The cup of coffee had gone cold days ago. The first gulp of it had indicated that but the second gulp confirmed that the coffee was not only cold but old, still Gene takes a third sip. How long would it be before she could make fresh coffee again? It would require standing up from the television and letting this little shit win.
Continue reading “Old and Cold by Rachel Sievers”
Before we went inside, Christian and I sipped on some coffee he had ordered at Starbucks and conversed in his car.
“She was livid,” Christian said. “Slammed the window wiper on the windshield and busted a headlight with her boot.”
“Because you invalidate Otherkins?”
“Yeah.”
“But she’s okay with you being a Trump supporter?”
“Yeah,” Christian laughed.
He knew I found ways to drop in his affiliation with conservatism and right-wing politics. It excited me to be wanted by someone that simultaneously hated me.
Continue reading “The Freakshow by Athena Vasquez – Adult Content”
I feel like a stranger on the bus. Getting on at the airport, the bus makes the long trip into the city, picking up workers, university students, school children, and Janice.
Janice was seated near the front of the bus and as each person got onto the bus and made their way past the driver, looking for a seat, Janice made eye contact with them. And before they could look away, not wanting to engage, she sprang her question at them.
“Are you looking forward to Christmas?”
Continue reading “Are you looking forward to Christmas? By Penelope Jackson”
Willie Ferguson lay staring at the wee cracks in his bedroom ceiling. Like a lot of people, he hadn’t realised, til he stopped working, that he was missing something. It sure as hell wasn’t the job that he missed: he’d collected his pension with a sigh of relief. It wasn’t family either: his sister, Margaret, living behind a privet hedge down in England, was emphatically a distant relative, and should ever remain so. But Willie knew he really was missing something.
Continue reading “Searching for Unicorns by Michael Bloor”
Sometimes I go to Mordialloc pier to watch people fish. I never fish myself. I hate the smell and getting my fingers sticky with bait and having to watch behind you to make sure you don’t snag anyone with the hook and permanently blind them. But I like watching. Interesting things happen when you watch for long enough. Nothing of the adventurous kind. Just odd, amusing things squeezed between stretches of monotony. I am then assured that my life will, at the very least, be filled with amusing details if I care to look. I don’t hope for adventure anymore. The feeling I get when I return home from one is dreadful. I’d like no more of them.
Continue reading “Mordialloc Pier by Matthew Lee”
Translated from the Korean by Bruce and Ju-Chan Fulton
The particles of snow, barely visible at first, thickened as the day wore on.
The nuisance of having to leave the comfort of home was tempered by the childlike effervescence triggered in me by this the first snowfall of the season.
Continue reading “Reunion – A miniature by O Chŏnghǔi”
The balconies had been intended as a benevolent gesture. One in particular has become a joke and a curse.
Continue reading “The Bellowing Bells by Billy Stanton”
I stroll down the promenade and onto the bridge. This one is closed to automobiles.
Between its dead-gray embankments, the river glows noon-gold. I’ve seen the river at its source: young, leaping motion-mad. Here, near its mouth, matured into inertia, the river drifts. Over the river, past me this balmy June Sunday, people jog, stroll, power-walk, and bicycle. Dog-walkers discipline the curiosity out of their dogs with smart little leash tugs. Old couples, combining constitutionals with treat-shopping, have finally found all the time in the world.
Continue reading “Courage Anniversary by Amita Basu”
The day Clancy started school, a girl pointed at her head, and hooted, ‘You’ve got no eyebrows.’ When Clancy went home, she looked in the mirror and wondered why she hadn’t noticed her missing eyebrows before. Next morning, she borrowed her mother’s eyebrow pencil and drew two thick black arches where her eyebrows should be. When she walked in the door of her classroom the teacher told her to go outside. She followed Clancy out the door, pointed to the pencilled arches and told her to go to the washroom and rub them off. Clancy scrubbed hard and wondered if she’d also rubbed off the few remaining blonde hairs that were pretending to be eyebrows.
Continue reading “Sweet Pea and His Tiny Stony Heart by Sandra Arnold”
Ida hates the sunset. She also has a profound dislike for the ocean, Greece, Italian villas, and all 30,000 islands of the Pacific Ocean. But every morning she wakes up to one of them, rotating views out her window: a nightmare cycle of 5 star resort views. Sometimes she thinks she is already dead, stuck in a penitentiary of hell’s ennui where every day is more passive then the last.
Continue reading “After Dark by Nico Gurdjian”
literally stories 