I have decided to cut down on my use of the exclamation mark. I have often used it as a shortcut to fake a sense of goodwill that I do not usually feel–or at not least up to the degree implied by an exclamation mark. There’s a stink on an exclamation mark, for me it reeks of perkiness and whatever potion lurks in Kathy Lee Gifford’s coffee cup. (You’ll probably have to be an American of a certain age to get that last bit. If not, lucky day: something to google.)
Continue reading “Week 555: Controlling Enthusiasm”Tag: Short Fiction
Aeris by Zachary Schwartz
They broke through the jungle canopy at midmorning, damp with sweat and soft declarations of wonder. The jungle made everything softer. The air, the light. Even thoughts, if left untethered long enough. The air was thick with that sweet, vegetal stillness that only comes miles from roads, wires, and clocks. Every breath tasted green.
Continue reading “Aeris by Zachary Schwartz”The Importance of the Ant by Rachel Sievers
“People don’t care, Rich,” she shouts. Of course, people care, she just doesn’t care, which is fine, I don’t need her to care. I can care for both of us.
Continue reading “The Importance of the Ant by Rachel Sievers”Tiny Squares by Shannon Murdoch
Today she is wearing yellow. Yellow dress, yellow hat, and a buttercup yellow scrunchie around her ankle. Today is a good day.
Continue reading “Tiny Squares by Shannon Murdoch”The Brawler by Héctor Hernández
That last blow turned my head inside out and scrambled my brains. I didn’t have a fucking clue where the hell I was, but instinct kicked in and I started bobbing and weaving—a moving target would be hard to hit. I figured I could buy some time until my head cleared. But I was so wrong. Or maybe I was right, and it was this asshole who didn’t get that a moving target was supposed to be hard to hit because the bastard clobbered me with another whopper—this one to the side of my head—making me see double, triple even.
Continue reading “The Brawler by Héctor Hernández”Movies Can’t Show What is Like to Live with a Dragon by Ann Yuan
The dragon must be hundreds of years old. She leans on the door frame and spits a flame just big enough to light her cigarette.
“Don’t expect me to fight for you,” she says.
I look at the no-smoking sign on the door and tell her I don’t expect that kind of thing from a roommate. Game of Thrones is so overrated. Never be a fan.
She nods, passes by me, and walks into the apartment as though she owns this place.
Continue reading “Movies Can’t Show What is Like to Live with a Dragon by Ann Yuan”Literally Reruns – Douglas Hawley
Doug Hawley has been busy publishing work online for the past few years, including, happily with us. We are happy to share his often curmudgeonly POV, which is always tempered with amusement and is never caustic; he also presents his own original point of view that sometimes irks those who demand conventional writing. So it goes with Doug’s The Assistant.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Douglas Hawley”Week 554 – Established Beasts, Superb Versions And Rest For Mickey Pearce.
Here we are at Week 554!
Okay, this may be a bit strong, but if any fucker tries to pull the wool over our eyes with some sort of AI, all I can say is I hope that you drown in the mess of your own pustules exploding!!!
Continue reading “Week 554 – Established Beasts, Superb Versions And Rest For Mickey Pearce.”One Hellava Morning By John Doble
It all happened once upon a time about, oh, two and a half years from now. It was a warm summer morning, a Saturday it was, in the backyard of an ordinary house on an ordinary street in a most ordinary town, Sandusky, Ohio to be precise. But that’s all that was ordinary about it; the little girl certainly wasn’t. And as for the stranger… well, he was aptly named.
Continue reading “One Hellava Morning By John Doble”By Sevens by J W Goll
When you ask me to take off my pants I agree and drop them to the floor, white undies shining brighter than the clouds, which I hope will blind you to my shyness. Then I see the mantis on the doorjamb leading to the treehouse deck and say we need to stop. I’d seen one on grandma’s body right before she died. Seconds before. She saw it too, said adios, and was gone. I know a sign when I see one.
Continue reading “By Sevens by J W Goll”