All Stories, General Fiction, Humour, Short Fiction

Mannie The Moocher by Hugh Cron – Warning – Strong Language.

Alan joined his sister.

“You OK Trish?”

“I’m getting there. I’m no good with this.”

“I know, you can’t handle a hamster dying never mind anything else.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, Fantasy, Short Fiction

The Swans by Hugh Cron

I was too young to remember the day my Granddad past away but the night my Gran died, the swans came.

I don’t mean that she had anything to do with them, it was just that I noticed them that night.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction, Writing

Behind Closed Doors by Hugh Cron

‘It’s been many a year since we had a day like today! It was a lovely wedding. You looked beautiful. It was an absolute pleasure dancing with you.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction, Writing

Collars And Cuffs by Hugh Cron – Strong Adult Content

“You’ve never told me why you and Chris split up?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, but you’re hurting.”

“Don’t say that mum, I’m not fucking hurting.”

“…Sounds like your fine.”

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Laura by Hugh Cron – Strong Adult Content

“I know you said that you didn’t want another drink but I’ve poured you one.”

Gina accepted the glass of wine.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Dave by Hugh Cron – Very Strong Language

As he drove past the wall, he didn’t look at the flowers. People were still laying them on the indent. He hadn’t.

His mind was flooded with memories, he tried to choose some from others but failed.

Lewis wondered how many people ended up under a mile from where they ended.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Get Away by GJ Hart

In the kitchen of a cottage nestled among oak trees they waited – for neighbour, for colleague; for broken doors and strangers with zip-lock bags. Jay was long gone, whipping across fields, toward the blockhouse he’d carved with nails and fire. He crawled into peace and wished he could stay, wished he could curl up on the soft, wet earth and sleep. But if he did they would find him, find him without looking and he wasn’t ready for that medicine, for any medicine – just now his liberty was a sickness he refused to cure. He dug up his plane ticket, kicked things quiet and headed toward the airport.

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All Stories, Humour

Car Crash Television by Nik Eveleigh

…you can actually taste the friction Dimitri.

Stu shook his head and stared, unnoticed at his iPad surfing wife. “Did you hear that Jen? They can actually taste the friction.”

“Hmm…that’s nice love.”

“I suppose they’d know that sort of thing what with it being a cooking show and all, but actually tasting friction? I can’t even begin to contemplate what friction would taste like. OK that’s not true, I imagine it tastes pretty similar to sticking one of those nine volt Duracells on your tongue when you were nine and stupid but that isn’t the point.”

“I expect so love.”

“You’re not even listening to me are you? I could say whatever I wanted right now and you wouldn’t hear a word of…come to think of it it’s probably more like sucking on wet wool.”

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All Stories, Horror

Jakantha by Amiel Rossin

Jake drove his convertible Mustang up Highway 1, the Pacific Ocean stretching into oblivion on his left, his girlfriend Samantha sitting far to his right, as if she planned to throw the door open and roll onto the blacktop at any moment.  They were on their way to a little B&B that Sam had discovered online (one Yelp reviewer called it ‘kitschy but tolerable’), and although neither of them said so out loud, they both knew that if this weekend was a disaster, their relationship would never recover.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Body in the Bay by James Hanna

Nietzsche’s cutting quote, “If you gaze into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you,” is by now a redundancy.  And so, when I became a San Francisco probation officer, I prepared myself to keep company with the abyss.  But I had not quite realized how extensive the abyss was.  I saw it in the eyes of the senior probation officers, so exhausted by massive caseloads that they were counting the months to retirement.  I saw it in the faces of deputy jailors, disaffected shift workers who were all but deaf to the human clamor of the cell ranges.  And, of course, I saw it in my clientele: hollow-cheeked crack heads, asocial gang bangers, vagrants with thousand mile stares.  But at least the abyss could be mellow where probationers were concerned.  It was mellow in the case of Joseph Shepherd, a middle-age drug peddler on probation for choking his girlfriend.  Entering my office for his intake interview, he glanced at the tower of case files on my desk and chuckled.  “I know you have it rough,” he remarked in a voice that could be poured over waffles.  “So I plan to make it easy on you, sir.”  He smiled with the insular charm of a sociopath then shook my hand with a python grip.  He seemed to be a man of elemental strength—a brawn with a life of its own—yet his broad open face and puppy dog eyes set me completely at ease.

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