Tag: Short Fiction

All Stories, General Fiction

These Hands by Rob Vogt

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It doesn’t sound sexy at all, this medical condition that makes her fingers turn blue in cold weather. Dangerously blue. She worries constantly about frostbite and nerve damage, even amputation. Her fingers are long and slender, like twigs used to start a fire on a camping trip. Twigs do not sound sexy, either. But whenever Jennifer rubs her hands together, briskly, vigorously, you cannot help but think about the way her fingers would feel if they were wrapped around you. The palm of her hand feeling your heft, your warmth. Probably this should never happen because the two of you met in recovery and according to absolutely everyone you have ever spoken to, jumping into bed with a fellow alcoholic is a horrible idea. Still, you know that you will never forget the day Jennifer walked into the very same meeting that you were attending, snugged into a pair of hard rocker jeans and a scoop-necked t-shirt. Legs up to here, sun-kissed cleavage, eyes that were feline and feisty and hard. How in the hell were you supposed to concentrate on sobriety sitting across the table from all of that? Pretty soon both of you stopped going to meetings and started playing tennis on the local high school courts. Buying air mattresses at gravel-driveway rummage sales. Sitting on the couch watching movies from the 80’s, belly laughing at things that were funny at the time (and also at things that were not).

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

A Boy Named Sue by Scott Taylor – Content Warning. A subject that some readers may find upsetting.

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Yo yo yo, I’m here to tell ya about a boy named Sue.

Every day, Sue went into school, in the little pigtails his Momma put him in and his little blue bonnet on his head, and all the children sang, “FUCKIN’ PUSSY!”  They danced around him in tribal fashion, and spit bubble gum in his ears, and tried to make him eat dirt.  Every day he would soil his pretty little yellow dress, skin his knees and run home crying to Momma.

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All Stories, General Fiction

A Guide to Walking Down My Street by Tim Frank

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I just want to get to my flat up the road, hoping I don’t bump into any of my neighbours, but they’re all loitering out front, sweat trickling into their eyes, swaying slightly in the raging sunshine. The road is long and straight with oak trees lining the pavement, creating circles of hot shade. Birds perch on branches and shit on BMW’s. Everyone wants the trees cut down.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, General Fiction

some words ending in a sentence by Phill Doran

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Hung: It would be wrong to say it was her favourite expression. Her favourite expression, my Mam, was “Hell’s Bells!”, which was short for “Hell’s bells and buckets of blood”. That was her idea of swearing. A jingle: just enough to keep a real swear word at bay.

When the real ones came, they were Dar’s, and they were like my brother, Davie, you know – thick, short, and fast.

So, no, “Be hung for a sheep as a lamb” was not her favourite phrase, but Mam said it a lot. It was shortened, but we somehow knew what she meant. Maybe the long of it had been explained to us once, or maybe we explained it to each other.

The sentiment was that if you are going to be hanged for stealing a small lamb, then you may as well steal a whole sheep. A jingle of wisdom passed down, like a pair of shoes. It was what families did then. They’d pass old sayings down the line, the blood line. They would settle, acting like silt, determining your depth.

It was hard to picture though. Where we lived there were no sheep. A lamb chop from the butcher’s maybe, that could be stolen, but I’d not have the courage. The butcher was a big man. Blood and blades were nothing to him.

No one ever corrected Mam’s grammar, not that I can recall. Hung it was.

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All Stories, General Fiction

End by  A. Elizabeth Herting

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Sterling Redmond Calico lay sprawled out on his stain-covered recliner, his limbs heavy and lethargic. The poison was snaking its way through his body, he could see with an artist’s imagination its slow and determined march through his veins. Thick, black and ominous, destroying him cell by cell as Red caressed his cheek on the cool salvation of a half-empty beer can. He could see the snow falling fast through the single cracked window in his rent controlled, shitty third floor walk-up. The flakes made neon-white streaks, flying in rapid succession like a warp-speed trip on the Millennium Falcon.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Love? Don’t Make Me Laugh by Alex Barr

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First time I laid eyes on Alanna, I thought, There’s a woman I want to saw in half.

She was in the audience, one leg in plaster stuck out into the aisle. After the show I watched her leave, expecting her to walk like a pair of compasses, but somehow she moved so gracefully everyone else looked awkward. I sent my assistant to catch her at front of house but she claimed she missed her, ha ha. And that’s where I should have left it. Stopped thinking about her. I  keep going over it, how I might have escaped this God-awful mess, financial and . . . yes, yes, all right, all the rest.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, General Fiction

A Strange Way to say I Love You by Matthew Senn

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Harper Gillespie, newly fourteen, rode up to a place locals called Baby’s Bush to meet two of his friends: Dave Erich and Robinson Pike, both of whom were several years older. The bush stood in the middle of a field between two lines of pines. Almost as big as a house, they said every time someone tried to cut the bush down, they would have to stop because they heard a baby crying.

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Literally Reruns, Short Fiction

Literally Reruns – Peculiar Folk by Frederick K Foote

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If I was better educated–or at least paid closer attention during what education I received–I’d know all the words the professors use to describe and sometimes drain the blood out of the written word. I am certain that there are fancy definitions for what goes on in Frederick K. Foote’s Peculiar Folk, but, really, in the end, no matter what something may be in the scientific sense, does it walk when you read it is still the most important thing of all.

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Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 371 – Glued Wimps, ‘DNR’ For Bjorn And A Miniscule Fud As 007!

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If we go by past weeks, Leila will be doing the post next week, which means, I want to mention something this week, that, if I was doing this post next week, I would have mentioned it then.

Easter is creeping up on us, just like that crazy cat Judas did to a Roman before he whispered into his ear. I don’t think he won ‘Friend of the year’ that year. Anyhow it has struck me how there aren’t many religious things in the shops. There are plenty of tacky bonnets to put on your poor old demented granny. (I still believe that should be classed as a form of abuse!) And there are loads of ‘Easter toys’ which have fuck all to do with Easter. Now-a-days, wee Johnny and Jeannie don’t get a Jesus action figure that when his side is squeezed, he bleeds from his hands and feet (Red syrup not included) they get a Paw Patrol or Peppa Pig play centre…How very Christian!

I’m thinking on organising a market stall and going to The Philippines next week to see if I can sell any of that job lot of ‘No More Nails’ that I acquired, just in case those Snowflake Millennials want a go.

…Supply and demand guys!

Anyhow onto this week’s posting number 371.

You don’t really need courage to take on some subjects, you just need to be true to the subject.

In these times of ‘Trigger Warnings’ that become a fecking half page list, the PC brigade and The Enraged, I reckon a lot of writers fear what subjects they take on. Do you know that ‘The Enraged’ get sexually aroused when they see that there will be plenty for them to be enraged about after they have read every word!

I’m not too clear if they realise what being sexually aroused is. Well not with other people.

If you have ever had this fear after writing a story my simple piece of advice is don’t be!!

If the attitudes, opinions and situations are all about the characters then you have no need to worry.

I’ve mentioned this before and we had a discussion a few weeks back that has made me re-think this. I did and am still happy with that sort of reasoning.

In one of the hostels where I worked, there was a trainer who really did know his onions. He was a Mental Health Professional and was probably one of the most knowledgeable, genuine and level headed guys that I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. He insisted that we all have our bigotries, hidden or otherwise. We all have our preferences, hidden or otherwise and we all have our fears and insecurities, hidden or otherwise. He stated that this is what makes us human and what makes us a good person is knowing how to manage these.

I know that a helluva lot of folks would be outraged at that statement and would deny any of their own shortcomings but the guy had a point and a huge set of balls for constantly saying it.

No-one should fear what they write due to us all now becoming (??) or striving to be (??) completely tolerant and perfect Human Beings.

…’Perfect’, ‘completely tolerant’ and ‘Human Beings’ are words that will never be truthful if put together and stated as fact.

A word of warning, if you’re ever tempted to write a perfect character with no prejudices from your perfect point of view, it will only be believed by a Unicorn who is in a coma after a rainbow sherbet overdose.

Okay onto this week’s stories. Two new writers, two long time friends and one of our lovely editors had their stories published over the last five days.

As always our initial comments follow.

We have a weekly constant at the moment and that is a tale from Tom Sheehan.

‘A Saddle In The Desert‘ was our first story of the week.

‘Reminds me of those old cowboy films.’

‘This held me all the way through.’

‘It flowed very well and I know this is one of those that Tom loves to write.’

On Tuesday, the imaginative and enigmatic Leila Allison privileged us with her pen.

‘The Good News Club‘ was her latest story for us.

‘Great pace.’

‘Wonderfully enthralling.’

‘The ending was solid and satisfactory.’

Our first new writer was Serenity Marshall. We welcome her and hope that she has fun on the site.

‘Waiting For Daddy‘ was next up.

‘Authentic.’

‘Serenity conveys a culture without telling us, that is well done!’

‘Poignant but the middle section with the vision of the future lifted this to something special.’

A.J. Lyndon was next up with ‘The Seventh Wave’.

We extend the same welcome to our second new writer and we hope to see more stories from both of them.

‘Not my favourite genre but this was very well done. I enjoyed it!’

‘The style suited the MC.’

‘The subject has weight.’

We completed the week with one of our most interesting writers. Tim Frank is always worth a read!

‘The Peephole‘ was published on Friday.

‘Odd! But odd in a very good way!!’

‘Loved the sentence, ‘He was a virgin, a fact he didn’t hide from his mind.’

‘Weird – But I enjoyed this!’

That’s us for another week.

Please keep / start commenting!

Is there anyone out there that would like a shot at The Sunday Re-Run – Anyone? Helllooo? Is there anyone there???

We know you read it, we can see the viewing figures so come on, give yourself a showcase to write a spiel and ask some questions on an older story that you’ve enjoyed!

Just to finish off, I have a confession to make – I haven’t read much Dickens but I’m aware of the times he wrote about.

This came to me as I was reading what our Chancellor, Richie Rishi Sunak was ‘helping’ our poorest people with. In true Scrooge McDuck style, the little arrogant’ out of touch’ millionaire two hundred times over’ wealthy fuckwit’ handed folks pennies when the economy is taking back pounds.

I have no problem with anyone being wealthy (I wish I was myself!!) but the fucking hypocrisy in that man doing a job where he is making decisions regarding the lowest earners is nothing but a fucking insult!!!

…And for the little snottery nosed, over privileged twat not to see this, is an arrogance only a British Cabinet Minister is happy to live with.

Hugh

I just remembered something regarding our completely in-touch with the poor prick of a chancellor.

There was an episode of ‘Question Time’ where the panel were asked what Politician would make a good Bond and some sycophantic fuck stated, ‘I think my boss, Rishi Sunak’ would make a great Bond.’

I was nearly sick and just prayed for some audience member to shout out,

‘James Bond?? More like Pussy Galore!’

…I would have happily chipped in for their bail!!!!

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