All Stories, General Fiction

They Say He Was a Biter By Hari Khalsa

The office was dark except for the bluish glow of two monitors which illuminated Hari Deva Singh’s wrinkled face and long scraggly white beard, like a twenty-first century wizard coding his newest spell. He sat back and scrolled to the top of this night’s Facebook post, furrowing his brow as he read through what he had written.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Outsider by Tom Sheehan

Piling onto the sidewalk after the celebration of Mass, the chatter was all the same. Mildred made the most noise, her face turning redder with each phrase uttered. “Who does Anna think she is! Refused my hand when the priest said give those around you a sign of peace, shake hands like you mean it. Just kept her head down like she didn’t even see me.”

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Short Fiction

No boy, no Tie by  R. P. Singletary

Three months later and back into my routine, I returned to church. I noticed all the families at early service. Little girls with exquisite ribbons, little boys all about their first ties. My father couldn’t teach me how to tie a tie. He was dyslexic. I was left-handed. Charming, the pair of us. Unsuccess greeted us at every skinned knee of childhood. Laces. Did it matter whether on new or old shoes, no. Scouting badges for all kinds of knots and things? Well, we attempted all that! Every sport imaginable involving foot or paw, naw. The neck tie was the worst. Eventually, I’d give up or stammer off. Or he would. Often crying throughout. He’d stopped cursing at some point. Sometimes, I would start cussin’ at another point. Only for Mom to intervene. She said she had to pray: “No boy, no tie, no boy.” I promise I remember that prayer.

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Short Fiction

As Ever, the Nun by Antony Osgood

To some, hindsight proves a faithful if fashionably late companion. Though it often offers questionable advice, reflexion is more tolerant than people, each of whom seems keen to speak of subtle feelings Chas rarely recognises. His, ‘I’m just angry’ stock response fails to satisfy those in search of his finer feelings.


‘No space for sadness when you’re angry.’

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Music of Lana Jardine by Harrison Kim

Lana Jardine always told me she’d be taken in the rapture, when God would gather up true Christians just before the apocalypse.  She accepted Jesus as her Lord and Saviour, so she’d never burn in hell.  “I confessed my sins,” she said.  “And he saved me.”

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All Stories, General Fiction

Citizen Wyckam-Smith by Michael Bloor

Have you ever ordered a DVD of an old film that, once upon a time, you thought was wonderful (back when you were at an impressionable age, say, between the ages of 15 and 25)? And when you settled down to watch it, accompanied by a wee whisky and some cheese and onion crisps, did you then discover that it was utter crap?

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All Stories, General Fiction

Our Harbour by Paul Kimm

Until the first ‘magical’ incident our harbour was like most others around the country. One side with its fishing industry and the other for the summer tourists. The South Pier reeking of fish guts and the north side either boarded up or packed with visitors stuffing seafood and sugar into their mouths depending on whether it was summer or not. That was until a few years back.

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All Stories, Fantasy

Jack in the Green  by Lee Stoddart

My simple wooden church was all-but empty when I stepped up to the pulpit to give mass to the congregation. I had half expected it.

When Beltane fell on a Sunday, it seemed to draw out the heretical tendencies of my flock. Every year, they would abscond to some secret glade in the woods, to celebrate the coming of the summer, to pray to a heathen god for verdant growth and an abundant harvest. This year was no different.

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All Stories, Horror

Home Remedy By Young Tanoto

Yunmin lived in a patchwork apartment–mismatched, patched, and paper-thin, held together by red thread and a prayer. There were words on the walls; looping, colorful cursive on the mirrors and windows, written in whiteboard marker. He once admired it: the sharp ink, the crisp angles, the spider-like intricacy of every line and dotted letter. To sit and look about his mother’s house was like being trapped amidst a pastel and most perfect plague.

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All Stories, Fantasy, General Fiction

The Kumari by Naga Vydyanathan

A brightly hued rag covered Kanmani’s eyes as she hopped daintily over the grid of numbered squares drawn hurriedly on the stone floor. “Right-a?” she asked, pausing on one leg. “Right-u”, came the response, confirming that Kanmani was within the boundaries of a square. This “Right-a/Right-u” exchange continued a few more times, until Kanmani stepped on a line and lost her chance. It was Kaveri’s turn now. Kaveri removed Kanmani’s blindfold, placed her gently on a chair nearby, and proceeded to tie the rag over her own eyes.  She ensured that her blindfold was loose enough to allow her to catch little peeks through the cracks. Closing her eyes tight, she hopped to what she thought was the first square and paused, balancing gingerly on one foot. “Right-a?”, she asked, opening her eyes wide enough to peek at the floor, checking whether her foot was within the square. “Right-u”, answered Kanmani. Kaveri smiled, closed her eyes and hopped to the next square. She loved playing this game called “Paandi”, with Kanmani.

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