I read that one of my old gaffers had died a few weeks back and something that happened to me last week tied the two in.
Continue reading “Week 365 – Mr Popularity Getting Over It, Mr And Mrs Hilarity Sharing It And No Sweat For Mr Windsor Paying It.”
Two of the three fish tanks were ok. Only, where were the large angel fish in the third? My daughter, Sam, walked around to the side. She was standing on tippy toes and still her nose only came up to the sandy bottom of the aquarium. Nevertheless, it was she who found the fish lying flat on their sides gasping. I couldn’t understand it. We had used the same filtration, the same water in all three tanks. What had happened? Five year old Jo, on the other hand, was busy running in and out of the spacious rooms. Finally, at last, our flat was finished. The pictures were hung, the antique carpets were laid and looked luxurious in the mahogany sitting room. It looked like home. Home away from home. Home now in Japan.
Continue reading “The Ancient Wisdom by Crispen Lish”
Everyone showed up to the funeral. They grieved, they said nice things, they ate a nice meal, and then they left. And moved on. Or at least tried to. But then it happened again, just a few days later, and they were back at the same church, the same cemetery, saying the same nice things and eating leftovers from the same nice meal. And this time, they were afraid to leave. Because the important questions aren’t usually asked this close to the grieving process. The important answers aren’t usually as necessary. One death is sad, but two, and so similar in nature, is alarming. Were they both accidents? Or were they linked? And if they weren’t accidents and they were linked, the questions that came to mind among the grieving townspeople were as follows: Who killed them? Why did they kill them? And am I next?
Continue reading “Aunt Sarah by Jeff Hill”
In a bathing suit, of a most direct design, Shelly Kearns was gorgeous and desirable all the way past dreams and, in the water, a sylph of the first order, and with every dive she took, explored the bottom of our pond for odd treasures of any sort, reclaimable for new duties or positive salvage. She kept her treasure of such objects on two shelves and a corner table in her home left by her husband Steve, dead from a high dive onto a half-sunken log that we assume made the trip on the river from the forest thirty miles upstream.
Continue reading “The Impeccable Diver at the Pond by Tom Sheehan”
It was a beautiful wedding. I knew it would be. After all, I planned it.
Held outdoors, next to a crisp, perfect stream in the Great Smoky Mountains where we loved to hike. Gorgeous fall morning, with blue mist gently rising, the crop of massive boulders on the bank looking quiet yet colossal, like waiting, sleeping giants.
Continue reading “Veil by A E Rocher”
Lately I’ve been torn between my affection for the past and my reluctant acknowledgement of necessary progress. The remember when has a narcotic quality that gives even the crummiest situations a warmth that they did not possess when happening. I’ve been examining this peculiar human trait and so far I haven’t a clue why so many mundane and even bad objects and actions can gain nostalgic gloss after so many years have gone by. For example, behold the words on a handmade wood sign I saw everyday on my way to and from school. It hails from the Good Old Days and was nailed to a tree in front of a property that most people crossed the street to avoid:
To CP”SS”– Hitler Also took kids from their parents.
Continue reading “Week 364: Fair Warning Issued by the Past, Guy Groups of Yore and an Interview With Tom Sheehan”
The pain had made it’s home in the crevice between cheek and gum. It scrapes away at the soft flesh, burrowing. Nestling.
Continue reading “Toothache by Calum Strachan”
She smiled as she heard his wail. He’d always been delicate and wasn’t as mature as the other kids.
…But she knew that would change soon.
He ran into the room with his fist clenched out in front of him.
“Now then Jimmy, don’t cry. It’s only a bit of blood.
…And it’s worth it.”
Continue reading “Legs Eleven by Hugh Cron”
It was a very steep slope. Even the hunters felt unsure of their steps. The thick creepers and grasses made every tread a threat since there was no way of knowing what the escapees were disturbing on the untrodden path. The deerstalkers amongst them could have been expected to feel less unsettled, but it felt strange for them to be carrying babies or half-carrying the elderly. Noi insisted on clinging to Sai. In the Asia of so long ago, much before any contact with Westerners or Christianity, ‘till death do us part’ was her own inborn resolve. Sai had no choice.
Continue reading “In the Right Spirit? by Nidhi Srivastava Asthana”
Ned the Necromancer and his otherworldly friends live in splendid isolation in the derelict Mortlake House. Unfortunately, they need a new tenant to pay the bills.
Continue reading “Dead Together by Oliver Lavery”
literally stories 