Kemp emerged from the dark woods behind the little St. Andrew’s church and took a moment to look things over. One car sat in the small lot and a few stained glass windows glowed with feeble light. His watch showed 8:58 p.m. All good for his scheduled private confession.
Continue reading “Passing On by John J. Dillon”
Cigarette smoke curls up in front of my face like curtains parting on a stage. I lower my hand to my drink and shift on the hard metal stool facing the band.
The western world may have quit cancer sticks, but Shanghai is a throwback to a wilder time, and I throw myself right into it. I take another drag off my latest addiction– clove cigarettes. I soak up the nicotine, the syrupy sweetness of my rum and coke, and the atmosphere. I like sitting by myself swirling the ice in my drink and smoking. It’s a nice contrast to my workdays spent corralling dozens of shouting, laughing, and crying preschoolers.
Continue reading “Black Coffee | Hēi Kāfēi by T.L. Tomljanovic”
Buzz Turner, all 12 years of him, reader galore, all the thick and curly red hair in place, saw the moon slip sideways into his eyes just opened for the change, dragging him instantly from a deep sleep into clear observation. He loved the transfer in the heavens, as well as the sudden change in himself, a keen awareness coming his way, all the way. It was all magic, and he loved it, a boy’s swift change in himself, a piece of the skies at hand, and mystery afoot the way mystery makes itself known, on its own time, in its own style, dream-like.
Continue reading “The Edge of Dreams by Tom Sheehan”
Moments linger, trapped in thought. Two things right, then one thing not:
I’m a ghost.
Ghosts live in the memories of those that they touched.
It doesn’t hurt to die.
Week 375 is upon us.
My turn once again after the brilliance of Leila and Daisy’s problem page!!!
I have an update!
Continue reading “Week 375 – What’s Wrong With Tom Brown? Squealing Like A Pig And It’s Refreshing For An MP To Be Watching Adult Porn.”
I don’t usually pick up hitchhikers, but this was an extra rainy Vegas morning. There she was, a little old lady standing in a puddle, bundled up in a poncho and one gloved hand jutting straight through the rain with an outstretched thumb. It was five a.m., and nobody else was on the road. What could I have done? My damned Jiminy Cricket conscience forced me to stop there, so she wouldn’t get hypothermia.
“Much obliged,” she said when I pulled over to the curb and popped the convertible’s side door open. “Such a nice young lady.”
Continue reading “Rain Lady by Abigail Louise Lowry McCormick”
Edmund eased the donation truck into the woman’s driveway. He thought he had been here before, to this exact house, when spousal donations had first become a trend. It should not have surprised him—the courts ordering such a thing. With the divorce rate at nearly 70% now, the courts had to do something.
Continue reading “Donating Love by Amber Hart”
James was making the Saturday omelettes as they called them. The late morning meal he made each week whilst Penny took her long Saturday bath. He cracked two white shell eggs into the glass bowl. He preferred the white shell to the browner shell ones. He tapped in some salt and pepper, picked up the whisk and mixed slowly with the bowl secured between his arm and torso. He admired the way they went from two yellow spheres to a marbled swirl of yolk and transparent albumen, through to a singular, opaque, autumnal sun colour. The girls were playing in the garden, chasing each other around, shrieking when one made a grab for the other. The day was warm enough to keep the kitchen door to the garden open. He put a frying pan on the hob, lit the gas, and knifed in the butter which bubbled immediately. After circling the melted butter around the pan, he tilted the mix into it at a slight angle allowing it to slowly slide in. He went into the hallway and called upstairs.
Continue reading “Saturday Omelettes by Paul Kimm”
I sit down at my desk to work on the script’s first draft and open my right-hand drawer. A 25 cm man leaps out and slaps my face. You might not think something that small could pack much of a wallop, but he does. In the beginning I could handle him, but he grows larger and more brazen every day. I put him in there to teach him who’s boss, but since that did not work, I grab him in my fist.
Continue reading “Is It Me or My Talent You See? By Cy Hill”
I was attempting to hibernate through an atypical stormy November afternoon when my realm’s lead (and only) Imaginary Friend, Renfield, barged into my office, blinded the room with light and cheerfully yelled “Breaking news!”
“Can’t you see I’m hibernating?”
“Oh, you’ll want to know about this,” she said with a smile (always smiling). “Daisy and Peety are the greatest superhero team.”
Continue reading “G.O.A.T. by Leila Allison”
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