All Stories, Fantasy, Science Fiction

The Code Master by Tom Sheehan

Some people in or about his circle of friends of Willard Coxby III, weren’t sure of his nickname, with choices at the start, whether it was “Tulips” or “Two-Lips,” both being cautions of the ear, the receptions, as if one served over the other.

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Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 329 – Remembering Stewpot, Wondering If Two Snowflakes Are Frightened Of Everything And China Crisis Did Some Good Songs.

It’s Saturday afternoon.

It’s Twelve O’ Clock.

And this is post 329.

I hated ‘Crackerjack’.

It was a kids show that ended with a quiz. If the kid got a question correct, they got a prize that they had to hold. If they got it wrong they were given a cabbage. If they dropped anything, they got another cabbage.

But on the bright side, the wee stupid weans would at least have coleslaw and soup to eat for a few weeks!

Continue reading “Week 329 – Remembering Stewpot, Wondering If Two Snowflakes Are Frightened Of Everything And China Crisis Did Some Good Songs.”
All Stories, Fantasy

Half by Doug Hawley

One day in March, I felt an excruciating abdominal pain, so painful that I fell to the floor.  Because my wife Sally was out shopping and I was immobilized, there was nothing I could do.  Within five minutes, the pain left, and I felt as if nothing had happened.  I decided not to tell Sally, because I knew that she would freak and want me to see a doctor immediately.  I thought it best to see how things played out, and see my doctor at the earlier of my next incident, or within a month.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Name of the Game by Frederick K Foote

I fucked up. I did. I admit it. I messed up bad. Some have even accused me of child abuse, and those accusations have come from members of my own family. You might have heard something about this mess already. Now, what I’m asking you to do is set aside whatever you heard and listen to what I have to say. I did mess up, but I wasn’t alone, and if you get the backstory, it might help you understand what went down.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

The Fall Guy by Marco Etheridge

Louis Pyne squats on his haunches beside the corpse. The boathouse is cold as a meat locker. A massive hangover is dancing a tarantella six-eight time inside his skull, and the two guys standing behind Lou are making him nervous. At least they’re hungover as well. Hell, even the corpse would be begging for aspirin if he wasn’t so dead. 

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All Stories, General Fiction

Temporarily Unemployed by Tom Sheehan

Brenda Beal, “Worth a feel,” she’d said a thousand times since Jack had dumped her and two kids, without a car, without a washing machine, without a refrigerator that worked, without all the money from her bank account, owing two months’ rent and the electricity and heating bills including the A/C bill (but he took the A/C because it was new and worked better than he did on his best day): all of this too soon revealed in their marriage. Little Jackie was her reminder of the night in the back seat of Jack’s father’s car, at the lake, under the moon, in a soft breeze the Atlantic sent in over Nahant and Lynn beaches. And Jenny carried the memory of a three-week hiatus after Jackie was born.

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All Stories, Literally Reruns

Literally Reruns – Christmas Daze by Alexander Wardrope

I hope Lelia isn’t expecting egg nog and chestnuts and all that stuff with this because though the story is excellent there are flowers in the garden and the barbecue is ready to go. Anyway this is what she said:

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Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 328 – He Always Wanted To Be Sammy, More Brilliance From Tom And Potential Familiarities

Before we start, we have a Brucie Bonus:

‘Nice to see you, to see you…’ – Oh I can’t be bothered! If you don’t know the reference, I suggest you don’t look it up.

We have a secret level today, a wee addition.

We are delighted to announce that we’ve received a piece of work from the legend himself, that, to be honest, we didn’t know how to categorise. It isn’t exactly prose. It’s definitely not a story or essay. And it’s not a poem.

But what it is, is a brilliant piece of writing.

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