and married three, but not making enough at the milk studio to feel comfortable starting a family. So soon after the veracity of Ouija Board spiritualism was scientifically validated, my wife enrolled at Alternate Realities Online University.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Catch and Release by Heather Rutherford

Jackson’s silver hair glinted under the full moon. His boots crunched the gravel parking lot in front of the ramshackle apartment building, long ago a hotel, where I shared an apartment with my mother. Jackson shared our space a few nights a week. He cursed and cast a black trash bag into the bed of his truck. It landed with a soft thud. He hadn’t noticed me yet, standing on the sidewalk, but his presence allowed me to soften my grip on the house keys poking through my fingers. My white, work button-down was stained and reeked of the whiskey spill from an overserved guest at the Angler’s Inn.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Unity by Phil Temples

I’m drawn again to this little spit in the road about six miles outside of Tupelo, Mississippi on Road 1233 in the Town of Plantersville. I stand near a pasture across the road. Two hundred feet to the north, there’s an abandoned structure that’s falling in on itself.  A weathered sign with faded lettering in the front reads “Unity Church.”  It hangs awkwardly from a broken chain banging in the wind against a post. The roadside is littered with beer bottles and fast food wrappers. A car hubcap lies nearby.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Ghosts at Horseshoe Creek by Tom Sheehan

A soft, steady breeze, with no puff to it, lifted over the edge of Horseshoe Creek and carried with it the sooty odor of a dead fire, a dank, drifting smell that came like the death of an animal a man has long known, perhaps a favorite horse, like a black stallion unseen at night but a dark star in the sunlight. Another person might say the odor was of an old market in a corner of town or an old home left to rot in the wake of a hundred battles that raged around it, the inhabitants, a man and his whole family, gone to dust in one of those fierce battles, so that their essence alone remained of them. One could almost see the house as it stood decorated with gardens, pet animals, and lusty children bouncing with life. Yet the odor, despite various images passersby would have, remained the cold, dank ashes of a fire long gone into night’s realm, thus it came back each and every nightfall thereafter.

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Literally Reruns, Short Fiction

Literally Reruns – L’Erin Ogle – Ugly

This week’s entry into the archives is by the inimitable L’Erin Ogle. L’Erin always lands in an unexpected fashion, and I hope she doesn’t take the stunned silence that often follows her work personally, or incorrectly. It’s that in the case of something such as Ugly, the depth of the work and its refusal to be easily digested by the mind do not allow for the quick formation of intelligent comments. Nearly all the remarks that accompanied the story on its original release (including my own) are complimentary, yet not of great depth. For L’Erin’s work has to be examined and given time to sink in.

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